“Don’t they, though!” Tom’s face beamed. “Done in wax. The exact reproduction of two hundred famous ears, many of them of crooks, living and dead. A clever little hunch-back lady, a marvelous sculptress, does them for me.
“What I want you to do,” he said, “is to pick one out that exactly matches this ear of the Silent Terror.”
“That should be easy,” said Jimmie. “There are so many.”
“Take your time.” Smiling in a strange way the young detective sat down behind his telescope.
For a full five minutes Jimmie studied those ears. From time to time Tom heard him murmur, “Nope, not quite. Not at all, in fact. Nor this. Nor that.”
“Say—ee!” he exclaimed at last. “They’re all different. But then,” his voice changed, “I suppose you picked them because they’re odd.”
“Not at all,” replied Tom. “If I had ten thousand ears, you’d not find two that matched.”
“By the way!” he said, changing the subject, “did you ever happen to notice that your nose is crooked?”
“No. And it’s not,” said Jimmie.
“Take a look,” Tom handed him a glass.