“We found his footprints both times on the front walk.”
“Footprints—are you sure?” She put the question eagerly.
“No doubt about them. They were perfectly plain, and they belonged to the person who came here and tried to shoot you.—Here, Sergeant”—he beckoned to Heath—“show the young lady that pattern.”
Heath took the Manila envelope from his pocket and extracted the cardboard impression Snitkin had made. Ada took it in her hand and studied it, and a little sigh of relief parted her lips.
“And you notice,” smiled Vance, “he didn’t have very dainty feet.”
The girl returned the pattern to the Sergeant. Her fear had left her, and her eyes cleared of the vision that had been haunting them.
“And now, Miss Greene,” went on Vance, in a matter-of-fact voice, “we want to ask a few questions. First of all: the nurse said you went to sleep at nine o’clock last night. Is that correct?”
“I pretended to, because nurse was tired and mother was complaining a lot. But I really didn’t go to sleep until hours later.”
“But you didn’t hear the shot in your brother’s room?”
“No. I must have been asleep by then.”