McKnight is gradually taking over the criminal end of the business.
I never liked it, and since the strange case of the man in lower
ten, I have been a bit squeamish. Given a case like that, where you
can build up a network of clues that absolutely incriminate three
entirely different people, only one of whom can be guilty, and your
faith in circumstantial evidence dies of overcrowding. I never see
a shivering, white-faced wretch in the prisoners' dock that I do
not hark back with shuddering horror to the strange events on the
Pullman car Ontario, between Washington and Pittsburg, on the night
of September ninth, last.
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