“I myself closed and bolted it earlier in the evening at Mr. Ackroyd’s request.”

 

The inspector strode across to it and threw back the curtains.

 

“Well, it’s open now anyway,” he remarked.

 

True enough, the window was open, the lower sash being raised to its fullest

extent.

 

The inspector produced a pocket torch and flashed it along the sill outside.

 

“This is the way he went all right,” he remarked, “_and_ got in. See here.”

 

In the light of the powerful torch, several clearly defined footmarks could be

seen. They seemed to be those of shoes with rubber studs in the soles. One

particularly clear one pointed inwards, another, slightly overlapping it,

pointed outwards.

 

“Plain as a pikestaff,” said the inspector. “Any valuables missing?”

 

Geoffrey Raymond shook his head.

 

“Not so that we can discover. Mr. Ackroyd never kept anything of particular

value in this room.”