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.
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