something deeper underlying it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical
professor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner
there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now to
work! In the first place, how did these folk come, and how did
they go? The door has not been opened since last night. How of
the window?" He carried the lamp across to it, muttering his
observations aloud the while, but addressing them to himself
rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on the inner side.
Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No
water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has mounted
by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the print
of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy
mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table.
See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."

I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a
footmark," said I.

"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression
of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a
heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark
of the timber-toe."

"It is the wooden-legged man."

"Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and