"Ropes?"
"Yes, that the murderer bound her ankles with and her wrists. Weren't we told that there were marks on her wrists and ankles where she'd been bound with ropes?"
"Yes, well, the murderer took those away with him."
"Did he 'bring 'em with him?"
"Probably."
"Then it wasn't Mr. Bannard. If he killed his aunt, which he didn't, he never came up here with a load of ropes and things! But never mind that, now. Say I'm the murderer. I've attacked the old lady and I've got the paper I wanted, and all that. Now, how do I get out!"
Fleming Stone watched the boy, fascinated. Absorbed in the spirit of his imagined predicament, Fibsy stood, his bright eyes darting about the room, as if really in search of a means of exit.