On the floor near the bier were particles of dry dirt, as if tracked in on soiled shoes. The dust on the stone outside of the window had recently been disturbed, while that on the slats of the blinds plainly showed the marks of fingers, evidently thrust between them in order to pull open the blinds.
Glancing down into the unpaved yard, Nick then discovered two quite deep holes in the damp ground, some three feet from the wall and directly opposite the window. He called Chick’s attention to them, remarking quietly:
“There was a short ladder set up against this window.”
“I see. Surely.”
“The indications are, indeed, that Margate was really dead and that his body was stolen. Either that, Chick, or he had confederates who removed and afterward revived him.”
“But how could they have learned that he was brought here?” Chick questioned doubtfully. “It was nearly midnight when we rounded him up, and he was brought directly here from the building in which we cornered him. Who could have learned about it, and how, between half past one and daylight, to say nothing of having framed up and pulled off such a job?”
“That remains to be learned,” Nick replied. “Nor will that alone be sufficient. His body must be traced and found. Go down with me to the yard. We’ll have a look in the alley.”
Fink led the way and unlocked the doors.
“All of you except Chick remain in the basement,” Nick directed, when the others followed him down the stairs. “If there are any footprints to be found outside,[{8}] or evidence of any kind, I don’t want them obliterated. They may prove to be of value.”
“Ah!” Doctor Nolan exclaimed. “I take it, Mr. Carter, that you are coming to my way of thinking.”