T Inspector Druet's suggestion Oliver Jarvis accompanied him and the maid back to his own house. Terhune, murmuring something about the interests of his client, prepared to follow and Norwood turned to McCarty.
"Don't you want to come, also? I am going whether the Inspector desires my presence or not. I am Oliver's closest friend and I do not propose to be barred from this investigation by any jealousy on the part of the police. I'll show them yet that my life-long study of crime is of more value than their haphazard, bull-dozing methods! How about it, Mr. McCarty?"
"Thanks, sir, but I'll not be going over there again. 'Tis different with me, and being as I've left the force I don't want to get in Dutch with the Inspector by butting in. If you don't mind, I'll wait here for you. There are one or two little points sticking in my mind and I'd like to look over the ground again."
"The museum? Go as far as you like," responded his host affably. "Victor will unlock the door for you if he's not there already. But don't leave till I return; I want to talk this all over with you."
Left alone, McCarty, approached the table where the blind secretary's typewriter stood and selecting a page or two at random from the scattered notes examined them. The subject-matter was unintelligibly scientific to him but the typing itself was as precise and as though the young man's sight were unimpaired. A book printed in the Braille system for the blind lay open beside the machine; it was in some foreign language, presumably French; but the spacing of the lines denoted poetry, and McCarty whistled softly to himself as he replaced it.
Leaving the library he made his way down the hall, treading as lightly as his solid weight permitted. The museum door stood ajar and through the narrow aperture he could see a man's form bent over a case in the far corner between the fireplace and the window. Tiptoeing, McCarty had reached the threshold before the figure turned revealing the thin, keenly sensitive countenance of Captain Marchal.
"Who is it?" he asked in a high strained voice.
"'Tis me, Captain; Timothy McCarty, that had dinner here last night with Mr. Norwood and yourself."
The Frenchman bowed gravely.
"You will forgive my surprise, Monsieur McCarty. I did not hear you enter." His tone was unfailingly courteous but there was a shade of hauteur in his bearing as though he resented the intrusion upon his solitude.
"I've been having a little talk with Mr. Norwood and the rest of them in the library but they've all gone over to Mr. Jarvis' house now, and Mr. Norwood told me I could look about a bit in here," McCarty explained.
"Here?" The secretary raised his eyebrows. "You will find nothing more here, Monsieur, to be of use in solving this most terrible affair. Were you not with the others last night? Do you not know that the crime was committed in Madame Jarvis' own home?"
He spoke with an eagerness which made McCarty's eyes narrow speculatively but the latter replied in bland nonchalance.
"Still, 'twas here we found the body and I thought I'd have a look at that window by daylight, but if I'm disturbing you, Captain?"
"Not at all, Monsieur." The secretary closed the case with a snap. "I was but rearranging some fingerprint records. If I can be of any assistance to you"
"Fingerprints!" McCarty interrupted. "I didn't know Mr. Norwood collected them, too!"
"He has here everything pertaining to the identification of criminals and the investigation of crime." Captain Marchal pointed toward a distant corner. "You see those astronomical instruments and charts upon that stand? With them Monsieur Norwood can calculate what autumn day corresponded in luminosity at dusk with a certain day in spring and in this way he can study if necessary the scene of a crime in autumn in order to discover if this or that could be seen at a certain day in spring."
"Can he, now?" McCarty rubbed his chin. "Have they not enough evidence on the earth to help them find a crook, without dragging in the heavens, too? Many's the time I've looked through a telescope at a nickel a throw on the Island, but devil a thing could I see, though once 'twas because I had my hat hung on the end of it. Mr. Norwood will be beating Terhune yet at his own game. Howsomever, 'tis fingerprints I'm asking after, Captain Marchal. Is it only criminals he's kept a record of?"
The secretary shook his head with a trace of impatience.
"No; at one time I believe Monsieur Norwood had a toquade, a hobby of collecting those of his friends also, but he is now more interested in handwriting specimens. Perhaps, Monsieur, you would desire to have me show to you?"