“Why, yes. Let me see. There was one. A fellow shot a former partner of his. Trapper he was, I think. He built a blind of green willow branches. Cut the branches with his pocket knife. Shot the fellow behind this blind. The sheriff found the blind. Then he found the knife in the fellow’s cabin. He sent the knife and willow stubs to the Crime Laboratory. They studied the knife blade and the cuttings. That was the knife all right; irregularities in the cuttings were the same as on the knife blade. The trouble was, they couldn’t prove that the knife had not been planted in the fellow’s cabin, so the thing fell through.”
“Sounds interesting.” Drew drained his cup. “Wish you’d take a look at these through your microscope.” He pushed a handful of shavings toward his partner. “The Galloping Ghost left them, you remember.
“And here is the collection of pocket knives. You’ll be able to tell whether one of these did the whittling.
“You see,” he explained, “some fellow connected with the kidnaping sat and whittled while he waited for the Red Rover to fall asleep.
“Strange how often men’s habits convict them,” he philosophized. “If you’re a whittler you’ll have your knife out on every occasion, whittling, just whittling.
“This man,” he took up a shaving, “must be a nervous sort. See how short these are. If he were a meditative person, quite at ease, he would take long, smooth strokes.”
“I’ll look these over.” Tom swept the shavings into an envelope. “There might be something in it. Can’t afford to neglect the least clue. If it interests the old G.G. it should have our attention. By the way, what’s your idea about this Galloping Ghost? Who is he? And what’s he after?”
“You answer.” Drew grinned. “All I know is that he seems to be on our side. That’s enough for the present. I—
“Be careful!” He turned suddenly to Johnny. “Don’t bend that. It might be important.”
“What is it?” The boy held up a thin bit of sheet aluminum that had been pressed into a curious form.