He was roused by the entry of Collins.
“Sergeant Brace says would you come outside for a minute, sir,” he announced.
Leslie rose wearily to his feet and followed the man. Brace stood just outside the door leading into the garden.
“We’ve found footsteps in the bed under the sitting-room window. Looks as if some one had stood there looking into the room. Perhaps you’d have a look at them.”
He led the way to the flower-bed and turned the lantern on it. The footprints were distinctly to be seen in the soft earth. They were large and curiously undefined in outline.
“That’s not a clear-cut mark like you or I would make,” commented the Sergeant. “I should say they were done by some one in an uncommonly old pair of boots. There’s more upper than sole to those! What sort of boots does your man wear?”
“The usual heavy labourer’s boot with nails in it. Good solid sole. I’m not an adept at this sort of thing, but, if what you say is true, he did not make those marks. Neither did I, for the matter of that.”
He held out his own foot for inspection.
For the first time Brace permitted himself to smile.
“I never suspected you of boots like the ones that made those prints, Mr. Leslie. But I wanted to make sure that they were not the carter’s. There’s been no rain for three days and those marks may have been there some time, provided the bed hasn’t been raked over lately.”