CHAPTER XVI
A LACE HANDKERCHIEF
Landis and Bernard were rather worse than disgusted. To date it was a case almost without a clue, except the small, blurred finger-prints on the door. Now those were gone. It was humanly natural for both of them to glare at Thorpe as though the fault were his. The ill humor of Landis broke in laughter. A certain perfumed lace handkerchief remained to them and might easily prove of greater use than blurred finger-prints.
“It’s bad luck and my mistake, Thorpe,” he admitted. “There’s nothing else you can do just now. If anything further turns up I’ll send for you. In the meantime, print two positives of each of those pictures.”
They helped him collect his paraphernalia and Landis escorted him to the front door and let him out. Returning, he stuck his head into the drawing-room, where Russell, Allen and Isabelle were bidding their heads off at cut-throat bridge.
“We’ve finished at the end of the library,” he observed, “so don’t let us keep you up. Only the library and the reception-room are out of bounds now.”
The two men nodded shortly. Isabelle presented him with an expansive smile that seemed peculiarly meaningless.
Bernard was waiting by the library fire.
“I think,” said he, “that you might send for three local men to relieve Forbes and his man. I’d station one to watch the body and two to patrol the grounds.”