Morley stared a moment, as if calculating something.
"Why, yes; I believe I did," he said finally.
Greenleaf, glancing down at Morley's feet, noticed what Bristow had seen three seconds after Morley had entered the room—his feet were large, abnormally large for a man of his build. He must have worn a number ten or, perhaps, a number eleven shoe.
"I thought so," Bristow observed carelessly. "I sleep out on my sleeping porch at the back of the house here, and I knew it rained hard from early in the night until seven this morning."
Morley, without commenting on this, looked at the two men.
"Is there anything more?" he inquired.
"No, nothing more; thanks," said Bristow.
The young man went out quickly, slamming the door in his haste.
Bristow answered Greenleaf's questioning look:
"There was no use in our looking round the outside of the house for possible footprints this morning. If there had been any, the rain would have cleared them away. But, when I first ran up on the porch—it's roofed, like mine here—I noticed the dried marks made by a wet shoe hours before, a large shoe, by a large shoe with a rubber sole, or by a rubber shoe."