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‘Half an hour at least – perhaps longer,’ I said.


‘The door was locked on the inside, you say? What about the window?’

‘I myself closed and bolted it earlier in the evening at Mr Ackroyd’s request.’

The inspector strode across to it and threw back the curtains.

‘Well, it’s open now, anyway,’ he remarked.


True enough, the window was open, the lower sash being raised to its fullest extent.

The inspector produced a pocket torch and flashed it along the sill outside.

‘This is the way he went all right,’ he remarked, ‘and got in. See here.’

In the light of the powerful torch, several clearly defined footmarks could be seen. They seemed to be those of shoes with rubber studs in the soles. one particularly clear one pointed inwards, another, slightly overlapping it, pointed outwards.


‘Plain as a pikestaff,’ said the inspector. ‘Any valuables missing?’

Geoffrey Raymond shook his head.

‘Not so far that we can discover. Mr Ackroyd never kept anything of particular value in this room.’

‘H’m,’ said the inspector. ‘Man found an open window. climbed in, saw Mr Ackroyd sitting there – maybe he’d fallen asleep. Man stabbed him from behind, then lost his nerve and made off. But he’s left his tracks pretty clearly. We ought to get hold of him without much difficulty. No suspicious strangers been hanging about anywhere?’

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