"Description?" echoed Whipple. "Your agency's got descriptions on file--thumb prints--photographs--of every employee of this bank." "Every one of 'em but Clayte," I said. "When I came to look up the files, there wasn't a thing on him. Don't think I ever laid eyes on the man myself." A description of Edward Clayte? Every man at the table--even old Sillsbee--sat up and opened his mouth to give one; but Knapp beat them to it, with, "Clayte's worked in this bank eight years. We all know him. You can get just as many good descriptions as there are people on our payroll or directors in this room--and plenty more at the St. Dunstan, I'll be bound." "You think so?" I said wearily. "I have not been idle, gentlemen; I have interviewed his associates. Listen to this; it is a composite of the best I've been able to get." I read: "Edward Clayte; height about five feet seven or eight; weight between one hundred and forty and one hundred and fifty pounds; age somewhere around forty; smooth face; medium complexion, fairish; brown hair; light eyes; apparently commonplace features; dressed neatly in blue business suit, black shoes, black derby hat--" "Wait a minute," interposed Knapp. "Is that what they gave you at the St. Dunstan--what he was wearing when he came in?" I nodded. "Well, I'd have said he had on tan shoes and a fedora. He _did_--or was that yesterday? But aside from that, it's a perfect description; brings the man right up before me." I heard a chuckle from Worth Gilbert. "That description," I said, "is gibberish; mere words. Would it bring Clayte up before any one who had never seen him? Ask Captain Gilbert, who doesn't know the man. I say that's a list of the points at which he resembles every third office man you meet on the street. What I want is the points at which he'd differ. You have all known Clayte for years; forget his regularities, and tell me his peculiarities--looks, manners, dress or habits." There was a long pause, broken finally by Whipple. "He never smoked," said the bank president. "Occasionally he did," contradicted Knapp, and the pause continued till I asked, "Any peculiarities of clothing?" "Oh, yes," said Whipple. "Very neat. Usually blue serge." "But sometimes gray," added Knapp, heavily, and old Sillsbee piped in, "I've seen that feller wear pin-check; I know I have." I was fed up on clothes. "How did he brush his hair?" I questioned. "Smoothed down from a part high on the left," Knapp came back promptly. "On the right," boomed old Anson from the foot of the table. "Sometimes--yes--I guess he did," Knapp conceded hesitantly. "Oh, well then, what color was it? Maybe you can agree better on that." "Sort of mousy color," Knapp thought. "O Lord! Mousy colored!" groaned Dykeman under his breath. "Listen to 'em!" "Well, isn't it?" Knapp was a bit stung. "House mousy, or field mousy?" Cummings wanted to know.