"Yes, so did I," agreed Hemingway. "And I don't mind admitting that it's very disappointing for me to have to give it up. But there it is! A detective's life is one long disappointment."
Stephen smiled, in spite of himself. "Would you like to explain a little? Why do I get my case back? I thought you had me booked for the County gaol."
"I don't deny that's about what I thought too," Hemingway admitted. "And if only you'd left a fingerprint or two on that case of yours, I daresay I'd have had the handcuffs on you by now."
"Didn't I?" said Stephen, frowning in a little perplexity.
"Not one!" said Hemingway cheerfully.
Stephen glanced down at the case, turning it over in his hand. "I don't seem to be very bright this morning. Am I to infer that my finger-prints had been wiped off?"
"That's about the size of it, sir."
He encountered a very hard, direct look. "Mind telling me if there were any finger-prints on it at all?"
"No," said Hemingway; "I'm not one to make a lot of mystery. There weren't any."
"Oh!" said Stephen. Again he looked at the case, his frown deepening. "A plant, in fact!"