He threw a stick at them.
"Now, then," continued Kent, "what about tracks, footmarks? Had you thought of them?"
"Yes, first thing. The whole lawn is covered with them, all stamped down. Look at these, for instance. These are the tracks of a man with a wooden leg"—Kent nodded—"in all probability a sailor, newly landed from Java, carrying a Singapore walking-stick, and with a tin-whistle tied round his belt."
"Yes, I see that," said Kent thoughtfully. "The weight of the whistle weighs him down a little on the right side."
"Do you think, Mr. Kent, a sailor from Java with a wooden leg would commit a murder like this?" asked the Inspector eagerly. "Would he do it?"
"He would," said the Investigator. "They generally do—as soon as they land."
The Inspector nodded. "And look at these marks here, Mr. Kent. You recognize them, surely—those are the footsteps of a bar-keeper out of employment, waiting for the eighteenth amendment to pass away. See how deeply they sink in——"
"Yes," said Kent, "he'd commit murder."
"There are lots more," continued the Inspector, "but they're no good. The morbid curiosity-seekers were walking all over this place while we were drawing the cordon round it."
"Stop a bit," said Kent, pausing to think a moment. "What about thumb-prints?"