“The side of the curtain which is stained, also the same section of the door, would have been to his left, there[{10}]fore, and naturally would have been grasped with his left hand.”
“Certainly.”
“That gives rise to a very pertinent question,” said Nick. “Why was his left hand stained with blood?”
“You mean?”
“Most men wield a knife with the right hand,” Nick went on. “That is the hand that should have been covered with blood from the knife used, not the left, which naturally would have been raised to seize his victim by the throat or shoulder to prevent resistance.”
“By Jove, there’s no getting around that, Nick, as far as it goes,” Fallon thoughtfully admitted, more deeply impressed and now more mystified. “But these prints on the door show plainly enough that it was the right hand that was soiled.”
“They also show that he must have been facing the room,” said Nick. “In other words, Fallon, that he was backing out of it, which you admit is improbable—or that he was entering it with blood on his hand, which you also think is untenable.”
Fallon shook his head and frowned.
“Hang it, Nick, you’re mixing me all up,” he declared. “I won’t know in another minute whether I’m afoot or horseback. You tell me what you think. Never mind what I think. Your head is worth two of mine—yes, half a dozen.”
“No, I think not,” said Nick, smiling faintly. “Plainly, nevertheless, these bloodstains present inconsistencies not easily explained at this moment.”