th crowned with gold--" He
hesitated, searching his memory for more details.

"Remember anything else about him that was striking?" prompted Green.

"Let's see?" pondered Mr. Cassidy. Then after a little pause, "No,
that's all I seem to recall right now."

"How about his being a patron of moving pictures?"

"That's right," agreed the other, "that's the only part of it I forgot."
He repeated pretty exactly the language of the concluding paragraph of
the official police circular that all the papers had carried for days:
"Formerly addicted to reading cheap and sensational novels, now an
inveterate attendant of motion-picture theatres." He glanced at Judson
Green over his cigar. "What's the idea?" he asked. "Know something about
this case?"

"Not much," said Green, "except that I have found the man who killed old
Steinway."

Forgetting his professional gravity, up rose Mr. Cassidy, and his chair,
which had been tilted back, brought its forelegs to the floor with a
thump.

"No!" he said, half-incredulously, half-hopefully.

"Yes," stated Mr. Green calmly. "At least I've found Maxwell. Or anyway,
I think I have."

Long before he was through telling what he had seen and heard the
afternoon before, Mr. Cassidy, surnamed Michael J., was almost sitting
in his lap. When the younger man had finished his tale the detective
fetched a deep and happy breath.

"It sounds good to me," he commented, "it certainly sounds to me like
you've got the right dope on this party. But listen, Mr. Green, how do
you figure in this here party's fad for getting himself manicured as a
part of the lay-out--I can see it all but that?"

"Here is how I deduced that element of the case," stated Green.
"Conceding this man to be the fugitive Maxwell, it is quite evident that
he has a highly developed imagination--his former love of trashy
literature and his present passion for moving pictures would both seem
to prove that. Now then, you remember that all the accounts of that
murder told of the deep marks of finger-nail scratches in the old man's
throat. If this man is the murderer, I would say, from what we know of
him, that he cannot rid himself of the feeling that the blood of his
victim is still under his nails. And so, nursing that delusion, he goes
daily to that manicure girl----"

He got no farther along than that. Mr. Cassidy extended his large right
hand in a congratulatory clasp, and admiration was writ large upon his
face.

"Colonel