“Oh, nearly a year ago, sir.”
Thorndyke wrote the date of the injury by the side of the finger-print and then, having rolled up the inking plate afresh, laid on the table several larger cards.
“I am now going to take the prints of the four fingers and the thumb all at once,” he said.
“They only took the four fingers at once at the prison,” said Belfield. “They took the thumb separately.”
“I know,” replied Thorndyke; “but I am going to take the impression just as it would appear on the window glass.”
He took several impressions thus, and then, having looked at his watch, he began to repack the apparatus in its box. While doing this, he glanced, from time to time, in meditative fashion, at the suspected man who sat, the living picture of misery and terror, wiping the greasy ink from his trembling fingers with his handkerchief.
“Belfield,” he said at length, “you have sworn to me that you are an innocent man and are trying to live an honest life. I believe you; but in a few minutes I shall know for certain.”
“Thank God for that, sir,” exclaimed Belfield, brightening up wonderfully.
“And now,” said Thorndyke, “you had better go back into the office, for I am expecting Superintendent Miller, and he may be here at any moment.”
Belfield hastily slunk back into the office, locking the door after him, and Thorndyke, having returned the box to the laboratory and deposited the cards bearing the finger-prints in a drawer, came round to inspect my work. I had managed to detach a tiny fragment of dried clot from the bloodstained garment, and this, in a drop of normal saline solution, I now had under the microscope.