"Yes," began Kiddie, "he broke that pane, shoved in his hand, and moved the hasp, then opened the lower sash, and went bodily in."
"All that's as plain as sunlight," said Rube. "But look at that sharp point of glass. Thar's a thread of wool caught on it—yellow wool."
"Ah!" exclaimed Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell for a certainty!"
"That's how I figure it out," Rube agreed.
"Queer!" mused Kiddie, thrusting a finger and thumb into one of his smaller pockets. "I found a thread of the same yellow wool caught in one of poor Sheila's claws—the middle claw of the left fore foot."
"Dog got at him pretty close," conjectured Isa. "Guess Nick was right up agin her when he fired."
"The hair ain't singed any round about the bullet hole," added Rube.
"That's an important point," nodded Kiddie, turning and leading the way round to the front door of the cabin.
Rube Carter, following close behind him, sniffed, as Kiddie had done, on entering the living-room.
"Ugh," grunted Rube, "somebody bin havin' a smoke in here lately. Smells like a cigar, don't it, Kiddie? 'Tain't pipe tobacco smoke—eh?"