His last question was addressed to the neighbor.
“Not often. She remained at home, and seemed to attend to her own business.”
“You’re sure about that scar, are you?”
“Bless you, yes. I saw it more than once, when we happened to meet in the little grocery on the corner yonder. It was a real, red scar.”
Carter handed the woman a piece of money, which she did not refuse, and went away. He went direct to police headquarters and to the famous rogues’ gallery.
There he began to look through the large albums containing the faces of criminals and suspects, and for nearly an hour he turned the thick leaves industriously.
At last he stopped and leaned over the page.
His eyes seemed to become fastened upon a certain face, that of a woman, angular and dark.
Turning to the proper entry he read a description of the woman whose photographed face was before him, and he seemed to smile when he noted that she had a brilliant red scar over the left eye.
“This must be our old friend,” said the detective. “This is Mag Maginnis, the shoplifter, whom I sent up the river five years ago. I didn’t see the scar then. She got it since, and the photograph is the second one she’s had the honor of having in this collection. So Mag started at mention of my name by Margie. No wonder. I filled her with terror when I caught her in the dry-goods district in the very act of plundering a counter. We’ll see.”