e meant "Yes," and "Yes" for "No," and contradicted himself in each
fresh version of the cataclasm which had seared his sky with lightning.

Steingall ultimately gave him up as hopeless that night. Perhaps, next
morning, when he had slept and eaten, he might become sane again.

"It's an odd thing that Curtis should have wandered away in this
fashion, wearing a strange overcoat," mused the detective aloud.

"He must know it," said the police captain meaningly.

"I rather think we must force that door," said Steingall.

The clerk did not understand the reference to the overcoat, but he was
ready enough to adopt the detective's suggestion.

"Shall I send for the engineer, and tell him to bring tools?" he asked.

"There is nothing else for it," admitted Steingall with a shrug. Be it
remembered he had seen Curtis, and heard his story. If such a man had
committed the most daring crime recorded in New York during a decade,
and had flouted the police with such cool effrontery, he (Steingall)
would never again trust impressions.

The policemen, the clerk, and a strong-armed artificer went up in the
elevator, and, after an imperative knock and a loud-voiced summons to
open had been met with blank silence from the interior of No. 605, the
workman got busy. The door was stout, and offered a stubborn
resistance. It had to be forced off its upper hinge; then it yielded
so suddenly that it fell into the room, with the engineer sprawling on
top of it. The man yelled, thinking he was being plunged headlong into
tragedy, but Steingall switched on the lights, and four pairs of eager
eyes peered at nothing in particular. They found the golf clubs, which
partially explained the blocking of the door, though it did not occur
to any of them at once that the open window might have caused the bag
to fall. They rummaged Curtis's portmanteaux and steamer trunks, and
came upon evidence in plenty to prove that he was no mere masquerader
in another man's name. But that was all. They could form no theory to
account for his disappearance, until Steingall noticed the key, lying
on the dressing-table, which, with its odds and ends of small articles,
was the last place to invite scrutiny. He was gazing at it when the
blind flapped, and the door of the wardrobe creaked.

"Confound it!" he cried. "The bedroom door was fastened by accident!
The man forgot his key. Look here! I'll show you just how it came
about."

He illustrated the s