Part 23 (2/2)

Drew rushed for the subway. He realized that he had wasted valuable time by not taking the complete set of fingerprint photos on his first inspection of the booths. It was a detail he had overlooked. But then, he could afford to make mistakes. The men or man he was after, dared not make any. This was a thing he had often recalled in dealing with super-criminals.

Fosd.i.c.k's rooms at Detective Headquarters, on Center Street, were luckily deserted as he rushed down through the hallway. The Commissioner widened his eyes as Drew handed over the camera, with a request that the films be developed and prints made within twenty minutes.

”Can't be done that soon,” said the detective. ”Give us fifty minutes.”

”I'll make it twenty-five!” shot Drew. ”I got lots to tell you, but it'll keep. Get those prints and we'll land our man. The last two films have perfect samples of finger-work. Our man slipped there! He signed his own death warrant!”

The Commissioner pressed a b.u.t.ton. To the young man who came, he explained the necessity of rus.h.i.+ng the developing and printing of the films. He turned as the messenger hurried out with the camera.

”What about that bullet?” he asked.

”Just as I said, Commissioner. It was fired from a smooth-bore pistol or gun. What do you think?”

”Oh, maybe not! Sometimes there isn't much rifling on an old revolver.

Those little twenty-two affairs are made out of cast-iron.”

”But the cup.r.o.nickel bullet shows smokeless powder and high-cla.s.s criminal activity. I doubt if one of those little rods would take a modern steel-jacketed bullet. They're used in automatics.”

”But automatics have good rifling. That bullet was as smooth as before it was shot. Here it is!”

Fosd.i.c.k opened a drawer and pulled out a later-day projectile of the lesser-caliber.

”This is smooth!” he repeated with heat. ”It was cut from the old millionaire's brain. It ain't scratched. It never took the rifling it was intended for. My theory is, that it was fired from a gun of larger caliber. That is to say, it didn't fit the bore. A thirty-thirty rifle might be used to hold a twenty-two caliber bullet. It would not take the rifling of this.”

Drew shook his head. ”That's hardly possible,” he declared. ”It's too vague and doesn't suit me. We're going to find that the deeper we get in this thing, the simpler will be the explanation. I remember any number of cases which have been solved in this city where the mystery was so wrapped up in speculation and the improbable that our minds failed to grasp the simple thing which was the solution.”

”Then you think the lack of rifling on the bullet might be the opening wedge to catching the man who shot Stockbridge?”

”It could well be, Fosd.i.c.k. The lack of a thing sometimes is just as important as the visible clue. Do you remember the Rajah case at Gramercy Park?”

Fosd.i.c.k leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. ”Seems to me that I do,” he said, thrusting out his lower lip. ”There was a big jewel missing. Sort of an Idol's Eye case--wasn't it?”

”Exactly! A white diamond was missing at a dinner. Lights went out as they were pa.s.sing the stone around the table. Lights came on again and the diamond was gone. Everybody accused. A strange print was found on the sideboard. Servants knew nothing about it. The print didn't correspond to any which we took there. Seemed impossible and all that.

Well, the very fact that the print didn't correspond was the means of finding the stone and the culprit. You remember it?”

”Vaguely.”

”Simple! A Lascar who waited on the table slipped off his shoes, crept into the room, secured the diamond and climbed to the sideboard where he hid it on top of a picture. The thumbprint which we puzzled our heads over was a toe-print! We got the fellow!”

”I recall it now,” said Fosd.i.c.k. ”I think one of our men thought out the matter.”

”He didn't!” declared the detective. ”We worked it out! The city department had given up the case. This may be the same. I'll venture to say that as soon as you get a good operative some private agency secures his services. Now, Commissioner, confess up. What manner of gun could fire a bullet, such as a cup.r.o.nickel one, without leaving markings?”

”Smooth bore. An old flint-lock--for instance.”

”We'll grant that! They're clumsy, however. The shot which killed the millionaire was fired at very close range through a smooth tube of a greater caliber than the diameter of the bullet found in his head. If it were fired through a gun which was rifled, then there was a collar or collars on the bullet, which we didn't find. The same thing was discovered by examination of the sh.e.l.ls which the Germans fired at Paris. There was no rifling on those long-range projectiles. The bands dropped off after the sh.e.l.l left the gun.”

”Then this bullet was fired at long range?” Fosd.i.c.k was openly incredulous.

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