The pleasant look
vanished from his face, and he relapsed into silence.
Holding up the handkerchief, Dyke Darrel said:
"This was used by the assassin to wipe his bloody hands after the
murder. He was a fool to keep the tell-tale linen by him; but these
fellows are always leaving some loophole open. I have made one
discovery that may have escaped your notice, Harry."
"What is that?"
"Look." Laying the bloody handkerchief over the young man's knee, Dyke
Darrel pointed to a spot near the center, where the imprint of fingers
was plainly visible.
"You see that?"
"Certainly; the marks of human fingers, but I can't see that you will
be able to make anything out of that, so many hands are alike, you
know."
Then Harry laid his own hand against the spot stained with blood. "My
hand fits exactly."
The eyes of Dyke Darrel began to dilate. His usually immobile features
began to twitch, and a deadly pallor overspread all.
What was it that had caught the eye of Dyke Darrel, to cause such
terrible emotion? He had indeed made a discovery.
A close examination of the finger-marks showed a white circle,
centered with a ragged dot of blood near the knuckle; this had
undoubtedly been caused by a wart on the hand of the assassin.
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