But the constable was not satisfied yet; he kept peering about, made his way to the iron door, and then dropped upon his knees.
“Here you are, sir,” he cried. “They’ve put the body in here, it seems to me, for there’s a tiny smutch just against the edge. There’s been murder done.”
“You’re right, Joe,” cried the superintendent, sharply; “but where are the men? You stay here, I’ll have the place searched again.”
Every nook and corner of the basement was examined without result, and then the rest of the house was carefully gone over once more, but the place proved to be empty, and the superintendent returned to where his sentry was on duty.
“Made anything out, sir?”
“No.”
“What about the roof? Must be a trap, and they’ve got through there.”
“There is a trap, my lad, but the cobwebs over it show that it can’t have been opened to-day.”
“What about the cellar, sir?”
“I have searched all but the wine cellars, and we can’t break in there. I’ve sent orders to find out who lives here and telegraph to the family to come up.”