ng across the grass. He'd evidently
avoided the path. And there was one directly under the open window where
the body lies. It's still there. Perhaps you can see it. No matter.
That's the last one I found. The prints ceased there. There wasn't a one
going back, and I was fair up a stump. Then I saw a little undefined
sign of pressure on the grass, and I got an idea. 'Suppose,' I says, 'my
man took his shoes off and went around in his stockinged feet!' I
couldn't understand, though, why he hadn't thought of that before. I went
back to Robert Blackburn's room and got one of his shoes, and ran into a
snag again. The sole of the shoe was a trifle larger than the footprints.
Every one of his shoes I tried was the same way. I argued that the
handkerchief was enough, but I wanted this other evidence. I simply had
to clear up these queer footprints.

"I figured, since the murder had been made to look so much like a natural
death, that he'd come out here some time to-day, expecting to carry it
off. I wanted to go to the station, anyway, to find out if he'd been seen
coming through last night or early this morning. While I was talking to
the station agent I had my one piece of luck. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Mr. Robert walks up from the woods. He'd been hiding around the
neighbourhood all the time. Probably had missed his handkerchief and
decided he'd better not take any chances. Yet it must have seemed a
pretty sure thing that the station wouldn't be watched, and it's those
nervy things, doing the obvious, that skilful criminals get away with all
the time. I needed only one look at him, and I had the answer to the
mystery of the footprints. I gave him plenty of time to come here and
change his clothes, then I manoeuvered him out of his room and went there
and found the pumps he'd worn last night and to-day. You see, they'd be
a little smaller than his ordinary shoes. Not only did they fit the
footprints exactly, but they were stained with soil exactly like that in
the court. There you are, sir. I've made a plaster cast of one of the
prints. I've got it here in my pocket where I intend to keep it until I
clear the whole case up and turn in my report."

Graham's tone was shocked and discouraged.

"What more do you want? Why haven't you arrested him?"

In this room the detective's satisfied chuckle was an offence.

"No good detective would ask that, Mr. Graham. I want my report clean.
The coroner will tell us how the old man