"Thank God for those words, Mr. Pinkerton," exclaimed the messenger in broken tones, the tears welling to his eyes. "That's the first bit of comfort I've had since the dastardly villain first knocked me down."
"Can you not give me some peculiarity which you noticed about this
Cummings? How did he talk?"
"Slowly, with a very pleasant voice."
"Did he have any marks about him—any scars?"
Fotheringham sat in deep thought for a while.
"He had a triangular gold filling on one of his front teeth, and he had a way of hanging his head a little to one side, as if he were deaf, but I did not see any scars, excepting a bit of court-plaster on one of the fingers of his right hand."
"Was he disguised at all?"
"Not a bit, at least I could see no disguise on him."
"How did he walk?"
"Very erect, and, yes, I noticed he limped a little, as if he had a sore foot."