"Doesn't it occur to you that he may be innocent?" he asked very quietly. "Could no one else have got into the harness-room?"
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" protested Sam. "What's the good of supposing any such thing? The money was found in Charlie's box, and if he denied his guilt until he was blue in the face, I wouldn't believe him."
"So?" reflected Silk. "Well, just as a matter of form, I'll have a look round in the harness-room, before going on. Give my respects to Miss Dora."
Percy Rapson accompanied him to the now open doorway of the little room. On the threshold Silk paused, examined the blurred footmarks on the moist earthen floor, glanced at the ventilation hole high up in the wall just below the rafters, then shook his head.
"I'm afraid Sam is right," he muttered as he turned away. "Unless——" He touched Percy's elbow. "Come round to the back of this shanty," he said.
Percy watched him searching along the ground and saw him stand still, looking down at some curious marks on a bare patch of wet soil.
"Do you see? Do you understand?" Silk asked in an eager voice. "Some chap has been crawling round here on all fours. See the round marks of his knees—the sharp grooves made by the toes of his boots, and—and the impressions of his hands?"
"My hat!" cried Percy. "Why, the left hand has only three fingers!"
"Seems we're on his trail," smiled the sergeant. "D'you see that dirty old packing-case? Just lift it and put it against the wall. So, that's right. Now stand on it and see if you can reach up to where you see that loose slate. Ah!" he exclaimed as Percy obeyed him, "I see you're not tall enough. And neither is Charlie Fortescue. Let me show you."