"That Mr. Bathurst's a smart young fellow, sir. He'd have done well in our line, don't you think so?"
"Perhaps! You can't always tell. What about those prints?"
Roper took them out. "They're all numbered, sir. And I've got the corresponding numbers in my note-book. And I fancy we've got pretty well everybody here. Everybody that's likely, that is!" He paused. Then continued: "We haven't got the 'Spider's,' sir. You haven't forgotten that, have you?... And I'm thinking his are the most likely."
"No, I know, Roper. Easily get those from 'the Yard' if necessary."
Roper arranged the photographs. "I'll put them in numerical order, sir, that will simplify matters a bit."
Baddeley picked up his magnifying glass and proceeded on his course of comparison. But one by one he laid the photos down again. Then suddenly he shot up from his seat.
"You've clicked, Roper!" he shouted. He looked at the back. "Number 9," he exclaimed, "number nine for a certainty, look--the identical loops and whorls--who in the name of thunder is Nine--where's your note-book--quick, man, quick!" The prints had come out clearly and distinctly. And when compared with the photograph of those on the Venetian dagger, there didn't remain the shadow of a doubt that the same fingers had made them. Roper flicked the leaves of his note-book. "Number Nine, sir?" he queried. He ran his eye down the page. "Major Hornby!"
Baddeley gasped. "This beats the band, Roper, but all the same, mark my words, one of the three with a motive that's known. Well, I'm blessed."
Baddeley's mind went back. "He practically refused all information when I questioned him, and told me to mind my own business. If he's the murderer of Prescott he reckons we've got no proof at all ... he'll try to put up a big bluff. Now where do I stand? All I can put against him so far is a motive, finger-prints on a dagger that has played some part in the crime ... anything else? I can't put a truculent manner and attitude in as compromising evidence." He paced the room--backwards and forwards. "Gets a darned sight more complicated every step," he grumbled.
"This dagger was kept in the drawing-room, wasn't it, sir?" said Roper.
"So I'm told. On what they called the curio table. What are you driving at?"