"If Ping's giving it to us straight," said McGlory, "neither Matt nor Wily got out of here. They couldn't have gone through the rear door or any of the windows, without leaving them open. And they couldn't have left by the front door because it was locked, and Ping had the key."
"They might have slipped out while Ping was nosing around upstairs," suggested Burton.
"They'd have made some noise," objected the cowboy. "Matt didn't have any call to keep quiet, and Ping would surely have heard him. Let's go back to the rear rooms again."
Burton and Twomley had examined the kitchen. McGlory now looked that room over for himself.
He was no more than two minutes in picking up a clue. The lighted match which he held close to the floor showed footprints outlined in black. He traced them to the pile of soot under the chimney.
"Here's where we find something!" he cried. "Open those shutters, you fellows! We want light while we run out this trail of soot."
Twomley and Burton unfastened the windows and pushed back the blinds on their screeching hinges. The sunlight, drifting into the room, brought out the trail with weird distinctness.
"Maybe the Chinaman blundered into the soot and left the trail," hazarded Burton.
"My no makee tlail," declared Ping. "No touchee soot."