"It might indicate, of course, that Chester went out somewhere last night late."
"But that don't make sense, sir," objected Heath. "If he'd wanted anything at that hour of the night he'd have sent the butler. And, anyway, the shops in this neighborhood were all closed by that time, for the tracks weren't made till after it had stopped snowing at eleven."
"And," supplemented Snitkin, "you can't tell by the tracks whether the guy that made 'em left the house and came back, or came to the house and went away, for there wasn't a single print on top of the other."
Vance was standing at the window looking out.
"That, now, is a most interestin' point, Sergeant," he commented. "I'd file it away along with Rex's story for prayerful consideration." He sauntered back to the desk and looked at the dead man thoughtfully. "No, Sergeant," he continued; "I can't picture Chester donning gum-shoes and sneaking out into the night on a mysterious errand. I'm afraid we'll have to find another explanation for those footprints."
"It's damn funny, just the same, that they should be the exact size of these galoshes."
"If," submitted Markham, "the footprints were not Chester's, then we're driven to the assumption that the murderer made them."
Vance slowly took out his cigarette-case.
"Yes," he agreed, "I think we may safely assume that."
