“If Mr. Hardy comes, send him up,” he ordered, as Haviland unlocked the door to give him admittance.
Stone passed through the boudoir to the bedroom and from that to the elaborate dressing-room and bath. Quickly he noted the obvious details. Everything had been left practically untouched, and his rapid, trained gaze took in the bed, turned down but not slept in; the toilet accessories laid ready in the bathroom; and the fresh, unused towels, that proved the unfortunate victim had not prepared to retire, but had, for some reason, donned her jewels at that unusual hour.
Back to the boudoir Stone went and made there more careful scrutiny. Carefully he examined the white dust of powder on the floor. At Hardy’s orders, this had not been swept away, and Stone stood, with folded arms, looking at it. He saw the place where the powder had been smeared about,—he had been told of this,—but he saw other places where faint footprints were to his keen eye discernible. Not sufficiently clear to judge much of their characteristics, but enough to show that a stockinged foot had imprinted them.
“Well, what do you make of the tracks?” asked Hardy, coming in upon his meditations.
“Their tale is a short one but clear,” returned Stone, smiling a greeting to the younger detective. “As you see, they go out of the room only, they don’t come in.”
“Proving?”
“That the intruder came in at the door, accomplished his dreadful purpose, and then, stepped around here in front of his victim,—here where the powder is spilt, and then went straight out of the room. Why did he do this?”
“He heard something to frighten him off?”
“He saw something that frightened him. I doubt if he heard anything. But he dropped his black-jack and fled. Did you bring the photographs of the scene?”
“Yes, here they are.” Hardy handed over a sheaf of the gruesome pictures, and Stone scanned them eagerly. Yet their gruesomeness lay largely in the idea that the subject of them was not a living person,—for in appearance they were by no means unpleasant to look at. The face of Miss Carrington was serene and smiling, her wide-open eyes, though staring, were filled with a life-like wonder, not at all an expression of fright or terror.