“How did you manage the finger-print?”
“Oh, that was simple enough. He was reading a newspaper when I was shown in. I professed to find something extremely interesting on the page he had been perusing, and he readily gave me permission to tear it off and take it away. To hold a newspaper it is of course necessary to grip the edge quite firmly. For a clergyman, Mr. Meadows evidently doesn’t wash his hands as often as he might. It has also been a hot day. Nicely planted in the margin was the perfect impression of a somewhat greasy thumb. Thank you, Mr. Meadows.”
“Very cunning,” Anthony approved.
“I rather thought that, too,” Roger admitted.
“And you’re not going to say anything about it to the inspector?”
“For the time being, no. I like having Moresby on toast for a change, I must say, but also I don’t want to commit myself. If anybody’s going to solve this pretty little mystery, I want it to be Roger Sheringham; so I’m not giving any information away unnecessarily. Of course it may turn out that this chap had nothing to do with it, but candidly, I don’t see how that can possibly be the case.”
“And you think they’ll know about him at Scotland Yard?”
“It seems a reasonable inference. People don’t go about masquerading as clergymen just as an interesting concomitant of their summer holiday. He may never have been in the hands of the police at all, but there’s always the hope.”
“It’ll make a better case against him if he has.”
“Yes, and help us in other ways too. You see, what I’m really hoping is that he’s a slice out of Mrs. Vane’s past. If so, we ought to be able to clear up quite a lot of things that are obscure at present. He might even—” Roger paused. “Oh, there are all sorts of possibilities,” he corrected himself.