drawing-room is empty. He steals in, takes the dagger from the silver table, and

returns to the study window. He slips off his shoes, climbs in, and—well, I

don’t need to go into details.

 

Then he slips out again and goes off. Hadn’t the nerve to go back to the inn. He

makes for the station, rings up from there——”

 

“Why?” said Poirot softly.

 

I jumped at the interruption. The little man was leaning forward. His eyes shone

with a queer green light.

 

For a moment Inspector Raglan was taken aback by the question.

 

“It’s difficult to say exactly why he did that,” he said at last. “But murderers

do funny things. You’d know that if you were in the police force. The cleverest

of them make stupid mistakes sometimes. But come along and I’ll show you those

footprints.”

 

We followed him round the corner of the terrace to the study window. At a word

from Raglan a police constable produced the shoes which had been obtained from

the local inn.

 

The inspector laid them over the marks.