“Zere!” he said triumphantly, pointing. Following the instruction, they made out traces of blood and the prints of a lamb’s hoof. Leading out to the spot was the dreadful familiar double spoor of talons. “You did that too,” accused Colton. For refutation “The Wonderful Whalley” dropped to his knees and laid his hand over one of the marks. The hand more than completely covered the prints. “You zee?” he said triumphantly. “Whalley, what made that mark there?” said Professor Ravenden. Again that strange gesture from the juggler and the quick shuddering in-draw of the shoulders. “Ze death-bird, maybe,” he said. Nothing more could be gotten from him. They delivered him at the coast-guard station to be turned over to the authorities. When he was out of their hands, Professor Ravenden insisted on returning to look for the remains of his lost specimen, and was relieved at finding one wing intact. Not until he had carefully folded this in paper did he turn to Dick Colton with the question: “What is your opinion of our problem now?” “I’m at my wit’s end,” said Dick. “Possibly we’ve got on the trail of another hand-walking knife-thrower.” “Or the death-bird, the pteranodon,” returned Professor Ravenden quietly. CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE LOST CLUE IN his own way, Professor Ravenden possessed as keen a detective instinct as Haynes himself. The variation of a shade of a moth’s wing, the obscurest trait in the life-habit of some unconsidered larva form, was sufficient to set him to the trail, and sometimes with results that, to his compeers, seemed little short of marvellous. Science had been enriched by his acumen, in several notable instances, and thousands of farmers who had never heard his name owed to him the immunity of certain crops from the ravages of their most destructive insect enemy. In this work the pedantic professor was a true zealot. So much did his enthusiasm partake of the ardour of the hunt that he had found himself in the readiest sympathy with Haynes’ sharp and practical capacities. Now, for the first time, he had seen a problem in his own department assume an aspect of immediate and tremendous human importance. That his part in the solution should be worked out with flawless perfection was become a matter of conscience, a test of honour. Sure as he was of his ground, he determined to prove to the utmost, the solidity of his foundation. “Have you other fences than the one which I know, built of the cretaceous rock?” he asked Johnston. “You’ll find some in the farthest lot back, I reckon,” said Johnston. “Look near the corners of the fence for them slabs.” “If you have a wheelbarrow,” began the scientist when the other interrupted him. “You wasn’t thinking of going up there now, was you?” The professor assented. “Alone?” said Johnston. “It’s gettin’ toward dark, too. Hadn’t I better go with you?”