"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
efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly
on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the
round, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as
much as a crevice in the brick-work.
"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.
"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who
lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner,
securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall.
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