“My God!” exclaimed the detective, picking up the card and viewing it with a stare of dismay, “this is the very devil, sir. This fairly knocks the bottom out of finger-print identification. May I ask, sir, how you made that stamp—for I suppose you did make it?”
“Yes, we made it here, and the process we used was practically that used by photo-engravers in making line blocks; that is to say, we photographed one of Mr. Hornby’s thumb-prints, printed it on a plate of chrome-gelatine, developed the plate with hot water and this”—here he touched the embossed surface of the stamp—“is what remained. But we could have done it in various other ways; for instance, with common transfer paper and lithographic stone; indeed, I assure you, Miller, that there is nothing easier to forge than a finger-print, and it can be done with such perfection that the forger himself cannot tell his own forgery from a genuine original, even when they are placed side by side.”
“Well, I’m hanged,” grunted the superintendent, “you’ve fairly knocked me, this time, doctor.” He rose gloomily and prepared to depart. “I suppose,” he added, “your interest in this case has lapsed, now Belfield’s out of it?”
“Professionally, yes; but I am disposed to finish the case for my own satisfaction. I am quite curious as to who our too-ingenious friend may be.”
Miller’s face brightened. “We shall give you every facility, you know—and that reminds me that Singleton gave me these two photographs for you, one of the official paper and one of the prints on the glass. Is there anything more that we can do for you?”
“I should like to have a look at the room in which the murder took place.”
“You shall, doctor; tomorrow, if you like; I’ll meet you there in the morning at ten, if that will do.”
It would do excellently, Thorndyke assured him, and with this the superintendent took his departure in renewed spirits.
We had only just closed the door when there came a hurried and urgent tapping upon it, whereupon I once more threw it open, and a quietly-dressed woman in a thick veil, who was standing on the threshold, stepped quickly past me into the room.
“Where is my husband?” she demanded, as I closed the door; and then, catching sight of Thorndyke, she strode up to him with a threatening air and a terrified but angry face.