night of July third and early
mornin' July fourth?"

The prisoner wrinkled his brow in thought. He had regained his
composure entirely, although he was not now in the jovial mood he
presented when he came in.

"The night of July third? Lemme see." His brows drew together.
"Well, that night, I was givin' a little party to some friends in
me apartment."

"Who all was there, 'Fingy'?"

The prisoner gave the names of four men and two women, Conners
jotting down the names on a slip of paper.

"That little job, o' yours four years ago in Rye, 'Fingy' you
wasn't framed on that was you?"

"Well, I guess they had the goods on me all right. But what of
that? I done my bit, didn't I?"

"I ain't talkin' about that, 'Fingy,' I jest wanted to get it
straight. You got in like the police said and you opened the safe
like they said too, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"And you ate a lotta food, didn't you, 'Fingy', some seven or
eight eggs on that job?"

"Yeah, I'm always hungry on--I mean for a little guy, I can eat an
awful lot and I sure do like eggs."

"Well, 'Fingy,' the guy that bumped off Schurman ate a big meal;
he ate six eggs; he opened the safe like you do, he entered the
apartment like you do. What you got to say about that?"

"What of it? I ain't got nothin' to say about it. I was givin' a
party to some friends, I'm tellin' you. You can ask 'em."

"Yeah, we'll ask 'em all right, 'Fingy'. What time did your
friends come to the party?"

"They began droppin' in about eleven o'clock."

"And where was you about two or three hours before that?"

"I was home in my apartment."

"Anybody with you there during that time?"

Smith wet his lips. His features had become drawn. He was a long
time answering this question. Finally he shook his head.

"I don't remember."

"Oh, you don't remember, huh. Well, 'Fingy,' you'd better
remember. You don't know how important it is for you to remember
that little thing, 'Fingy'."

He walked close to the prisoner and stood huge, bulging and
threatening over him.

"Do you recognize this?" He held out a small nail file wrapped in
tissue.

The prisoner looked at it. He was now very much ill at ease.

"What do you mean, do I recognize it?"

"Did you ever see this before, 'Fingy'?"

"I seen thousands of nail files like this."

"Did you ever own one like it?"

"Sure, I owned dozens, what of it?"

"Well, 'Fingy,' this was found under Schurman's safe. Your fing