Every nook and corner of the apartment was inspected, until the detective stood by the window, the sash of which was raised. He looked at the sill and then uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” the police captain asked, entering the room and stepping up to Carter’s side.
“See,” the detective replied, pointing with his forefinger to stains upon the window sill and the lower part of the sash. “Here are imprints of bloody fingers. The murderer, after he committed the crime, came over to this window and raised the sash. And here are bloody tracks on the outside. Look; there are imprints of shoes in the snow across the roof—they lead from here to the edge. The murderer escaped this way. Wait here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
Carter crawled out of the window onto the roof, and followed the tracks in the snow, until he came to the edge of the roof, where he halted and looked over.
There, attached to the side of the house, he beheld an iron ladder leading from the roof down to the yard.
Still he saw nothing of the weapon with which the crime had been committed.
There was no doubt now in his mind about the assassin having escaped by the roof. He returned to the room and gave the captain an accurate but brief account of what he had discovered.
“This leads me to think the murderer possessed some knowledge of this house,” the police captain remarked, after he had listened to what the detective had to say.