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It was quite a long and difficult piece of work to compare the finger-prints we had taken with those photographed, in spite of the fact that writers descant on the ease with which criminals are traced by this system devised by the famous Galton. However, we at last finished the job between us; or rather Craig finished it, with an occasional remark from me. His dexterity amazed me; it was more than mere book knowledge.

For a moment we sat regarding each other hopelessly. None of the finger-prints taken at the hall tallied with the photographed prints. Then Craig rang for the housekeeper, a faithful old soul whom even the typhoid scare could not budge from her post.

“Are you sure I have seen all the servants who were at the hall while Mr. Bisbee was here” asked Craig.

“Why, no, sir–you didn’t ask that. You asked to see all who are here now. There is only one who has left, the cook, Bridget Fallon. She left a couple of days ago–said she was going back to New York to get another job. Glad enough I was to get rid of her, too, for she was drunk most of the time after the typhoid appeared.”

“Well, Walter, I guess we shall have to go back to New York again, then,” exclaimed Kennedy. “Oh, I beg pardon, Mrs. Rawson, for interrupting. Thank you ever so much. Where did Bridget come from?”

“She came well recommended, sir. Here is the letter in my writing-desk. She had been employed by the Caswell-Joneses at Shelter Island before she came here.”

“I may keep this letter” asked Craig, scanning it quickly.

“Yes.”

“By the way, where were the bottles of spring water kept”

“In the kitchen.”

“Did Bridget take charge of them?”

“Yes.”

“Did Mr. Bisbee have any guests during the last week that he was here?”

“Only Mr. Denny one night.”

“H’m!” exclaimed Craig. “Well, it will not be so hard for us to unravel this matter, after all, when we get back to the city. We must make that noon train, Walter. There is nothing more for us to do here.”

Emerging from the “Tube” at Ninth Street, Craig hustled me into a taxicab, and in almost no time we were at police headquarters.

Fortunately, Inspector Barney O’Connor was in and in an amiable mood, too, for Kennedy had been careful that the Central Office received a large share of credit for the Kerr Parker case. Craig sketched hastily the details of this new case. O’Connor’s face was a study. His honest blue Irish eyes fairly bulged in wonder, and when Craig concluded with a request for help I think O’Connor would have given him anything in the office, just to figure in the case.

“First, I want one of your men to go to the surrogate’s office and get the original of the will. I shall return it within a couple of hours–all I want to do is to make a photographic copy. Then another man must find this lawyer, James Denny, and in some way get his finger-prints–you must arrange that yourself. And send another fellow up to the employment offices on Fourth Avenue and have him locate this cook, Bridget Fallon. I want her finger-prints, too. Perhaps she had better be detained, for I don’t want her to get away. Oh, and say, O’Connor, do you want to finish this case up like the crack of a whip to-night?”

“I’m game, sir. What of it?”

“Let me see. It is now four o’clock. If you can get hold of all these people in time I think I shall be ready for the final scene to-night–say, at nine. You know how to arrange it. Have them all present at my laboratory at nine, and I promise we shall have a story that will get into the morning papers with leaded type on the front page.”

“Now, Walter,” he added, as we hurried down to the taxicab again, “I want you to drop off at the Department of Health with this card to the commissioner. I believe you know Dr. Leslie. Well, ask him if he knows anything about this Bridget Fallon. I will go on up-town to the laboratory and get my apparatus ready. You needn’t come up till nine, old fellow, for I shall be busy till then, but be sure when you come that you bring the record of this Fallon woman if you have to beg, borrow, or steal it.”