Heath shot him a sharp look, but before he could speak Captain Jerym and Snitkin came down-stairs.
“What’s the verdict, Cap?” asked the Sergeant.
“Those footprints on the balcony steps,” said Jerym, “were made with galoshes of the same size and markings as the pattern turned over to me by Snitkin a fortnight or so ago. As for the prints in the room, I’m not so sure. They appear to be the same, however; and the dirt on them is sooty, like the dirt on the snow outside the French doors. I’ve several photographs of them; and I’ll know definitely when I get my enlargements under the microscope.”
Vance rose and sauntered to the archway.
“May I have your permission to go up-stairs a moment, Sergeant?”
Heath looked mystified. His instinct was to ask a reason for this unexpected request, but all he said was: “Sure. Go ahead.”
Something in Vance’s manner—an air of satisfaction combined with a suppressed eagerness—told me that he had verified his theory.
He was gone less than five minutes. When he returned he carried a pair of galoshes similar to those that had been found in Chester’s closet. He handed them to Captain Jerym.
“You’ll probably find that these made the tracks.”
Both Jerym and Snitkin examined them carefully, comparing the measurements and fitting the rough patterns to the soles. Finally, the Captain took one of them to the window, and affixing a jeweller’s glass to his eye, studied the riser of the heel.