"I think not."
As we crept forward I saw that a strip of the oak flooring along the walls was gray with dust. If it had been in such a neglected state in the afternoon I should surely have noticed it. In some curiosity I stooped to examine the phenomenon.
"Flour," whispered the little man touching my shoulder.
"Flour?"
"Yes. I sprinkled it myself. Look—there is the first result."
He steadied his light as he spoke, pointing with his other hand. On the powdery surface was the half footprint of a man.
The flour did not extend more than a couple of feet from the walls, so that it was only here and there that we caught up the trail. We had passed the bedroom on the left—yet the footprints still went on; we were at the store-room door, yet they still were visible before us. There was no other egress from the corridor. The tall window at the end was, as I knew, a good twenty feet from the ground. Had this man also vanished off the earth like Silas Ford?
Suddenly the inspector stopped, grasping my arm. The light he held fell upon two footprints close together. They were at right angles to the passage. Apparently the man had passed into the solid wall!
"Peace, what does this mean?"
You, sir, sitting peaceably at home, with a good light and an easy conscience, may think I was a timid fool; yet I was afraid—honestly and openly afraid. The little detective heard the news of it in my voice, for he gave me a reassuring pat upon the back.