You have, if I may say it without offense,
Mr. Greene, an unfortunate reputation among hotel proprietors.
Small wonder that you use an alias. From the Hotel Carpathia in
Boston I got a response more valuable than I had dared to hope. An
H. M. G. guest--H. Morton Garson, of Pillston, Pennsylvania (Mr.
Greene nodded)--had wrecked his room and left behind him this
souvenir."
Leaning over, Jones pulled, clinking from the scrap-basket, a fine
steel chain. It was endless and some twelve feet in total length,
and had two small loops, about a foot apart. Mrs. Hale and Kirby
stared at it in speechless surprise.
"Yes, that is mine," said Mr. Greene with composure. "I left it
because it had ceased to be serviceable to me."
"Ah! That's very interesting," said Average Jones with a keen
glance. "Of course when I examined it and found no locks, I guessed
that it was a trick chain, and that there were invisible springs in
the wrist loops."
"But why should any one chain Mr. Greene to his bed with a trick
chain?" questioned Mrs.
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