“Don’t rub it in,” Alec protested. “I did it for the best, like the doctor in the poem. Well, what’s the next move?”
“Let’s go out and have a look at that footprint at close range, shall we?” Roger suggested. “There might be some others, too. Footprints! We are getting professional, aren’t we?”
On a more careful inspection the footprint fully bore out Roger’s contention that it must have been made by a man stepping backward from the sill. The heel end was nearly an inch and a half deep; the toe scarcely half an inch. The edges were slightly blurred where the earth had crumbled, but the mark was clearly that of a large foot.
“At least a ten boot,” Roger said, stooping over it. “Possibly eleven. This may be very useful indeed, Alec.”
“It’s a bit of luck, certainly,” Alec agreed.
Roger straightened up and began to search among the plants near the edge of the bed. After a moment he dropped on his knees on the grass border.
“Look!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Here’s another!”
He parted two little shrubs and peered between them. Alec saw another footprint, not so deep as the last, but quite plainly marked in the dry earth. The toe of this one was also pointing towards the window.
“Same fellow?” he asked, bending over it.
“Yes,” Roger replied, examining the print intently. “The other boot. Let’s see, this is well over a yard from the last one, isn’t it? He must have stepped back on to the path in two big strides.” He rose to his feet and dusted the knees of his trousers. “It’s a pity we can’t track him any farther,” he added disappointedly.