A smile flitted across Fletcher's features."I thought of that, Kennedy," he said."I remembered what you once told me about finger-prints.Only myself has touched it, and I was careful to take hold of it only on the sides.The will was placed in this box, and the key to the box was usually in the lock.Well, the will is gone.That's all; nothing else was touched.But for the life of me I can't find a mark on the box, not a finger-mark.Now on a hot and humid summer night like last night I should say it was pretty likely that anyone touching this metal box would have left finger-marks.Shouldn't you think so, Kennedy?"Kennedy nodded and continued to examine the place where the compartment had been jimmied.A low whistle aroused us: coming over to the table, Craig tore a white sheet of paper off a pad lying there and deposited a couple of small particles on it.
"I found them sticking on the jagged edges of the steel where it had been forced," he said.Then he whipped out a pocket magnifying-glass."Not from a rubber glove," he commented half to himself."By Jove, one side of them shows lines that look as if they were the lines on a person's fingers, and the other side is perfectly smooth.There's not a chance of using them as a clue, except--well, I didn't know criminals in America knew that stunt.""What stunt?"
"Why, you know how keen the new detectives are on the finger-print system? Well, the first thing some of the up-to-date criminals in Europe did was to wear rubber gloves so that they would leave no prints.But you can't work very well with rubber gloves.Last fall in Paris I heard of a fellow who had given the police a lot of trouble.He never left a mark, or at least it was no good if he did.He painted his hands lightly with a liquid rubber which he had invented himself.It did all that rubber gloves would do and yet left him the free use of his fingers with practically the same keenness of touch.Fletcher, whatever is at the bottom of this affair, I feel sure right now that you have to deal with no ordinary criminal.""Do you suppose there are any relatives besides those we know of?" I asked Kennedy when Fletcher had left to summon the servants.
"No," he replied, "I think not.Fletcher and Helen Bond, his second cousin, to whom he is engaged, are the only two."Kennedy continued to study the library.He walked in and out of the doors and examined the windows and viewed the safe from all angles.
The old gentleman's bedroom is here," he said, indicating a door.
"Now a good smart noise or perhaps even a light shining through the transom from the library might arouse him.Suppose he woke up suddenly and entered by this door.He would see the thief at work on the safe.Yes, that part of reconstructing the story is simple.But who was the intruder?"Just then Fletcher returned with the servants.The questioning was long and tedious, and developed nothing except that the butler admitted that he was uncertain whether the windows in the library were locked.The gardener was very obtuse, but finally contributed one possibly important fact.He had noted in the morning that the back gate, leading into a disused road closer to the bay than the main highway in front of the house, was open.It was rarely used, and was kept closed only by an ordinary hook.
Whoever had opened it had evidently forgotten to hook it.He had thought it strange that it was unhooked, and in closing it he had noticed in the mud of the roadway marks that seemed to indicate that an automobile had stood there.
After the servants had gone, Fletcher asked us to excuse him for a while, as he wished to run over to the Greenes', who lived across the bay.Miss Bond was completely prostrated by the death of her uncle, he said, and was in an extremely nervous condition.
Meanwhile if we found any need of a machine we might use his uncle's, or in fact anything around the place.
"Walter," said Craig, when Fletcher had gone, "I want to run back to town to-night, and I have something I'd like to have you do, too."We were soon speeding back along the splendid road to Long Island City, while he laid out our programme.
"You go down to the Star office," he said, "and look through all the clippings on the whole Fletcher family.Get a complete story of the life of Helen Bond, too--what she has done in society, with whom she has been seen mostly, whether she has made any trips abroad, and whether she has ever been engaged--you know, anything likely to be significant.I'm going up to the apartment to get my camera and then to the laboratory to get some rather bulky paraphernalia I want to take out to Fletcherwood.Meet me at the Columbus Circle station at, say half-past-ten."So we separated.My search revealed the fact that Miss Bond had always been intimate with the ultra-fashionable set, had spent last summer in Europe, a good part of the time in Switzerland and Paris with the Greenes.As far as I could find out she had never been reported engaged, but plenty of fortunes as well as foreign titles had been flitting about the ward of the steel-magnate.
Craig and I met at the appointed time.He had a lot of paraphernalia with him, and it did not add to our comfort as we sped back, but it wasn't much over half an hour before we again found ourselves nearing Great Neck.
Instead of going directly back to Fletcherwood, however, Craig had told the chauffeur to stop at the plant of the local electric light and power company, where he asked if he might see the record of the amount of current used the night before.
The curve sprawled across the ruled surface of the sheet by the automatic registering-needle was irregular, showing the ups and downs of the current, rising sharply from sundown and gradually declining after nine o'clock, as the lights went out.Somewhere between eleven and twelve o'clock, however, the irregular fall of the curve was broken by a quite noticeable upward twist.
