“No record could be more different,” Pope said. “Finklestein has a big hand and very broad fingers. The fellow who made these prints has a little hand with thin fingers. The whorls and loops are entirely dissimilar. He comes under classification 2-4-X. Finklestein is in cabinet 2-9-0. They couldn’t be further away.”
Drew started out through the doorway with Fosdick following him. They stood on the landing leading to the downstairs steps, where the detective was about to leave the commissioner with a curt good-by. His hand was out when he drew it back, dropped it to his side and wheeled with sudden intuition.
“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Are you and I detectives or children? Come back to the fingerprint room. Hurry now. I want to see Pope. I forgot something!”
The expert rose as they entered. “Well?” he asked with arching brows and a slight frown on his face. “Well, what is it?”
Drew pointed a finger as steady as a rifle. He bared his eyes into Pope’s own. “Were you up to Stockbridge’s house?” he asked swiftly.
“Yes! Why?”
“Did you take prints and photos of everything in the library? I understand that this was done after I turned the case over to Commissioner Fosdick.”
“It was done!” rasped Fosdick. “Of course it was done. It’s always done when a case looks like a homicide!”
“This case looked worse than that!” said Drew. “It was slaughter!”
The commissioner turned to the fingerprint man. “Where are the prints and photos you took up at the house?” he asked.