"You really do, you know, put things together,
Clayton, in a most amazing fashion. But there's one little detail out."
"I know," said Clayton. "I believe I could tell you which."
"Well?"
"This," said Clayton, and did a queer little twist and writhing
and thrust of the hands.
"Yes."
"That, you know, was what HE couldn't get right," said Clayton.
"But how do YOU--?"
"Most of this business, and particularly how you invented it, I don't
understand at all," said Sanderson, "but just that phase--I do."
He reflected. "These happen to be a series of gestures--connected
with a certain branch of esoteric Masonry. Probably you know.
Or else--HOW?" He reflected still further. "I do not see I can do
any harm in telling you just the proper twist. After all, if you know,
you know; if you don't, you don't."
"I know nothing," said Clayton, "except what the poor devil let
out last night."
"Well, anyhow," said Sanderson, and placed his churchwarden very
carefully upon the shelf over the fireplace. Then very rapidly he
gesticulated with his hands.
"So?" said Clayton, repeating.
"So," said Sanderson, and took his pipe in hand again.
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