"That won't be necessary. These three prints which correspond with the ones you took in the booth, settle the matter. There's no record of this fellow in our cabinet. But--he was in that library!" "Where did he leave his prints?" asked Drew. Pope consulted a page of his note book. He thumbed over another page, thrust his finger between the sheet and turned to the photos. "What's the number on the back of that one?" he asked, nodding toward the topmost photograph. "Ten," said Drew, turning it over and studying a penciled number. "Ten," repeated the expert. "That is a print which was flashed on the corner of the little table which was overturned when Stockbridge fell to the floor after being shot." "And the same man made it who made my prints in the booth?" "The same!" declared the expert dryly. "I don't see where you two are getting," said Fosdick. "How could a man get into that library, shoot the old millionaire, get out again and go over to a slot-booth?" "He might have been in the slot-booth first," suggested Drew with slow smiling. "From the booth he went to the house and killed Stockbridge." "The fact is established," exclaimed Pope, "that the man you are after was in the library and in the booth. That's all you can say. There's no way to determine the exact hour these two sets of prints were made." Drew lifted a second print. "No. sixteen," he said, turning to the expert. "Where was that made?" Pope consulted his book. He glanced up at Fosdick, who was ill at ease over the development in the case. "That," he said, swinging his eyes till they met Drew's, "that was made on the hardwood floor directly under Stockbridge's body. We found the print, with others of the little finger and middle finger when the coroner moved the corpse!" The detective stared at Pope. "You mean," he said shrewdly, "that the man who made the prints in the booth and on the little table, also was down on his knees arranging Stockbridge's body, or doing something like that?" "He made a distinct impression on the floor despite the fact that the body was moved over it. The polish and the varnish helped to hold this impression. I venture to say that it is there yet." "Good!" said Drew. "I may have a look at it. I never went after prints in my investigation. I left that to men who knew their business--like yourself." Pope smiled. He glanced at his book for a third time. "What's the number of that last print?" he asked. "Forty-four!" "Taken from the edge of the heavy door which was broken down by Delaney, I guess. Looks like his work." "I had a hand in that," admitted Drew. "This print was close to the knob. There's none like it on the knob itself." "Umph!" declared Fosdick. Drew glanced at the commissioner. He smiled as he laid his hand on Fosdick's shoulder. "I've got you to thank," he said, "for letting me use the brains and facilities of the police department. I think it clears the case in a remarkable manner." "How?" asked the commissioner.