'm goin' there right now," replied Rube. "Keep Isa Blagg
back, or he'll only get trampin' out the signs with them heavy boots of
his. Just let me go alone--see?"

"Right," said Kiddie; "go ahead."

Rube found an empty packing-case against the boards under the window.
He mounted on top of it, and examined the window sash and the broken
pane of glass, by means of which the catch of the window had been
opened. There were finger-marks on the glass, but these did not help
him, since he did not yet know what kind of marks Nick Undrell's
fingers might have left. What engaged his especial attention was one
of the sharp points of splintered glass. He jumped down, and went back
to where Kiddie and the sheriff waited.

"Either of you happen ter recollect what kind of a vest or shirt Nick
Undrell wears?" he inquired. "Red, ain't it?"

Kiddie shook his head.

"Never saw Nick with red shirt-sleeves," he responded.

"Nor I," added the sheriff. "If you'd said yaller now----"

"Yes," resumed Kiddie; "yellow with black stripes, like a wasp, or an
English football player."

"Come along o' me," said Rube.

And he led them both to the window, and pointed up at the broken glass.

"Yes," began Kiddie, "he broke that pane, shoved in his hand, and moved
the hasp, then opened the lower sash, and went bodily in."

"All that's as plain as sunlight," said Rube. "But look at that sharp
point of glass. Thar's a thread of wool caught on it--yellow wool."

"Ah!" exclaimed Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell for a certainty!"

"That's how I figure it out," Rube agreed.

"Queer!" mused Kiddie, thrusting a finger and thumb into one of his
smaller pockets. "I found a thread of the same yellow wool caught in
one of poor Sheila's claws--the middle claw of the left fore foot."

"Dog got at him pretty close," conjectured Isa. "Guess Nick was right
up agin her when he fired."

"The hair ain't singed any round about the bullet hole," added Rube.

"That's an important point," nodded Kiddie, turning and leading the way
round to the front door of the cabin.

Rube Carter, following close behind him, sniffed, as Kiddie had done,
on entering the living-room.

"Ugh," grunted Rube, "somebody bin havin' a smoke in here lately.
Smells like a cigar, don't it, Kiddie? 'Tain't pipe tobacco smoke--eh?"

"No," said Kiddie, sniffing like a spaniel after partridge. "It's more
like the aroma of one of my Egyptian cigarettes." He glanced up at a
shelf.