“It is now,” Penny explained with a chuckle. “Before we converted it, someone ripped up part of the floor and left a footprint in the dirt.”
“That’s right,” Jimmy said. “And he also left footprints in a clearing back where Brook found the coat. Footprints,” he finished triumphantly, “with rubber heels made by the same manufacturer.”
“Why, Jimmy Allen,” Marjorie gasped admiringly, “you’re so smart you ought to get a job with the FBI.”
But Penny laughed. “Now all the red herrings fit together like the pieces of this paper. Don’t you see, Jimmy? Mr. X deliberately left that footprint in the shed in plain view so I might believe that he had had something to do with my accident. Right, Peter?”
“Right,” Peter said. “As soon as Mr. X heard you had fallen down the well, he wrote the letter which you received the next day. Then that evening he sneaked out to plant evidence which he hoped would back up his threat.”
“Oh, gosh,” Jimmy said disconsolately. “We’re right back where we started. But at least we can be pretty sure that there’s only one Mr. X.”
“We can’t be sure of anything,” Phil said soberly. “Except that whoever it is really does mean business. The very fact that one of them jumped on Mal that night when we chased him away proves that. An ordinary night prowler would have tried to sneak away without being seen.”
“Well,” Marjorie said cheerfully, “we mean business now, too. And we’re sure to catch him the night of the masquerade when he comes here to get the treasure.”
“Wa—ait a minute,” Phil said cautiously. “What’s to prevent Mr. X from getting by with his scheme? We can’t be everywhere at once in a place as big as this, especially when so many people will be milling around.”
“And,” Peter added, “how will we know whom to keep an eye on?” He smiled at Penny. “You planned, of course, to have police detectives here in costume, too.”