The deduction somewhat staggered Phyllis in her pet belief. “I suppose that’s true,” she had to admit. “I never did, either. But now the question is, who did it and what did he want?”
But Leslie had been carefully examining the footprint. “You say, what did ‘he’ want. Have you noticed that this footprint doesn’t look very much like a man’s?”
Phyllis stooped over it. “You’re right! It’s a woman’s or a girl’s. Here’s the deep imprint of the little French heel, and the narrow, pointed toe. Must have a mighty small foot!” She measured her own beside it. “Still, even mine would look much smaller in pumps or slippers instead of these comfortable sneakers. Might be either a small woman or a girl like ourselves.”
“But why is there only one, I wonder?” mused Leslie.
“I think the answer to that is simple. She walked on this narrow board-walk up from the back road, probably because it was easier, or, even perhaps, so as not to make any footprints. And just at the doorstep she may have stumbled, or stepped off by mistake in the darkness. Perhaps she didn’t even realize it.”
Again Leslie had bent over the footprint. “She was coming in when she made it. Do you notice that it points toward the door?”
Phyllis stared at her. “What a perfectly dandy detective you’d make!” she exclaimed. “You simply take in everything!”
“You’re just as good and even better!” laughed Leslie, secretly pleased, however.
“Hurrah for us!” cried Phyllis. “We’re just a pair of natural Sherlock Holmeses! Now, here’s what I propose. There’s something mighty queer going on here, I believe. And I’m willing to give up my ghost theory, because it does seem silly. But I want to investigate the thing pretty thoroughly, and the only way to do it is to get into that bungalow and see what has been going on inside.”
“But Phyllis!” cried the shocked Leslie. “You wouldn’t break into some one else’s bungalow, would you? And besides, how could you?”