Guy Garrick | Page 7

trace of one.
It seemed hopeless also to attempt to pick out any of the footprints. The
earth was soft and even muddy, but so many feet had trodden it down
since the first alarm had been given that it would have been impossible
to extricate one set of footprints from another, much less to tell whether
any of them had been made by the perpetrators of the crime.
Still, there seemed to be something in the mud, just off the side of the
road, that did interest Garrick. Very carefully, so as not to destroy
anything himself which more careless searchers might have left, he
began a minute study of the ground.
Apparently he was rewarded, for, although he said nothing, he took a
hasty glance at the direction of the sun, up-ended the camera he had
brought, and began to photograph the ground itself, or rather some
curious marks on it which I could barely distinguish.

The coroner and I looked on without saying a word. He, at least, I am
sure, thought that Garrick had suddenly taken leave of his senses.
That concluded Garrick's investigation, and, after thanking the coroner,
who had gone out of his way to accommodate us, we started back to
town.
"Well," I remarked, as we settled ourselves for the tedious ride into the
city in the suburban train, "we don't seem to have added much to the
sum of human knowledge by this trip."
"Oh, yes, we have," he returned, almost cheerfully, patting the black
camera which he had folded and slipped into his pocket. "We'll just
preserve the records which I have here. Did you notice what it was that
I photographed?"
"I saw something," I replied, "but I couldn't tell you what it was."
"Well," he explained slowly as I opened my eyes wide in amazement at
the minuteness of his researches, "those were the marks of the tire of an
automobile that had been run up into the bushes from the road. You
know every automobile tire leaves its own distinctive mark, its thumb
print, as it were. When I have developed my films, you will see that the
marks that have been left there are precisely like those left by the make
of tires used on Warrington's car, according to the advertisement sent
out by McBirney. Of course, that mere fact alone doesn't prove
anything. Many cars may use that make of tires. Still, it is an interesting
coincidence, and if the make had been different I should not feel half so
encouraged about going ahead with this clew. We can't say anything
definite, however, until I can compare the actual marks made by the
tires on the stolen car with these marks which I have photographed and
preserved."
If any one other than Garrick had conceived such a notion as the
"thumb print" of an automobile tire, I might possibly have ventured to
doubt it. As it was it gave food enough for thought to last the remainder
of the journey back to town.

CHAPTER IV
THE LIQUID BULLET
On our return to the city, I was not surprised after our conversation
over in New Jersey to find that Garrick had decided on visiting police
headquarters. It was, of course, Commissioner Dillon, one of the
deputies, whom he wanted to see. I had met Dillon myself some time
before in connection with my study of the finger print system, and
consequently needed no second introduction.
In his office on the second floor, the Commissioner greeted us cordially
in his bluff and honest voice which both of us came to know and like so
well later. Garrick had met him often and the cordiality of their
relations was well testified to by Dillon's greeting.
"I thought you'd be here before long," he beamed on Garrick, as he led
us into an inner sanctum. "Did you read in the papers this morning
about that murder of a girl whose body was found up in New Jersey in
the underbrush?"
"Not only that, but I've picked up a few things that your man
overlooked," confided Garrick.
Dillon looked at him sharply for a moment. "Say," he said frankly,
"that's one of the things I like about you, Garrick. You're on the job.
Also, you're on the square. You don't go gumshoeing it around behind a
fellow's back, and talking the same way. You play fair. Now, look here.
Haven't I always played fair with you, Garrick?"
"Yes, Dillon," agreed Garrick, "you have always played fair. But what's
the idea?"
"You came up here for information, didn't you?" persisted the
commissioner.
Garrick nodded.

"Well do you know who that girl was who was murdered?" he asked
leaning forward.
"No," admitted Garrick.
"Of course not," asserted Dillon triumphantly. "We haven't given it out
yet--and I