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The door was locked and bolted, Mr. Linder declared, and there was
no possible place for an intruder to conceal himself. Clock-work,
then.
"How would any human being guess what time to set it for," demanded
the politician in disgust, "when I never know, myself, where I'm
going to be at any given hour of any given day?"
"Then that Dutch horn-player threw the bomb," propounded the head of
the "Detective Bureau" ponderously.
"Of course; tossed it right up, three stories, and kept playing his
infernal trombone with the other hand all the time. You ought to be
carrying a hod!"
Nevertheless, the police hung tenaciously to the theory that the
musician was involved, chiefly because they had nothing else to hang
to. The explosion had been very localized, the room not generally
wrecked; but the chair which seemed to be the center of disturbance,
and from which the Honorable William Linder had risen just in time
to save his life, was blown to pieces, and a portion of the floor
beneath it was much shattered.


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