"How did they get a nail bomb inside a Sumo wrestler?"
Falconer, the great consulting detective, smiled his cunning smile. He indicated, in turn, the heavy work gloves, the makeshift battering-ram propped beside the closet, and the blood-spattered shovel.
"It occurs to me," Falconer responded, twisting the Cigarette Of Victory between his long fingers, "that it is a signal indicator of the condition of this country that you ask how they fitted a nail bomb inside a Sumo wrestler, rather than why. Exeunt."
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