“I think you’re right,” he agreed. “There’s a worn place here which corresponds to an indentation on the cast I made.”
Heath had sprung to his feet and stood eyeing Vance.
“Where did you find ’em?” he demanded.
“Tucked away in the rear of the little linen-closet at the head of the stairs.”
The Sergeant’s excitement got the better of him. He swung about to Markham, fairly spluttering with consternation.
“Those two guys from the Bureau that went over this house looking for the gun told me there wasn’t a pair of galoshes in the place; and I specially told ’em to keep their eyes pealed for galoshes. And now Mr. Vance finds ’em in the linen-closet off the main hall up-stairs!”
“But, Sergeant,” said Vance mildly, “the galoshes weren’t there when your sleuths were looking for the revolver. On both former occasions the johnny who wore ’em had plenty of time to put ’em away safely. But to-day, d’ ye see, he had no chance to sequester them; so he left ’em in the linen-closet for the time being.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” Heath growled vaguely. “Well, what’s the rest of the story, Mr. Vance?”
“That’s all there is to date. If I knew the rest I’d know who fired the shots. But I might remind you that neither of your sergents-de-ville saw any suspicious person leave here.”
“Good God, Vance!” Markham was on his feet. “That means that the murderer is in the house this minute.”