“Ever hear of an ostrich farm hereabouts?”
“No. Couldn’t keep ostriches here. Freeze the tail-faithers off’em before Thanksgiving.”
“Professor Ravenden, would it be possible for a wandering ostrich or other huge bird, escaped from some zoo, to have its home on Montauk?”
“Scientifically quite possible in the summer months. In winter, as Mr. Johnston suggests, the climate would be too rigorous, though I doubt whether it would have the precise effect specified by him. May I inquire the purpose of this? Can it be that the tracks referred to by the patrol were the cloven hoof-prints of-”
“Cloven hoofs?” Haynes cried in sharp disappointment. “Is there no member of the ostrich family that has claws?”
“None now extant. In the processes of evolution the claws of the ostrich, like its wings, have gradually——”
“Is there any huge-clawed bird large enough and powerful enough to kill a man with a blow of its beak?”
“No, sir,” said the professor. “I know of no bird which would venture to attack man except the ostrich, emu or cassowary, and the fighting weapon of this family is the hoof, not the beak.”
“Professor,” interrupted Haynes, “the only thing that approached Serdholm within striking distance walked on a foot armed with five great claws. You can see the trail on this map.” He produced a large sheet of paper on which was a crude but careful drawing. “And there is its sign-manual, life-size,” he added, pushing a second sheet across the table to the scientist.
Imagination could hardly picture a more precise, unemotional and conventially scientific man than Professor Ravenden. Yet, at sight of the paper his eyes sparkled, he half started from his chair, a flush rose in his cheeks, he looked keenly from the sketch to the artist, and spoke in a voice that rang with a deep under-thrill of excitement: