They entered the parlor to discover little that was noteworthy. The window was open in the bay, and they could see in the parlor, what was not observable from the street, that a side window of the bay had been raised sufficiently to permit a rope to pass under the sash, and that the rope had been made fast around the division between the windows.
There had been little, if any, disturbance of the furniture. On a sofa in the corner lay a silver mug.
Nick pointed to the mug, without making comment upon it, however.
“What room is that at the rear of the house?” he asked.
“I suppose it might be called the library,” replied the young man, “since all the books that are in the house are there. It is the largest room in the house, and is occupied by the family in the evenings when the folks are at home.”
“Then the family is not at home?” asked Nick.
“No, Mr. Herron has gone to Chicago, and took his wife and daughter with him as a sort of a pleasure trip for them.”
“I am George Temple, a nephew of Mr. Herron.”
“Are you a member of this family?”