ath the windows of Mr.
Ashton's room would be clearly visible. It was equally certain that any
traces of steps made before or during the rain must have been thereby
completely obliterated. The soft graveled path encircled the rear of the
house and turned to the front at the end of each wing. We walked along
it and presently found ourselves beneath the two windows upon the south
wall, which opened from the green room. There were no evidences of
anyone having walked upon the pathway since the rain, nor was it
apparent that anyone could have gained access to the windows high above
without the aid of a ladder, which, had one been used, must inevitably
have left its telltale marks behind. Sergeant McQuade looked down, then
up, grunted to himself and passed on. There was nothing of interest
here. At the end of the pathway we came to the termination of the wing
and I saw the detective look about keenly. Here certainly the
conditions were more favorable. A covered porch encircled the end of
the building and extended along its front. There were three windows in
the west face of the wing, one in the room which I had occupied, one in
the end of the hallway and one in Mr. Ashton's room. The roof of the
porch was directly beneath them. How easy, I thought at once, for anyone
inside the house to have reached the porch roof from the window at the
end of the hall, and to have gained, in half a dozen steps, the window
of Mr. Ashton's room. I thought of the handkerchief, of the footsteps I
fancied I had heard during the night, and shuddered. Here again the
Sergeant first examined the graveled walk with elaborate care, but, as
before, with no immediate results. Presently, however, he stepped toward
the front of the house. There, in the soft gravel, were the prints of a
woman's feet, leading from the corner of the path to the front entrance.
I bent down and examined them with curious eyes, then recoiled with a
cry of dismay. The footprints lead in one direction only, and that was
toward the front door. In a flash I realized what theory McQuade would
at once construct in his mind. The murderer, reaching the porch roof
from the hallway, and obtaining access to the murdered man's room
through the window, upon escaping from the room to the roof, would be
unable to again enter the house from the roof because of my presence in
the hall. What more natural than to descend from the porch to the ground
by means of the heavy vines growing about the sto