The heavy finger-marks on the right side of Playfair's neck showed to the expert that the murderer was not only left-handed, but that the muscular power of the two hands and arms had been reversed from the ordinary. Once, while the talk was going on at the door, Mannion had shown that he was left-handed. Twice since entering the room he had made a similar exhibition. He had raised the window with his left hand, and with his left hand he dragged from a corner a heavy Morris chair. But the most damning discovery was, that half of the forefinger of the left hand was missing. It was not a deformity, as Nick could plainly see. The finger had been amputated at the middle joint. "Why don't you speak?" Mannion said irritably, for Nick, lost in his reflections, had not answered promptly the question that had been put to him. "Oh, yo' wan' me ter say wat de udder pe'ple say. Dat hit, sah?" "Yes, yes." "Well, Ise heahed a heap o' gossip, an' all de talk is des one way. De killer had dat hoodoo bill." "Is any one suspected?" "Yes, sah--dat man Craven is speculated." "Craven? Who is he?" There was apparent unconcern in the way the question was asked. And there was something more. Nick Carter, shrewd student of human nature as he was, knew that he was now treading on dangerous ground. But he cared not. He had made his point, and in a few minutes he would prepare to close in. "Don' yo' know, sah?" looking at Mannion in a surprised way. "No, I don't. Never heard of the man before." "Den it was yo' double, sah, dat was talkin' to him de day ob de killin'." Arthur Mannion, with a glint in his blue eyes, which spoke of a sudden resolution, arose to his feet and went to the wash-basin. Taking a towel from the rack, he advanced toward the detective, who, divining what was coming, remained seated. One hand was in his coat pocket, the other rested on his knee. The hand had gone into the pocket while Mannion's back was turned. With the towel concealed behind his back, Mannion came to Nick's side. Suddenly, without a word, the hand with the towel appeared, when, like a flash, out came Nick's hand from his pocket, and the villain, looking down into the muzzle of a revolver, saw sudden death and knew that his purpose was stayed. Retreating to the middle of the room, he hissed out these words: "I didn't need the towel to tell me you were a cursed detective in disguise." "And I didn't need much more evidence to prove that you are the man I want," retorted Nick, in his own character. "So divest yourself of your weapons and hold out those pretty wrists. The handcuffs are ready for them. Come, be quick about it"--the voice was now stern and menacing--"and don't try to come any of your California tricks, for at the first treacherous move I'll make a shambles out of the room." Mannion gritted his teeth, cast a murderous glance at the triumphant man-hunter, and then, from his hip pocket, produced a silver-mounted revolver.