"I think I can help you there," said Colt, as he asked me for Detective Sherman's envelope. "Take a look at these pearl ear-rings."
Again that bird-like chirp—and then still another, a third, a much louder chirp from Mr. Imro Acheson Fitch.
"A hair! A brown hair! Caught in the ear-ring. Did you see this, Mr. Colt?"
The Commissioner nodded delightedly.
"I was sure that would help you."
"Help! It does everything. There's no skin left on the bones—how could I ever guess at her eye-colours, her complexion—her pigmentation—now, of course, I may still go wrong—but I am not so completely in the dark—"
"You can use our department laboratories."
Mr. Fitch's pale, square face flushed a little; his smudge of a nose lifted in disdain.
"No, I thank you, sir. I will do anything for you personall
