"Yes."
"Have you the handkerchief?"
"I suppose I might get it," was the doubtful reply. "It might have gone into the wash."
"Astute person," remarked The Thinking Machine. "There might have been a crime and you throw away the one thing which would indicate it--the blood stains."
The constable suddenly took notice.
"By ginger!" he said. "Wait here and I'll go see if I can find it."
He disappeared and returned shortly with the handkerchief. There were half a dozen blood stains on it, now dark brown.
The Thinking Machine dropped into the village drug store and had a short conversation with the owner, after which he disappeared into the compounding room at the back and remained for an hour or more--until darkness set in. Then he came out and joined Hatch, who, with the constable, had been waiting.
The reporter did not ask any questions, and The 'Thinking Machine volunteered no information.
"Is it too late for anyone to get down from Boston to-night?" he asked the constable.