The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1914-05-20
CHAPTER VIII.
Finger-Priuts.

ShAT Ell VIII.
Finger-Prints.
Hilton Toye was the kind of
American who knew London as
we'll as most Londoners.
His travels were mysteriously
but enviably interviewer with
business. His hotel days were
much the same all over Europe;
many appointments, but. abundant
leisure.
He never spoke about his own
affairs and half his acquaintance
had no idea how he made his
money.
OF his mere interests, which
were many, Toye made no such
secret. Criminology, for exam
pie; 1t was no morbid taste in Hill
ton Toye. but a scientific hobby
that appealed to his mental sub
tlety. And subtle he was, yet
with strange simplicities; grave
and dignified; naturally sincere,
and yet always capable of some
ingenious duplicity.
The appeal of Blanche Macnair
to such a soul needs no analysis.
At Engelberg he had proposed to
her inside of two weeks" as he
had admitted without compune-
ton at the time.
1t had taken him, he said,
about two minutes to make up his
mind. The following summer he
had laid more deliberate siege,
in accordance with some old idea
that she had let fall to soften her
first refusal.
The result has been the same,
only more explicit on both sides.
She had denied him the least par
ticle of hope, and he had warned
her that she had not heard the
last of him by any means, and
never would till she married an
other man.
Such was the position between
that pair when Toye and Cazalet
landed I'm England from the same
steamer.
On this second day ashore. as
Cazalet sat over a late breakfast
in Jermyn Street, Toye sent in his
card and was permitted to follow
it. He found his man frankly di-
vided between kidneys-and-bacon
and the morning paper.
well, my dear Toye. what do
you think of it now?" asked GAIA
let, referring to the topic that had
been their principal theme of con-
versation ever since they met.
81 was going to ask you what
you thought, but guess / can see
from your face"
81 think the police are rotters
for not setting him free last
night"
"Scruton?"
Eyes. OF course, the caseIl
break down when it comes on
next week, but they oughtn't to
wait for that. They've no right
to detain a man in custody when
the bottoms out of their case al
ready"
"But--but the papers claim
they've found the very things
they were searching for" Toye
looked nonplussed.
They haven't found the miss
ing cap!" crowed Cazalet. What
they have found is Craven's watch
ard keys, and the silver-mounted
truncheon that killed him. But
they found them In a place where
they couldn't possibly have been
put by the man identified as
Scruton!"
Say, where was that" asked
Toye, with great interest. my
paper only says the things were
found, not where"
No more does mine, but | can
tell you, because | helped to find
EN-"
you don't say"
you'll never grasp where"
continued Cazalet. "In the foun-
dations under the house,"
Details followed in all fullness:
the listener might have had part
In the Upands act of yesterdays
drama, might have played in the
library scene with his adored Miss
Blanche, SO wildly was every
minute of that crowded hour
brought home to him.
But Toye confessed that he
could not understand about the
foundation.
Ours were like every so many
little tiny rooms" said Cazalet,
where | couldn't stand nearly
upright even as a small boy with
out giving my head crack
against the ground floors. They
led into one another by lot of
little manholes-tight fits even
for boy, but nearly fatal to the
boss policeman yesterday! | used
to get in through one with a
door, at the back of a slab in the
cellar where they used to keep
empty bottles; they keep em
there still, because that's how |
led my party out last night"
Cazalet's little gift of descrip-
tion was not ordered by an equal
sense of selection. Hilton Toye,
edging in his word in a pause for
gulp of coffee, said he guessed
he visualized--but just where had
those missing things been found?
Continued i'm Our Next Issue.)