"See this, Professor? When I was takin' some things from the shelves in the delicatessen store, I rips my coat and get this scratch on a nail stickin' out from the shelf. The nail is three shelves up from the floor near the last showcase on the right as you go in." Smith stopped. He was panting as though he had been running. Sweat was streaming from his brow. He crumpled the shirt and wiped his face with it. He began slowly putting on his shirt. Professor Brierly was not looking at the prisoner. He was looking at the police officer. In the latter's features incredulity was struggling with something else for expression. Professor Brierly snapped his fingers. "Hale, this must be verified! John, go with him; take the nail. Wait! Get an instrument and draw a drop of blood from Smith here. Compare it with the blood you find on the nail, if you find any. And--" He whirled on the prisoner. "Where is the coat and shirt that were torn on the nail?" "Still up in my apartment, I guess." "Go on, John. Get the nail and the clothes; go on to our house, make the necessary tests as soon as you can." At Jimmy's request, before he departed on his errand to the delicatessen store, Professor Brierly was escorted to the office of the Eagle by two plainclothes men who were ordered to shoot, and shoot to kill, at the slightest suspicious movement against the old scientist. Hite went into blazing activity when Professor Brierly recounted the result of his errand to the Tombs. Men, women and boys were sent scurrying to various sections of the city. The city editor barked an order into a telephone in response to which the tremor of the presses which shook the building, ceased. A rewrite man tactfully got from Professor Brierly the salient features of the newest angle to the story. Matthews was nodding his head emphatically as he came into the city room and his glance met that of his mentor. "It fits, Professor," he was saying. "The delicatessen store was robbed about the time Smith said it was; the nail was there, the head covered with blood. There was a tear in his coat and shirt. There was some blood on the garments. The blood on the nail and the clothes are of the same type as that of Smith. It might be all Smith's." Jimmy went to the telephone and called up a high police official, a very much harassed official, one whose peace had been very much disturbed by the activities of the remarkable old gentleman. The papers, his superiors, the D.A.'s office had been riding him unmercifully. Now, when they had a crook whom the crime fitted so well, this crazy old scientist had to come along and spoil it all with his queer doings. Jimmy, in short crisp sentences told this individual of the latest developments of the Tontine murders. He concluded by asking: "What are you going to do about this, Mr. Englehardt, and what are you going to do with 'Fingy' Smith?"