know, although I daresay they are safer than
pockets, especially now that it is the fashion to have the pocket at the
back. Still, I have often thought how easy it would be for a thief or a
pickpocket or some other dreadful creature of that kind, don't you know,
to make a snatch and--in fact, the thing has actually happened. Why, I
knew a lady--Mrs. Moggridge, you know, Juliet--no, it wasn't Mrs.
Moggridge, that was another affair, it was Mrs.--Mrs.--dear me, how
silly of me!--now, what was her name? Can't you help me, Juliet? You
must surely remember the woman. She used to visit a good deal at the
Hawley-Johnsons'--I think it was the Hawley-Johnsons', or else it was
those people, you know--"

"Hadn't you better give Dr. Thorndyke the 'Thumbograph'?" interrupted
Miss Gibson.

"Why, of course, Juliet, dear. What else did we come here for?" With a
slightly injured expression, Mrs. Hornby opened the little bag and
commenced, with the utmost deliberation, to turn out its contents on to
the table. These included a laced handkerchief, a purse, a card-case, a
visiting list, a packet of _papier poudre_, and when she had laid the
last-mentioned article on the table, she paused abruptly and gazed into
Miss Gibson's face with the air of one who has made a startling
discovery.

"I remember the woman's name," she said in an impressive voice. "It was
Gudge--Mrs. Gudge, the sister-in-law of--"

Here Miss Gibson made an unceremonious dive into the open bag and fished
out a tiny parcel wrapped in notepaper and secured with a silk thread.

"Thank you," said Thorndyke, taking it from her hand just as Mrs. Hornby
was reaching out to intercept it. He cut the thread and drew from its
wrappings a little book bound in red cloth, with the word "Thumbograph"
stamped upon the cover, and was beginning to inspect it when Mrs. Hornby
rose and stood beside him.

"That," said she, as she opened the book at the first page, "is the
thumb-mark of a Miss Colley. She is no connection of ours. You see it is
a little smeared--she said Reuben jogged her elbow, but I don't think he
did; at any rate he assured me he did not, and, you know--"

"Ah! Here is one we are looking for," interrupted Thorndyke, who had
been turning the leaves of the book regardless of Mrs. Hornby's rambling
comments; "a very good impression, too, considering the rather rough
method of producing it."

He reached out for the reading lens that hung from its nail above the
mantelp