were together at Portland? Any old lag—to put it bluntly—whom you and Pratt have been putting the screw on."
"No, sir, I swear there isn't. But I wouldn't answer for Pratt. He had a rare memory for faces."
Thorndyke reflected. "Were there any escapes from Portland in your time?" he asked.
"Only one—a man named Dobbs. He made off to the sea in a sudden fog and he was supposed to be drowned. His clothes washed up on the Bill, but not his body. At any rate, he was never heard of again."
"Thank you, Ellis. Do you mind my taking your finger-prints?"
"Certainly not, sir," was the almost eager reply; and the office inking-pad being requisitioned, a rough set of finger-prints was produced; and when Thorndyke had compared them with those on the brush-case and found no resemblance, Ellis returned to his cell in quite buoyant spirits.
Having made several photographs of the strange finger-prints, we returned to town that evening, taking the negatives with us; and while we waited for our train, Thorndyke gave a few parting injunctions to the inspector. "Remember," he said, "that the man must have washed his hands before he could appear in public. Search the banks of every pond, ditch and stream in the
