Tony Walker

The girl had left her glass on the mantelpiece and it showed several very clearly defined finger marks.

Some were mine, naturally, because I'd fetched the glass from the kitchen and poured out the drink for her.

But hers, her finger marks, were clean and mine were oily, so it was quite easy to tell them apart.

It isn't necessary to point out that this glass was very important.

There had evidently been a murder or something of the kind, and the girl must have known all about it, even if she hadn't actually done it herself.

So anything she had left in the way of evidence ought to be handed over to the police, and this was all she had left.

So I packed it up with meticulous care in an old biscuit box out of the larder.

When Mrs. Selston came, I settled up with her and came back to town.

Oh, I called on the landlord on the way and told him I'd let him know about the bungalow.

Then I caught my train and in due course drove straight to Scotland Yard.

I went up and saw my friend there.

I produced the glass and asked him if his people could identify the marks.

He said, ''Probably not.''

But he sent it down to the fingerprint department and asked me where it had come from.

I said, never mind, let's have the identification first.

He said, all right.

They're awfully quick, these people.

The clerk was back in three minutes with a file of papers.

They knew the girl all right.

They told me her name and showed me her photograph.