Joe shrank away from the prisoner’s violent struggle to free himself of the handcuffs. Captain Tucker, holding Freeman in the chair, turned a startled face toward the blind man.
“Why, Doctor?——”
“Exactly, Tucker. I had the testimony of Lady, but I needed greater proof. Freeman gave it to me when he played the piano. All through the music something kept recurring. Perhaps, were I not blind, did I not have to depend so much on hearing, I would not have noticed it. A hesitation on certain notes, an almost imperceptible break in the rhythm, a faint click upon the ivory of the keys that could only be made by something foreign, something that was not living flesh. Freeman has an artificial finger.”
Freeman had slumped in the chair. Captain Tucker straightened up.
“Doctor,” he said curiously, “your brain travels too fast for me.... Much too fast. Just what does that prove?”
“Everything,” Dr. Stone said quietly. “Modern surgery does miracles these days. Freeman has an artificial finger that can be taken off. Do you remember Cagge’s story? Old Anthony kept muttering ‘Four, four.’ That’s what he had seen. Four! Four fingers on the hand of his murderer.”
BLIND MAN’S TOUCH
Dr. Stone, reaching into the closet, found the gray suit that needed pressing. He knew it was gray because his fingers felt the three sharply-ridged lines of thread sewed on the inside of the collar. So, to the blind man, was every suit, shirt, tie and sock in his wardrobe marked for exact identification. One raised ridge of thread for blue, two for brown, and three for gray.
He came down the stairs with the suit. Joe Morrow had put a leash on Lady, and she whined eagerly.
“Ready to go, old girl?” The blind man patted the dog’s head and took the leash. “All set, Joe? Got your money?”