The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently
the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no
furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay
thick upon the floor.
"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand
against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out
on to the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof
itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by
which Number One entered. Let us see if we can find any other
traces of his individuality."
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for
the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over
his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold
under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints
of a naked foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but
scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.
"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid
thing."
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was
staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite
natural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able to
foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here.
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