CHAPTER IX
THE VELVET CURTAIN
"This gets me well out of my depth, Mr. Addison," said Inspector Gatton.
We were standing in the garden at a point near to my open study window. A small flower-bed intervened between the path and the high privet hedge. It lay much in shade, and Coates had set tobacco plants there. But the soil was softer here than elsewhere.
Clearly marked upon it were the imprints of little high-heeled shoes.
"It seems to take us back to the days of 'Spring-heeled Jack,'" my friend continued; "which was before my time! I don't think that mystery was ever cleared up?"
"No," I replied, meeting his questioning glance; "it never was, satisfactorily. Therefore the analogy is an unfortunate one. But as you say, it certainly looks as though my visitor had sprung across a six-foot hedge!"
"It's absolutely mad," said Gatton gloomily. "Far from helping us, it only plunges us deeper in the mire."
We returned to the study, and:
"You will have seen the daily papers?" asked the Inspector.
I nodded.