"Found anything, Ferguson?"
The detective withdrew his head from the opening at the end of the
casket, and regarded the furniture vexedly.
"Not a thing," he acknowledged. "Except I am convinced that it
required dexterity to slip Grimes inside the casket. The butler is
small and slight, but he must have been unconscious from that tap
on the forehead and, therefore, a dead weight. Whoever picked him
up must have been some athlete, and" - running his eyes up and down
Colonel McIntyre's well-knit, erect frame - "pretty familiar with
the workings of this casket."
"Pooh! It's not so difficult a feat," McIntyre shrugged his
shoulders disdainfully. "My daughters, as children, used to play
hide and seek inside the casket with each new governess."
Ferguson stepped forward briskly. "Mr. Kent, let me see if I can
lift you inside the casket; make yourself limp - that's it!" as
Kent, entering into the investigation heart and soul, relaxed
his muscles and fell back against the detective.
A moment later he was swung upward and pushed head-first inside the
casket and the door closed.
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