"
"I thought so. It was the imprint of a large wart, such as this on the
handkerchief, that made you look with suspicion upon me. Is it not
so?"
Harry held up his hand, so that a wart on the little finger was
plainly revealed, and which, when he placed his hand against the tell-
tale handkerchief, fitted the marks perfectly.
"Forgive me, Harry," cried the detective, quickly. "I know now that it
was only a remarkable duplicate; the wart belonged to another hand
than yours. The print of the wart was also on the bosom of Arnold
Nicholson's white shirt bosom, where a bloody hand had fallen. I made
this discovery when I examined the body of my dead friend.
Circumstantial evidence pointed to you, and yet I doubted--"
"I understand," interrupted Harry. "My hand is indeed a duplicate of
the assassin's. It is a wonder that I have not been arrested ere this
by some of the detectives who are engaged in working up this case."
"Why so?"
"Because you are not the only one who made the discovery of the wart
that adorned the hand of the assassin. A reporter got hold of the
story and published it. Don't you remember?"
"I haven't read the papers closely since the murder."
"But I have, and so has the man who killed Nicholson.
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