"You don't really believe you need a detective at all, do you ?" "I will only say that so far your views and mine have failed to coincide.

If I am right about that fingerprint, then you may be right about my private opinion." And on that he went out, rather grimly, paper and reading glass in hand, to make his comparison.
It was then that Beresford came in, a new and slightly rigid Beresford, and crossed to her at once.
"Miss Van Gorder," he said, all the flippancy gone from his voice, "may I ask you to make an excuse and call your gardener here ?" Dale started uncontrollably at the ominous words, but Miss Cornelia betrayed no emotion except in the increased rapidity of her knitting.
"The gardener?
Certainly, if you'll touch that bell," she said pleasantly.
Beresford stalked to the bell and rang it.

The three waited--Dale in an agony of suspense.
The detective re-entered 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.

Thumbprints never lie," he said in a flat, convincing voice.