"What that girl held in her hand last night resembled a hammock."
"Hey?"
Sayre leaned over his shoulder and laid the stem of his pipe on the
extreme edge of the photograph.
"If you look long enough and hard enough," he said, "you will just be
able to make out the vague outline of a slender human hand among the
leaves, holding the end of the hammock. See it?"
Langdon looked long and steadily. Presently he fished out a jeweller's
glass, screwed it into his eye, and looked again.
"Do you think that's a human hand?"
"I do."
"It's a slim one--a child's, or a young girl's."
"It is. _She_ had be-u-tiful hands."
"Who?"
"That girl I saw last evening."
Langdon slowly turned and looked at Sayre.
"Well, what do you make of it?"
"Nothing yet--except a million different little romances."
"Of course, you'd do that anyway. But what scientific inference do you
draw? Here's a thing that looks like a hammock lying on the ground. One
end seems to be lifted; perhaps that _is_ a hand. Well, what about it?"
"I'm going to find out."
"How?"
"By--fishing," said Sayre quietly, rising and picking up his rod.
"You're going back there in hopes of----"
"In hopes."