Allan took a match from the little tin safe he had tacked up beside the sink, and handed it to Dobbs. As he did so he noticed for the first time that Dobbs had a burnt match in his other hand.
“Then you don’t throw your burnt matches on the floor,” said Dobbs.
“No,” said Allan, perplexed at the statement, “I always put my burnt matches in here;” and the Doctor smiled as Allan indicated another tin box on the corner of the shelf. It was this sort of care of which he had sought to teach Allan the importance.
“I believe you,” said Dobbs, “for this isn’t your match.” Dobbs was holding up the burnt fragment he had picked from the floor.
The Doctor and Allan, coming closer, saw that the two matches certainly did not have the same sort of stem.
“Then that,” said the Doctor, pointing to the partly burnt match, “belonged to the thief, whoever he was.”
“Looks so,” said the detective, briefly, studying the matches, or seeming to. Then “Wait a moment,” he said, stepping across the room, and he picked up another fragment of a match. It was almost completely burnt, but the fragment showed that it had been of the same form as the first piece. “He lighted two matches, you see; this one burnt out on him before he found the plates. Then he struck this other one.”
Allan’s eyes stared. He never should have thought of these things.
“Oh, I wish you had been around to get a picture of those cats with the handcuffs on,” said Dobbs, as if that subject was much more interesting. Then he slipped the two fragments of matches into his vest pocket, and when he was going he said: “I don’t suppose we’ll get down to the fine points on this thing—what you want is to get the plates back if they haven’t been broken or thrown into the river. I’ll be around again in the morning.”
And Dobbs did come around in the morning. “You haven’t forgotten about Sporty, have you?” was the first thing he said to Allan. He seemed to have forgotten about the plates, but when he saw Dr. Hartel he remarked that he had been looking into the business.