They went together to the pantry, which was empty, Birts leading the way with the expression of a showman about to exhibit his treasures. He pointed to a small window, about two feet high and one foot wide, in the extreme right-hand corner of the wall opposite the door which led into the dining-room. This was hinged like a door and had a catch on one side; just below the centre and close to the handle a piece of glass large enough to admit a man’s hand had been broken away. The window was fastened and fragments of glass were lying on the sill and on the floor: the sill itself had several long scratches on it at right angles to the window. “There you are!” said Birts. “There’s the whole thing! Some one after the silver, there’s not the smallest doubt. It’s kept in the dining-room, most of it, in a safe in the sideboard. Sir Roger hears some one in there as he goes to bed: fellow had only just got in, I should think. Sir Roger comes in, and gets one on the head; he drops and the man bolts in a funk. He could easily shut that window after him. That’s what happened, sure as fate.” “Something of the kind may have happened certainly,” replied Humblethorne thoughtfully; “only it doesn’t explain why Sir Roger dropped on the far side of the hall, or the extraordinary choice of a weapon.” “N—no,” answered Birts. “That is awkward. I don’t know,” he said, brightening; “the fellow got as far as the hall; he saw that box, all silver, mind you, and then Sir Roger came along. The hall was dark,” continued Birts, warming to his work, “he stood still, hoping to escape detection, and Sir Roger didn’t see him until he was almost across. Then of course the fellow hurled the box just because he had it in his hands.” “It’s not impossible that you are right, Birts. It’s certainly the simplest solution.” Humblethorne examined the window again carefully. “Whoever came in here,” he said at last, “was no fool. He has taken very good care not to put his hands on the paint, and it can’t have been so easy to avoid.” He opened the window and leant out. “H’m, I see,” he remarked, closing it again. “No fool, indeed. It is difficult to follow footprints on a much-used gravel path.” He bent down and scrutinized the floor with the utmost care, from the window to the door and then across the dining-room and on into the hall. “Nothing to help us,” he said at last. “You may be right, Birts; I won’t say you’re not, but I should like a little more evidence before I say you are. Any strangers noticed hanging about?” “So far as I’ve heard,” replied Birts, “no one has been hanging round the place, and no one was seen last night; I’ll make inquiries, but of course it’s a big place, and it would be easy enough for any one to get into the park without being noticed.”