“Well, that inspector seems to be looking through the rooms just in case he can come across anything unusual. I found him just now,” Evelyn added as naturally as she could, “in John’s little room.” She had hoped above all things that saying this would have little effect, but her hopes were doomed to extinction. Celia started away, grew as white as a sheet and said wildly, “In John’s room!” “I told him,” answered Evelyn quickly, “I was afraid he was wasting his time.” “It’s horrible, horrible!” moaned Celia. “What could he find in there?” She seized Evelyn’s hand convulsively: “Evie, for God’s sake, tell me, what did he say?” “Only that he was bound to go everywhere,” answered Evelyn in a flat voice which sounded odd in her own ears. Celia did not remark it; she sank back with a deep sigh, shivered a little and then stayed white and silent. Evelyn could not bear it; “she will not tell me,” she thought, “and she has something to tell.” She rose wearily and said, “I’m going to lie down a bit myself or I shall be the next one with a headache.” But it was her heart rather than her head that was aching, and when she got to her room she could not force herself to rest. CHAPTER VIII The Broken Window When Humblethorne, on leaving Evelyn, descended once more to the hall, he found his tea set in readiness for him at the end opposite the stairs. He felt that he had earned it, and sat down in one of the big armchairs facing the fireplace, well satisfied with his afternoon’s work. Presently through the front door on his left Birts entered and, seeing him, at once came to tell of his afternoon’s activities. The tale of the account he had given to a friendly reporter he did not think it necessary to repeat—that had not had much to do with Humblethorne; but he had an entirely negative report of the inquiries he had been pursuing in the grounds to deliver. “There hasn’t been a soul hanging round that any one admits to seeing,” was his conclusion. “And you didn’t find any traces—not a pair of shoes, for example?” inquired Humblethorne with a light, half-amused glance at him. “A pair of shoes,” repeated Birts in surprise. “No, I certainly haven’t seen any.” “That’s a pity, for I particularly want to find some.” “Give me their description,” said Birts, taking out his notebook. Humblethorne laughed. “I believe I could describe them fairly accurately,” he said; “but that won’t help you to find them. I’ve looked in all the likely places already.” “You mean,” remarked Birts after he had considered this remark, “that they’ve been hidden away?” “Hidden away or destroyed.” “If they’ve been destroyed, that doesn’t give us a chance.” “I agree—if they have been destroyed. But shoes aren’t easy things to destroy without leaving any traces, especially in summer when there are no fires. No, depend upon it, they have been hidden and well hidden: the point is, where?”