“But what on earth is there to this?” exclaimed Phyllis, staring at it disappointedly. “I don’t see what an insignificant little object like this proves. It was probably left by the Danforths, anyway.”
“No, I don’t think it was,” returned Leslie, quietly, “because the Danforths seem to have cleaned the place very thoroughly. The rest of the floor was spick and span as could be. I think the string of beads was part of a fringe, such as they wear so much nowadays to trim nice dresses. It probably caught in the leg of that bureau and was pulled off without its owner realizing it. Now did any of the Danforths, as far as you know, have any bead-trimmed dresses that they wore down here?”
Phyllis shook her head. “I begin to see what you’re driving at, Leslie. No, there’s only Mrs. Danforth to wear dresses—the rest of the family consists of her husband and the boys. I’m perfectly certain I never saw her in a beaded dress. And even if she had one, I’m sure she wouldn’t think of wearing it down here, not even to travel home in. People don’t bring elaborate clothes to this place, and she’s never been known to. I believe you’re right. If the beads had been there when the place was cleaned, they would have disappeared. They must have come there since. The mysterious ‘she’ of the footprint must have left them! But what else was there?”
“Then I noticed another thing that was curious and very puzzling. I confess, I can’t make much out of it, and yet it may mean a great deal. It was out by the fireplace in the living-room. Did you happen to notice that one of the bricks in the floor of it looked as if an attempt had been made to pry it loose, or something? The cement all along one side had been loosened and then packed down into place again. And ’way in the corner, I picked up this!” She held up the blade of a penknife, broken off halfway.
“No, I hadn’t noticed it at all!” exclaimed Phyllis, ruefully. “The truth is, Leslie, I went into that place expecting to see it all torn up or upheaved or something of the kind—something very definite, anyway. And when I didn’t find anything of the sort, I was awfully disappointed and hardly stopped to notice any of these small things. But I believe what you’ve found may be very important, and I think you’re awfully clever to have noticed them, too. Why, it actually sounds like a regular detective story! And now that you’ve found these things, what do you make out of them? Have you any ideas?”
Leslie wrinkled her brows for an interval in silent thought. At last she said, “Yes, I have a good many ideas, but I haven’t had time to get them into any order yet. They’re all sort of—chaotic!”
“Oh, never mind!” cried the ever-impatient Phyllis. “Tell me them, anyway. I don’t care how chaotic they are!”
“Well, to begin with,—has this occurred to you?—whoever comes here selects only a stormy, rainy night for a visit. Now why, unless they think it the best kind of time to escape observation. They just calculate on few people going out or even looking out of their houses on that kind of a night. Isn’t that so?”
“It certainly seems to be,” agreed Phyllis, “but what do you prove by that?”
“I don’t prove anything, but I’ve drawn a conclusion from it that I’ll tell you later. Then, there’s the matter of this little bead. I know you rather scorned it when I first showed it to you, but do you realize one thing? We may be able to identify the owner by means of it.”