"These damned flowers look jolly healthy," he said. "Do you mean you've been letting the gardener swarm in here every day to water 'em?"
"Yes," said Parker apologetically, "I did. But he's had strict orders only to walk on these mats."
"Good," said Lord Peter. "Take 'em up, then, and let's get to work."
With his lens to his eye he crawled cautiously over the floor.
"They all came through this way, I suppose," he said.
"Yes," said Parker. "I've identified most of the marks. People went in and out. Here's the Duke. He comes in from outside. He trips over the body." (Parker had opened the outer door and lifted some matting, to show a trampled patch of gravel, discolored with blood.) "He kneels by the body. Here are his knees and toes. Afterwards he goes into the house, through the conservatory, leaving a good impression in black mud and gravel just inside the door."
Lord Peter squatted carefully over the marks.
"It's lucky the gravel's so soft here," he said.
"Yes. It's just a patch. The gardener tells me it gets very trampled and messy just here owing to his coming to fill cans from the water-trough. They fill the trough up from the well every so often, and then carry the water away in cans. It got extra bad this year, and they put down fresh gravel a few weeks ago."
"Pity they didn't extend their labors all down the path while they were about it," grunted Lord Peter, who was balancing himself precariously on a small piece of sacking. "Well, that bears out old Gerald so far. Here's an elephant been over this bit of box border. Who's that?"