He nodded.
“But are not his tracks as well as mine more faint as they go from the house? More clear as they come back to the house? Because snow was falling while I was out as well as before I started. So that he as well as I went from the house and returned to the house!”
He frowned. “I noticed that,” he said.
“Then,” with a faint ring of amusement in her tone, “you had better search the house for him.”
The difficulty had occurred to Mr. Bishop before he entered. But it did not fall in with his theory, and like many modern discoverers he had set it on one side as a detail which events would explain. Put to him crudely it vexed him.
“See here, miss, you’re playing with us,” he said. “And it won’t do. Tell us frankly——”
“I will tell you frankly,” she answered, cutting him short with spirit, “whose tracks they are. They are Mr. Sutton’s. Now you know. And Mr. Sutton is the only person I saw last night. Now you know that too. And perhaps you will leave me.” She rose as she finished.
“Mr. Sutton was with you?”
“I have said so. You have my shoes. Get his. What I say is easily tested and easily proved.”
She had the pleasure of a little triumph. The runner looked taken aback and ashamed of himself. But after the first flush of astonishment he did not waste a minute. He turned, opened the door, and disappeared.