Joe followed his uncle up the staircase. He kept close to the dog, afraid, in this house of terror, of he knew not what. In the upper hall Captain Tucker halted and clutched his arm.
“Doctor,” he said rapidly, “there was something I did not want to tell you downstairs in front of them. I found something in the room.”
“Finger prints?”
“No; the candle-stick had been wiped clean. A plain, silk handkerchief. It had evidently been used to cover the lower part of the murderer’s face. I found it in the center of the floor.”
Joe saw the familiar tense lines form around his uncle’s mouth, and a soundless whistle came from the blind man’s lips. “So! I hadn’t expected that. King was right. They had reason not to trust one another.”
“What’s that, Doctor?”
“Nothing, Captain; nothing. Lead me in.”
A huddled figure was twisted grotesquely upon the bed. Joe, with a sudden spot of ice in the pit of his stomach, backed out into the hall. Presently there were leisurely footsteps on the stairs, and from inside the room his uncle’s voice said, “Lady, trail.” The footsteps came on. But the boy’s ears were held by the softer pad-pad-pad of the shepherd dog’s feet.
Lady came out into the hall, ears back and nose close to the floor. Sniffing, she veered this way and that, but went steadily along the passage. And then, suddenly, Joe’s heart gave a choked throb, for the tawny shepherd had swung in and came to a stop before a closed door. True to her training, she stopped with her head below the lock; and Dr. Stone, reaching out a groping hand, touched the knob.
“Who’s room is this?” he asked.