“A hairbrush cannot be entirely cleaned of all the hairs it takes in among its bristles. I reasoned that Pauline Perrot decided that it was much easier to steal the brush than to clean it, and less dangerous than to leave it in her chamber. That set me to hunting for hairs on the rug and carpet. I found these. The devil always leaves a gapway open.” “What about them?” Chick questioned, a bit perplexedly. “Use my lens,” said Nick. “Observe that they are exceedingly dry, having none of the oily gloss and pliability of hairs fresh from one’s head. Notice, also, the tiny speck on the end of the longest one. It looks like the root of the hair.” “I see.” “But it is not,” Nick quickly added. “It is much too hard and brittle.” “What do you make of it?” “Instead of a root, Chick, it’s a speck of glue.” “By Jove, that is significant,” Chick muttered. “In that case, then, Pauline Perrot probably wears a wig.” “Gee! it’s a cinch,” declared Patsy, from the opposite side of the table. “Have you other reasons for thinking so, Nick?” Chick questioned. “Yes.” “Namely?” “Notice these undergarments and stockings,” said Nick. “All of them are new, or very nearly so. I am convinced that none of them have been worn.” “Why are you so sure of it?” “Here are Pauline’s button boots,” Nick went on. “Compare the size with the size of the stockings. The stockings are two sizes larger than the boots. Who ever heard of a girl buying hosiery larger than her shoes?” “By Jove, you are right,” said Chick, carefully inspecting both. “It was a mistake she made--another devil’s gapway.” “And you infer from this that she has worn none of the other garments?” “I am sure of it.” “But why, then, did she have them in her possession?” Chick demanded, racking his brain to fathom it. “Why did she leave them in her bureau drawer?” “She can have had only one logical reason, Chick, consistent with all of the other circumstances,” Nick replied. “She did not buy them to wear. Though she wore feminine outside garments, she preferred another kind next to her evil skin. She left these in her bureau, Chick, only that persons having occasion to seek her, or investigate her conduct, might not for a moment suspect that Pauline Perrot is--not a woman.” “Not a woman!” echoed Chick, with a gasp of surprise. “That’s what I said,” Nick nodded. “But you don’t for a moment suspect her of being a man?” “That is precisely what I suspect.” “Nonsense! Remember that she has for several months been employed as Gordon’s stenographer, and that she----” “Wait a bit,” Nick interrupted. “We quite frequently know of women masquerading as men. Take the case of Murray Hall, who for a quarter of century wore only male attire, blinding all with whom she associated, and the secret of her sex was not discovered until after she died.” “I know about that, Nick, but----”