“But these two sets of tracks are the same,” said the assistant, “and were, of course, made by Anton. You have, I think, the socks he wore last night in your pocket,” added Chick, with a smile. “Suppose we compare them with the tracks?” “You saw what I took from under the bed, then?” “Certainly. I had had my eyes on them for some time.” Nick took the socks from his pocket. They fitted the tracks exactly. “You see,” said Chick, “the burglars never left that back room. Now, who murdered Alvin Maynard? Who stole Charley Maynard’s diamonds?” What Chick stated was the truth. There were no indications that the burglars had left the threshold of Anton’s room. And yet the old man had been murdered at the other end of the hall and the diamonds had been stolen from a room which could be reached only by way of the hall! Nick made no reply. Instead, he turned from the hall and entered the room from which the gems had been stolen. Everything was in order there. The diamonds had been taken from a trunk, and this stood near the head of the bed, the cover swung back against the wall. In the compartment at the right end of the till was a casket, the one in which, under coarser covering, the diamonds had been shipped to New York. Nick took out his glass and inspected the packing. Then he placed some of the cotton and some of the paper in his pocketbook. The trunk was of metal surface, and at the top of the box the iron had been worn through to the wood. Jagged edges of metal showed all along the edge of the box. On one of these edges Nick found a shred of pink wool, which he placed in his pocket with the other articles. Nick now entered the room which had been occupied by Mrs. Maynard, going directly to the dresser. “What do you find?” asked Chick. “Record of last night’s proceedings,” was the reply. “It is as plain as if written in ink. I have heard it said,” continued the detective, “that no person can enter a room without leaving some evidence of the visit. This may be putting it too strongly, but I am convinced that no person can commit a crime without leaving behind a record of the deed, as plain as printing, if we only know how to read the language in which it is written.” “That has often been proven,” said Chick. The little right-hand drawer of the dresser stood half open, disclosing a collection of rumpled handkerchiefs of fine texture. The top of the dresser was half covered with toilet articles. There were powders and liquid preparations for the face and hands, and many other articles designed to keep the marks of advancing years from showing too plainly. Nick picked up a jar of yellowish paste and turned his glass on it. Then he took the pieces of packing from his pocket. “See here,” he said, “the woman went to Charley’s room last night, after all was still in the house, and took the diamonds and brought them to this room.” “Impossible!” cried Chick. “That silver-haired old lady a thief—never.”