amiliarity; at first merely
subconscious and not strongly attracting my attention. But this state
lasted only for a few brief moments. Then the vague feeling burst into
full recognition. I snatched out my lens and brought it to bear on those
astounding impressions. My heart thumped furiously. A feeling of awe, of
triumph, of fierce joy and fiercer rage surged through me, and mingled
with profound self-contempt.

"There could be no mistake. I had looked at those finger-prints too
often. Every ridge-mark, every loop and whorl of the varying patterns
was engraved on my memory. For twenty years I had carried the slightly
enlarged photographs in my pocket-book, and hardly a day had passed
without my taking them out to con them afresh. I had them in my pocket
now to justify rather than aid my memory.

"I held the open book before the glass and compared the photographs with
the clearly-printed impressions. There were seven finger-prints on the
mirror; four on the right hand and three on the left, and all were
identical with the corresponding prints in the photographs. No doubt was
possible. But if it had been--

"I darted across to the chair. The floor was still littered with the
cuttings from that villain's head. In my idiotic preoccupation with the
other man I had let that wretch depart without a glance at his hair. I
grabbed up a tuft from the floor and gazed at it. Even to the unaided
eye it had an unusual quality when looked at closely; a soft, shimmering
appearance like that of some delicate textile. But I gave it only a
single glance. Then rushing through to the parlor, I spread a few hairs
on a glass slip and placed it on the stage of the microscope.

"A single glance clenched the matter. As I put my eye to the
instrument, there, straying across the circular field, were the broad
gray stripes, each with its dark line of medulla obscured at intervals
by rings of tiny bubbles. The demonstration was conclusive. This was the
very man. Humanly speaking, no error or fallacy was possible.

"I stood up and laughed grimly. So much for instinct! For what fools
call intuition and wise men recognize for mere slipshod reasoning! I
could understand my precious intuition now; could analyze it into its
trumpery constituents. It was the old story. Unconsciously I had built
up the image of a particular kind of man, and when such a man appeared I
had recognized him at a glance. The villainous Tartar face: I had looked
for it. The fi