"
"I did; I swear it," declared Ferguson. "I'm no novice at that
business. Here, don't touch them, Mr. Kent," as his companion bent
toward the chair. "There may be finger marks on the steel; if so"
- he drew out his handkerchief, and taking care not to handle the
burnished metal, he folded the handcuffs carefully in it and put
them in his coat pocket. "There's no use lingering here, Mr. Kent;
this apartment is vacant now except for us. I must get to
Headquarters."
"Hadn't you better telephone for an operative and station him here?"
suggested Kent.
"I did so while you were searching the back rooms," replied Ferguson.
"There," as the gong sounded. "That's Nelson, now."
But the person who stood in the outer corridor when they opened the
front door was not Nelson, the operative, but Dr. Stone.
"Can I see Mr. Rochester?" he asked, then catching sight of Kent
standing just back of the detective, he added, "Hello, Kent; I
thought I heard some one walking about in here from my apartment
next door, and concluded Rochester had returned.
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