One thing about the stocking marks struck the detectives as peculiar. In each instance the outgoing marks were close together, the incoming marks far apart. “This chap was in a mighty hurry, coming back,” said Chick reflectively. “He made the return trips in long jumps. Must have got scared in the front room.” “Anton might have visited his father’s room before dressing,” said Nick, “and discovered the dead body on the bed. That would naturally give him a fright.” “But he seems to have gotten two frights,” said Chick, with a grin. As Chick bent over the tracks Nick moved cautiously toward the front of the hall. He was certain that he heard footsteps there, that some one was watching their movements—noting the course their investigation was taking. Finally he made a little rush to the front, and was just in time to see a mass of dark hair disappearing down the stairs. The wearer of the hair looked back, and Nick saw a pair of handsome black eyes. “We were watched,” he mused, turning back to the tracks. “The burglars, we are told, entered by way of Anton’s room.” The detectives passed down the hall and entered the rear room, after it had been unlocked from the inside. The young man who had unlocked the door was already back in bed when the detectives entered. His head was bandaged and his face was pale as death. His eyes glared unnaturally from under heavy brows. He was a remarkably handsome man, although his face, even with the pallor of suffering upon it, showed signs of dissipation. His features were regular, his hair black and waving, and his figure slender and muscular. “I called to you when you were at the door a moment ago,” he said, “but you did not answer. I presume you are Nick Carter? Yes. Well, I am glad to see you. Hope you will find the murderer, and also the brute who gave me this bump on the head. My poor father! He was always a father to me!” “All in good time,” said Nick. “We are about to make an examination of the premises, but would like to ask you a few questions, provided you are well enough to engage in conversation.” “I am very much better,” was the reply, “and perfectly able to tell you all I know about this wretched affair.” “What time did you go to bed last night?” was the first question. “About ten o’clock,” was the reply. “We keep early hours up here in the country, you see,” he added, with a wan smile. “Did you retire for the night as soon as you came upstairs? What I mean is, did you move about your room or the hall?” Sawtelle’s face became flushed, and he hesitated. Although Nick’s eyes were seemingly not fixed on his face, he noted every change of expression. What Nick appeared to be looking at was the gravel roof of a one-story lean-to attached to the building at the west. CHAPTER II. CONFLICTING CLUES. Once the young man opened his lips to reply to the question, but he changed his mind, evidently, and remained silent for a time.