hair with a searching glance at
Delaney. "How long did you sleep?" he asked sharply.

"About thirty minutes, Chief. Mary and the kids woke me up and I
couldn't get settled again. I did some thinking."

"You must 'ave! That idea about the footprints is a mighty good one.
There was first a thaw, then a freeze, then a snow fall which preserved
everything. If we wait till spring there might be a set of prints
underneath the other sets. Two of our operatives were there. The
trouble-man was there. He scraped the connections. If we find a fourth
set of prints, that's our man!"

"The tall lad?"

"Yes, Delaney. We can build a box about the fence and start a thaw of
our own. I'll think it over!"

"I'll go up and do it, Chief. I can make plaster-casts of all the
prints. There's a French system I heard of once. I can find out from
Farot over at Headquarters."

"Keep it under cover for a while," decided Drew, sitting down and
drawing a sheath of papers to the edge of the desk. "Keep it quiet," he
added. "I'll think it over."

Delaney rubbed his chin. He watched Drew rapidly thumb over the data.
"Say, Chief," he yawned. "I see another light."

"What?" shot Drew over his shoulder. "S--o? Wait a moment before you
give it to me--you reminded me of something. Where was the spot of
powder on my face? The rubber in the Turkish bath said it was right
here." The detective turned and touched his forefinger below the lobe
of his left ear. "Right there," he added.

"That's where it was, Chief. Just where you got your finger. It was on
the cord. Seems to me that it was circular in shape. Like a half-moon."

Drew raised his black brows in reflective thought. He opened a small
drawer with a sudden dart of his arm. He poised a mirror so that the
light from the window brought out his left ear and neck. He dropped the
mirror to the desk. "Delaney," he said, "that's exactly the spot where
Stockbridge was shot!"

The operative felt a cold chill dart up and down his tired spine. He
came to life with an oath, and a slap of his huge palm upon his knee.

"Chief, you're right!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "You're right!
That spot of black was just where the old man was hit. Now, what d'ye
make of that?"

Drew drummed his fingers on the edge of the polished desk. He tapped
his toes on the floor. He coughed and picked up the mirror for a second
and longer glance at his face and neck. He tossed the mirror to the
desk and swiveled slowly.