How many times had he found an unknown touch among his few belongings?
How often had he smiled?
Still, to quell all rising doubts, he rubbed his right thumb on the lock, and made a second impression.

The daylight was now insufficient, so he turned on the electricity, and compared them.

Slowly, the scars deepened till they were the tint of cedar.

Death's head itself could not have fascinated him more than the dissimilarity of these two thumb-prints.

He said nothing, but a queer little strangling sound came through his lips.
Who?
Where?
His heart beat so violently that the veins in his throat swelled and threatened to burst.