“Hang it, Nick, you’re mixing me all up,” he declared. “I won’t know in another minute whether I’m afoot or horseback. You tell me what you think. Never mind what I think. Your head is worth two of mine--yes, half a dozen.” “No, I think not,” said Nick, smiling faintly. “Plainly, nevertheless, these bloodstains present inconsistencies not easily explained at this moment.” “They do so, for fair.” “We will look a little farther. You saw that I found this door unlocked?” “Yes, I noticed that.” “It was secured only by the latch, which can be lifted from either side. It is safe to assume, since the lock is not damaged, that the assassin found the door unlocked. Either that, or, as I have said, it was opened a little for ventilation.” “The latter seems quite probable,” said Fallon. “It was unseasonably warm last evening.” Nick stepped out on the veranda, instead of replying, Fallon following. It extended from the side door, where two low steps led down to a gravel walk running out to the street. The veranda was about twelve feet in length, with a vine-covered trellis at the rear end of it, and with the outer side protected with a scroll railing. Near the trellis stood a large willow armchair, in which Father Cleary had been accustomed to sit and read at times on warm, pleasant days. Nick glanced in that direction and made another strange discovery. CHAPTER III. THE MYSTERIOUS BANDAGE. The first thing to catch Nick Carter’s eye after stepping out on the veranda was a strip of white cotton cloth, also a piece of common white string, both lying on the veranda floor near the willow chair mentioned. The strip of cloth was somewhat soiled and wrinkled, also creased and curled in a way, and Nick picked it up and examined it. He found that it was about two feet in length and five inches wide, also that it had been carefully folded lengthwise. On one soiled end of it were stains of blood. “By Jove, here’s another bit of curious evidence,” said he, after a careful examination. “It looks like a bandage,” said Fallon. “That’s just what it is.” “But why curious?” “Note the wrinkles and creases and the way it curls,” said Nick. “Plainly enough, Fallon, it has been bound around a man’s hand, or it would not have retained these several turns and creases.” “I see.” “Hold out your hands, both of them. We can find out by readjusting these quirks and turns on which hand it was worn.” “Certainly. That’s a simple problem.” Nick proceeded to fit the bandage, so to speak, to Fallon’s hands. It would not fit the right hand, though turned in either direction, without altering the original turns and wrinkles. It could be perfectly bound around the left hand, however, and the result of Nick’s experiment was convincing. “This is as plain as twice two,” said he. “It was worn by some man on his left hand.” “Surely,” Fallon agreed. “He probably had a sore hand, or a cut.” “You are wrong,” said Nick. “That’s the curious part of it.”