the booth. That's all you can say. There's no
way to determine the exact hour these two sets of prints were made."

Drew lifted a second print. "No. sixteen," he said, turning to the
expert. "Where was that made?"

Pope consulted his book. He glanced up at Fosdick, who was ill at ease
over the development in the case. "That," he said, swinging his eyes
till they met Drew's, "that was made on the hardwood floor directly
under Stockbridge's body. We found the print, with others of the little
finger and middle finger when the coroner moved the corpse!"

The detective stared at Pope. "You mean," he said shrewdly, "that the
man who made the prints in the booth and on the little table, also was
down on his knees arranging Stockbridge's body, or doing something like
that?"

"He made a distinct impression on the floor despite the fact that the
body was moved over it. The polish and the varnish helped to hold this
impression. I venture to say that it is there yet."

"Good!" said Drew. "I may have a look at it. I never went after prints
in my investigation. I left that to men who knew their business--like
yourself."

Pope smiled. He glanced at his book for a third time. "What's the
number of that last print?" he asked.

"Forty-four!"

"Taken from the edge of the heavy door which was broken down by
Delaney, I guess. Looks like his work."

"I had a hand in that," admitted Drew.

"This print was close to the knob. There's none like it on the knob
itself."

"Umph!" declared Fosdick.

Drew glanced at the commissioner. He smiled as he laid his hand on
Fosdick's shoulder. "I've got you to thank," he said, "for letting me
use the brains and facilities of the police department. I think it
clears the case in a remarkable manner."

"How?" asked the commissioner.

"Well for one thing," Drew said, lifting the third photo. "For one
thing, we know that our man passed through the doorway before or after
the murder. He was in the library. He was in that booth which is a half
mile or more away from the mansion."

"I'll grant you that, but what does it prove?"

Drew laid the photo on the table and turned toward the doorway. "It
proves," he said, "that Stockbridge was murdered by a man who was never
arrested in New York."

"That's a large order!" chuckled the commissioner. "There are a few
good citizens and a number of bad ones we haven't got--yet!"

"I'm satisfied," said the detective, pulling his hat down over his
head. "