well we are alone," he said. "I shall yet convince our friend that I am right. All the same, I am bound to confess that we look like having our trouble for our pains. Now, I suppose you don't see anything suspicious, anything which is hidden from unscientific eyes?" "It is as well we are alone," he said. "I shall yet convince our friend that I am right. All the same, I am bound to confess that we look like having our trouble for our pains. Now, I suppose you don't see anything suspicious, anything which is hidden from unscientific eyes?" "As a matter of fact, I can," Grey said quietly. "Only I waited till our friend was gone. Look here!" "As a matter of fact, I can," Grey said quietly. "Only I waited till our friend was gone. Look here!" He stooped and picked up a small object, which he slipped upon his thumb. Tanza lifted his brows interrogatively. He stooped and picked up a small object, which he slipped upon his thumb. Tanza lifted his brows interrogatively. "Oh, it's a clue," Grey smiled. "What is it? Why, it is a finger torn from an india-rubber glove!" "Oh, it's a clue," Grey smiled. "What is it? Why, it is a finger torn from an india-rubber glove!" CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VII THE PHOTOGRAPH THE PHOTOGRAPH Malcolm Grey handled the piece of dirty india-rubber almost tenderly. There was a smile on his face which somewhat irritated Tanza. The little Italian, usually so quick at picking up a clue, was quite baffled now. His instinct told him that Grey had made an important discovery. He stretched out his hand eagerly. Malcolm Grey handled the piece of dirty india-rubber almost tenderly. There was a smile on his face which somewhat irritated Tanza. The little Italian, usually so quick at picking up a clue, was quite baffled now. His instinct told him that Grey had made an important discovery. He stretched out his hand eagerly.
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