e large,
abnormally large for a man of his build. He must have worn a number ten
or, perhaps, a number eleven shoe.

"I thought so," Bristow observed carelessly. "I sleep out on my sleeping
porch at the back of the house here, and I knew it rained hard from early
in the night until seven this morning."

Morley, without commenting on this, looked at the two men.

"Is there anything more?" he inquired.

"No, nothing more; thanks," said Bristow.

The young man went out quickly, slamming the door in his haste.

Bristow answered Greenleaf's questioning look:

"There was no use in our looking round the outside of the house for
possible footprints this morning. If there had been any, the rain would
have cleared them away. But, when I first ran up on the porch--it's
roofed, like mine here--I noticed the dried marks made by a wet shoe
hours before, a large shoe, by a large shoe with a rubber sole, or
by a rubber shoe."

"The devil you did!"

"I did.--But it may turn out that Perry, or somebody else, or several
other people, wore rubber shoes, or rubber-soled shoes last night.
Negroes always have large feet."

"Well, I hope my man's found this Perry nigger," said the chief. "He's
the fellow we want."

"And yet," ruminated Bristow, "what young Morley said is interesting
enough--two quarreling sisters living together--one decked in jewels, the
other deprived of them--the jewels gone this morning." He smiled and
waved his hands comprehensively. "As long as it _is_ a mystery, let's
have it a real mystery. Let's look at all sides of it. There's Perry.
There's Morley. And--there's Miss Maria Fulton."

"Miss Fulton!"

"Yes--a possibility."

"Oh, I don't connect her up with it any." The chief's voice was tinged
with ridicule.

Bristow answered a knock on the door and opened to admit a uniformed
policeman.

"Beg your pardon, chief," said the officer, "but I had something for a
Mr. Morley. The men on guard down there at Number Five wouldn't let me
in to see him--said I'd better see you."

"What have you got, Avery?" asked Greenleaf.

"It's a little package. You know, I'm on that beat down there. Takes in
the Brevord Hotel. The clerk said this Mr. Morley had sent his grips to
the station, but had said he was coming up to Number Five, Manniston
Road. He said there had been a murder up here. The clerk said he didn't
know what to do with this property but turn it over to the police. As
soon as I saw what it was, I hurr