“And look there, sir,” he pointed to a sodden heap of canvas, apparently an awning, which, judging by its appearance, must have lain for months between the windows of number fourteen and number twelve of the Enterprise. There were a couple of deep indentations on it, one beside the other. Pointer took out the sheet of tracings he had made yesterday at the door leading out into the street from the service-stairs. He and Watts tried them carefully. They could have been made by the same feet. “Smallish feet. They just fit Miller, sir, as I was pointing out to him when you tapped,” observed Watts facetiously, and the two Scotland Yard men stepped into the room where Miller was waiting to make his report. He had been dozing in the easy chair when he had heard a couple of light taps on the pane. Very carefully he had pushed the blind aside and looked out. Instantly a torch was flashed in his eyes, blinding him. When he got the window open, no one was to be seen. “Of course, I couldn't hear anything, sir. You know what the wind was like, though the rain had pretty fair stopped by them. It was exactly twenty minutes past three o'clock.” “Did you get any idea of who held the torch?” “Only that he was a big chap, sir. Big as you.” “Did you see anyone on the opposite side of the window?” “No, sir.” “Could you have seen anyone there?” The detective was positive that he could and would, as he had looked up and down the balcony, which was fairly well lit by the street lights. He had not tried to investigate further, as his orders had been not to leave the room. On the balcony outside, the Chief Inspector stood for a second by the heap of canvas. “Just run the blind down inside there, and turn on the light.” After a moment Pointer tapped, as a signal that the window was to be opened again. “You can see better into the room from the other side—the side nearest the Marvel.” “You think it was someone from the Enterprise, sir, who wanted to be sure of getting back unnoticed?” “Looks that way.” “You don't think that two men could have been out there together, sir?” Pointer did not reply as he stepped into the room again, and sent Miller off for breakfast and sleep. “Now, about that morphia taken. Of course we shall know for certain in the morning, but I take it that there's no doubt but that it was morphia all right. It's an odd thing that we couldn't find any cup or glass from which the stuff was drunk. From what the doctor said as to the amount, it's not likely that Eames could have washed up after his drink, nor can I see the point. Let's have another hunt.” And they did, with no better result. “Could he have flung the glass over the balcony railing?” Watts measured the distance carefully. “Yes, a man could, fairly easily.” “After a heavy drug?” Pointer's voice was sceptical. “And what about passers-by?” He picked up a bottle from the wash-stand labelled “The Cough Mixture.” It bore the name of a near-by chemist.