Mason led the way up the short stretch of cement walk to the porch, and pressed his thumb against the bell button. They could hear the ringing of a bell on the inside of the house, but there was no answering sound of motion. There was about the place that dead silence indicative of an untenanted house.
“Might try the back door,” Drake suggested.
Mason shook his head, pressed his thumb against the button once more, and said, “Well, I guess… Wait a minute, Paul. What’s this?”
Drake followed the direction of his eyes. Just below the threshold was a jagged, irregular splotch of rusty, reddish brown.
Mason moved his feet and said, “There’s another one, Paul.”
“And another one back of that,” Drake said.
“All within eighteen inches of the doorstep,” Mason pointed out. “Looks as though someone had been wounded and gone in, or had been wounded and gone out. He must have been losing quite a bit of blood at that.”
“So what?” Drake asked.
Mason pulled back the screen door, examined the front door, and said, “It isn’t tightly closed, Paul.”
“Let’s keep our noses clean,” Drake warned.