A Man of Uncertain Origins, Unguessable Destination

June, 1950.

He came out of convalescence, returning to the world in the gray rain and mist, leaving the Rest Home behind him and carrying a large brown bag in one hand while clutching a long looped bit of rope in the other. After entering the taxi with painful difficulty, he sat in the back and put aside his bag. He handed the driver a small neatly folded but slightly soiled piece of paper with an address written in what seemed a woman’s elegant hand. He then turned his attention to the long piece of rope. He began to tie knots in it.

A mile or two had passed when the cab driver threw a mildly curious glance in the rear view mirror. His silent rider met the reflected eyes and slowly smiled.

“I’m Knots,” he said, still grinning.

Hastily averting his gaze, the cab driver said nothing and thought, Yeah, my friend you sure are.

Traffic, like the rain, had become a trickle on Sutton Road when the passenger suddenly barked, “Good enough. You can pull over here.”

The driver did, even as the man in back lunged forward, and tightened the rope around his neck.

“I tried to warn you,” he said. “But you didn’t pay attention. No one ever does.”

Sometime afterwards, perhaps it was hours or even days, the detectives asked him why he had committed such a senseless act of violence. Their tone was soothing, even encouraging, for they simply wanted to know. The victim had not even been robbed.

"We just want to understand it," said the nearest detective. "We need your help to unravel it."

“It’s knot for me to say,” the suspect replied calmly. “Remember, I’m the one who is Knots.”

“You mean nuts,” corrected the other detective. "You mean insane."

“I would never have said that,” said the man. "Doesn't anyone ever pay attention?"

Minutes later the bodies of the two detectives were found in the interrogation room, strangled with their own neckties. The man was gone. He had absolutely vanished.

It was a knotty business. The Rest Home declared they had never discharged a patient on that day. The name given to the authorities -- Arthur 'Gordy' Knots --was almost certainly an alias. The only proof of the man’s existence, in fact, was the bag filled with several dirty shirts and a piece of long knotted cord.