of the man on his hands and knees amused her.

"Well, I might have a better pair of eyes, I admit."

From his examination of the carpet, the detective turned to the window.
Outside was the roof to the side piazza of the mansion. On the tin
roof were some dried-up spots of mud. He looked them over carefully,
and came to the conclusion that they were footprints, but how old was a
question.

"When did it rain last around here?" he asked.

"We haven't had a real storm for ten days or two weeks. We have had
several showers, though."

He took a glance into Mrs. Langmore's dressing room. Everything was in
perfect order, even to the powder-box and the cologne bottles on the
dresser.

"That is all I wish to see up here," he said, and passed below, where
he encountered the policeman in charge. Like the woman, this officer
had taken him to be a lawyer, and he readily consented to let the
detective inspect the library.

"Mr. Langmore was found in that chair," said he. "He looked as if he
had suffered great pain before he died. I think he was strangled,
although he didn't show the marks of it."

The library was a richly-furnished apartment. Along two walls were
rows of costly volumes, many relating to modern inventions. On the