He led the way up to the wing, Landis trudging doggedly at his heels. At sight of them Graham’s anxious face lightened with a smile.
“Anything new?” he asked.
“Quite a bit, I think,” rumbled Bernard as he sat down. “For one thing, there are at least two distinct finger-prints in those gloves and we’ve got the prints of the rest of the household. I’m not going to risk doing anything to compare them until the expert gets here. He hasn’t shown up yet and I don’t expect him now until after lunch. For another thing, I’ve worked out a brand new theory!”
Landis groaned.
“Another theory!”
“Hold your tongue,” retorted Bernard good-naturedly, unconsciously quoting a favorite affectionate command of his wife’s. “This theory is a dandy!”
“What is it?” inquired Graham.
“It’s just this. Maybe the finger-prints will help us, maybe not. But the gloves are torn and torn recently. If they were used to prevent finger-prints when Harrison was killed and you were shot, they were torn at the wrists because the wearer’s hands were too big for them! That may help us eliminate, at least!”
“Joel—Miss Mount—Russell,” murmured Landis thoughtfully.
“And Brent!” said Bernard. “His hands are surprisingly large!”