It held a thin tress of long, red hair.
Thorndyke hastily pocketed his specimen, and, stepping round the little
bedside table, bent over the hand with knitted brows. It was closed,
though not tightly clenched, and when an attempt was made gently to
separate the fingers, they were found to be as rigid as the fingers of a
wooden hand. Thorndyke stooped yet more closely, and, taking out his
lens, scrutinized the wisp of hair throughout its entire length.
"There is more here than meets the eye at the first glance," he
remarked. "What say you, Hart?" He held out his lens to his quondam
pupil, who was about to take it from him when the door opened, and three
men entered. One was a police-inspector, the second appeared to be a
plain-clothes officer, while the third was evidently the divisional
surgeon.
"Friends of yours, Hart?" inquired the latter, regarding us with some
disfavour.
Thorndyke gave a brief explanation of our presence to which the newcomer
rejoined:
"Well, sir, your _locus standi_ here is a matter for the inspector. My
assistant was not authorized to call in outsiders. You needn't wait,
Hart.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350