by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood

“ For an instant the ringing of the bell held the various figures of the little scene in the rigid postures of a waxworks tableau—Bailey, one foot advanced toward Beresford, his hands balled up into fists—Beresford already in an attitude of defense—the detective about to step in between them—Miss Cornelia stiff in her chair—Dale over by the fireplace, her hand at her heart. ”

“ The three waited—Dale in an agony of suspense.
The detective reëntered the room by the alcove-stairs, his mien unfathomable by any of the anxious glances that sought him out at once.
"It's no good, Miss Van Gorder," he said quietly. "The prints are not the same."
"Not the same!" gasped Miss Cornelia, unwilling to believe her ears.
Anderson laid down the paper and the reading-glass with a little gesture of dismissal.
"If you think I'm mistaken, I'll leave it to any unprejudiced person or your own eyesight. Thumb-prints never lie," he said in a flat, convincing voice. ”

“ Anderson looked thoughtful. Then he felt in his pocket for a magnifying glass, failed to find it, muttered, and took the reading-glass Miss Cornelia offered him.
"Try this," she said. "My whole case hangs on my conviction that that print and the one out there on the stair rail are the same."
He put down the paper and smiled at her ironically. "Your case!" he said. "You don't really believe you need a detective at all, do you?" ”