“No go?” he asked as the expert shot back the last cross-index cabinet and turned with shaking head. “No go? Try again.”
“Absolutely no record of the maker of these prints,” said Pope, holding out the photos. “He hasn’t registered with us yet. Whoever made these prints has never been arrested in the United States for a felony.”
“How about a misdemeanor?” asked Drew.
“No! They’re all in this cabinet. Even if he was picked up on suspicion or for auto speeding or beating his wife,—if he has one,—he would be here. I’m sorry, inspector.”
Drew pulled down the lapels of his black coat and turned toward Fosdick.
“Have you got a print of Finklestein?” he asked. “You remember the fellow who was arrested in the Morphy case. He was afterwards released for lack of evidence or else he claimed exemption. I’ve forgotten how he got off. He’s supposed to be in Florida or somewhere in the South. I had a man out to Morristown who reports along those lines. I wish you’d compare these prints with Finklestein’s.”
“Go ahead,” said the commissioner. “Go as far as you like. I don’t think that there is anything in these prints. You got the wrong ones—that’s all.”
“What’s Finkle—Finklestein’s initials?” asked the expert.
“J. B.,” said Drew quickly. “Julius B.!”
A quick search through an alphabet-index, a consultation of two drawers, out of which the expert pulled some tiny squares of cardboard, and then a slow shaking of his head, brought Drew back to where he had started from before taking the prints in the booth.