‘Look, Professor! That’s how the murderer got in, all right,’ said Tracy.
As Fordney walked over to the ladder standing two feet from the back of the house, he knelt down and carefully studied the heavy footprints around it.
‘Whose room is that?’ he inquired, pointing to a second-story window against which the top of the thirty-foot ladder rested.
‘That’s Uncle’s study,’ replied Tracy.
Going into the house, Fordney first questioned Withers, who had discovered the body of Lane, Tracy’s uncle.
‘I was reading in my room,’ he said. ‘About two o’clock I heard a noise, so I armed myself and crept out into the hall. Then I heard it again, apparently in the study, so I stole down the corridor, opened the door, and rushed in. I turned on the lights, ran over to the open window, looked out, and saw a man scurry down the ladder, jump off, and run. I fired twice, but evidently missed him,’ he concluded.
‘Were you home all evening, Mr. Tracy?’
‘No. I had just put up the car when I heard the shots and saw a figure dash around the house.’
‘I’ll take a look at your car later, Tracy.
‘Withers, show me exactly how you found Lane before you lifted him to the divan.’
As Withers righted an overturned chair, fitted its legs carefully to four impressions in the rug at the right of a smoking-stand, sat down, and slumped over to the left, Fordney said, ‘That’s enough. Which one of you killed him?’
