The Fingerprint

“It may have been that, or it may simply have been that Mirrie being out of the will, and therefore out of the ru

Miss Silver had been listening with an air of bright attention. She now laid down her hands on the mass of white wool in her lap.

“The album!” she said.

“The album?”

“If it was Sid Turner who tore out the page, he could not have done so without handling the album and leaving his prints upon it.”

“The album was, of course, examined for prints. You’ve got to remember that it had Jonathan’s own prints all over it.”

“And no one else’s?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But, Frank, that is in itself a very suspicious circumstance. Someone tore out that page and took Mr. Field’s notes out of the envelope which marked the place.”

He shrugged.

“Well, someone shot Jonathan and was careful to leave no prints. He could have worn gloves, or he could have protected his hand with a handkerchief.”

She said with unusual earnestness,

“Think again, Frank. To have worn gloves must have appeared highly suspicious. So suspicious that it might have led Mr. Field immediately to ring the bell and alarm the house. To carry out the murderer’s plan, Mr. Field must be lulled into a state of security, induced if he has not already done so to get out the album, and to sit down at the table. I think the murderer would certainly have been obliged to remove his gloves. He may, as you suggest, have protected his hand in some way after the murder had taken place, but I think there must have been a time when his hands were bare, and however careful he was he may during that time have touched some object, let us say a table or a chair. Amongst the prints which were taken from this room on Wednesday morning, are there none which have not been identified?”

“You mean-”

“I have remembered something which should have occurred to me before. When I was speaking to Sid Turner after the funeral we were standing to one side of the dining-room against the sideboard. During the first part of our conversation Sid Turner’s hands were a good deal occupied with his drink. He sipped from it, changed it constantly from one hand to the other, and appeared nervous and jerky in his movements. In answer to his questions I had intimated that, as I understood it, Georgina Grey was the principal legatee under Mr. Field’s will. Looking back, I can see that he must have been on the rack of anxiety as to whether Mirrie had misled him, of if she had not, as to what after so short an interval could have happened to the will under which she inherited.”

“In fact quite a nasty moment.”

“When Sid Turner had set down his drink his restless ma

He said quickly,

“Oh, yes-yes-I’ll go into it with Smith. As to there being any unidentified prints, there were some he was enquiring about.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“If it can be proved that Sid Turner was in this room, it will have been proved that he had the opportunity of murdering Mr. Field.”

Frank Abbott drew the telephone fixture towards him and rang up Lenton police station. There was a little coming and going before Inspector Smith was on the line. Miss Silver had resumed her knitting. Frank said,

“That you Smith? Abbott speaking. Those prints in the Field End case-there were one or two which hadn’t been identified. There was something about a man coming up to take measurements for curtains, wasn’t there? You thought they might be his, but there was a difficulty in tracing him- gone off to another job. Have you caught up with him?… Oh, you have? Good! Well, what about it? Are those unidentified dabs his?… Oh, they’re not? Well, well- All right, I’ll come in and have a look at them. Be seeing you.”

Chapter XXXVI

MISS CUMMINS had always made a point of arriving early at the office. This Tuesday morning just a week after Jonathan Field had come in about the final instructions as to his new will was no exception. She could indeed have been a couple of hours earlier, since she had not slept all night. She had her own key. When she had let herself in, taken off hat, coat, and gloves, and ordered her already tidy hair, she sat down to wait for Je

The thoughts which had prevented her from sleeping were still agonizingly present. During the night a few hard-won tears had forced themselves beneath her straining eyelids, but now in this desert of ruined hopes they were as dry as if its dust were physical. She had seen the last of Sid Turner. A cold shudder went through her at the thought that she did not even want to see him again. She had ruined herself for him and she didn’t want to see him again. As she sat talking to him in the back of the empty tea-room a number of things had come home to her with dreadful finality. He did not care for her. He had never cared for her. He cared for money, and he cared for Sid Turner. He had used her, and now he would drop her. She thought that he had murdered Jonathan Field.

Florrie and Je