the grating swung back, and lamp in hand had let himself easily down to the walk below the window, and was holding his light, shielded, just above the ground. "It was she," he cried triumphantly—"the woman, as I told you! Look at her marks here!" He showed by the flickering light the double, sharp little semi-circles of a woman's high heels cut into the ice; and, as Trant dropped down beside him, the police detective followed the sharp little heel marks to the side door of the house, where they turned and led into the kitchen entry.
"Premature, was I—eh?" Siler triumphed laconically. "We are used to these cases, Mr. Trant; we know what to expect in 'em."
Trant stood for an instant studying the sheet of ice. In this sheltered spot, freezing had not progressed so fast as in the open streets. Here, as an hour before on Michigan Avenue, he saw that his heels and those of the police officer at every step cut through the crust, while their toes left no mark. But except for the marks they themselves had made and the crescent stamp of the woman's high heels leading in sharp, clear outline from the window to the side steps of the house, there were no other imprints. Then he followed the detective into the side door of the house.
In the passage they met the patrolman. "She came down stairs just now," said that officer briskly, "and went in here."
Siler laid his hand on the door of the little sitting-room the patrolman indicated, but turned to speak a terse command to the man over his shoulder: "Go
