"Barney's as bald as I am.
Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
the habit of wearing his hair short!"
He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
haven't told us whose hair it is?"
"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
manner.
"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
detective was sensible of the change too.
"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
Master Barney's buckles caught it up.
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