“People nearly always leave clues,” said John, flashing his light about.
“Matches,” said Jimmie. “They must have lit that candle. “Let’s have a little light on the floor.
“Yes!” He bent over. “Here’s the stub. Looks—why! Say, it looks for all the world like the matches we found on Tom Howe’s last case. It would be funny——”
He did not finish, for his eyes had caught a gleam from the table. John had seen it too. He pounced upon the thing.
“A gold nugget!” Jimmie exclaimed.
“Must have rolled off that sack when it was flat. See! It’s almost round.” He held it to the light.
“That gold may have been stolen,” John went on as he stowed the bit of gold in his purse. “If it was you could tell what mine it came from by examining this nugget.”
“How?” Jimmie asked in surprise.
“By its color.” John began flashing his light about. “The gold from each mine is a different shade of yellow. Some is almost red. It’s the other metal mixed with it, copper, silver, and the like.
“Well,” he sighed, “guess that’s about all.”