A moment’s hesitation and Michael had penetrated into the den, a revolver in one hand, his lamp in another. The two rooms were scrupulously clean, though a strange animal smell pervaded everything. There was a small bed, with sheets and blankets and feather pillow, where the beast slept; a small larder, full of nuts; a running water tap (he found afterwards that, in spite of his cleverness, Bhag was incapable of turning on or off a faucet); a deep, well-worn settee, where the dumb servitor took his rest; and three cricket balls, which were apparently the playthings of this hideous animal. Bhag’s method of entering and leaving the house was now apparent. His exit was a square opening in the wall, with neither window nor curtain, which was situated about seven feet from the ground; and two projecting steel rungs, set at intervals between the window and the floor, made a sort of ladder. Michael found corresponding rungs on the garden side of the wall. There was no sign of blood, no evidence that Bhag had taken any part in the terrible scene which must have been enacted the night before. Going back to the library, he made a diligent search, but found nothing until he went into the little drawing-room where he had hidden the night before. Here on the window-sill he found traces enough. The mark of a bare foot, and another which suggested that a heavy body had been dragged through the window. By this time his chauffeur, who, after dropping him at Griff Towers, went on to Chichester, had returned with the two police officers, and they assisted him in a further search of the grounds. The trail of the fugitive was easy to follow: there were bloodstains across the gravel, broken plants in a circular flower-bed, the soft loam of which had received the impression of those small bare feet. In the vegetable field the trail was lost. “The question is, who carried whom?” said Inspector Lyle, after Michael, in a few words, had told him all that he had learnt at the Towers. “It looks to me as if these people were killed in the house and their bodies carried away by Bhag. There’s no trace of blood in his room, which means no more than that in all probability he hasn’t been there since the killing,” said Inspector Lyle. “If we find the monkey we’ll solve this little mystery. Penne is the Head-Hunter, of course,” the Inspector went on. “I had a talk with him the other day, and there’s something fanatical about the man.” “I am not so sure,” said Michael slowly, “that you’re right. Perhaps my ideas are just a little bizarre; but if Sir Gregory Penne is the actual murderer, I shall be a very surprised man. I admit,” he confessed, “that the absence of any footprints in Bhag’s quarters staggered me, and probably your theory is correct. There is nothing to be done but to keep the house under observation until I communicate with headquarters.”