Walking to the fireplace he made a most careful examination of the grate. Like the floor, it had also been rigorously cleaned. Not a vestige of ash or dust remained in it. “Polished up to be ready for the newspaper reporters, I suppose,” said Burrell sarcastically to himself. “They couldn’t have done it better if they had wanted to make sure of the murderer not being caught.” After that he strolled to the window and looked out. The room, as has already been stated elsewhere, was only a garret, and the small window opened upon a slope of tiled roof. Above the eaves and at the bottom of the slope just mentioned, was a narrow lead gutter of the usual description. From the window it was impossible, unless one leaned well out, to look down into the street below. “Just let me think for a moment,” said Burrell to himself, as he stood looking at the roofs of the houses opposite; “the night of the murder was a warm one, and this window would almost certainly be open. I suppose if the people in the houses on the other side of the way had seen or heard anything, they would have been sure to come forward before now. The idea, however, is always worth trying. I’ve a good mind to make a few inquiries over there later on.” As he said this he gave a little start forward, and leaning out of the window, looked down over the tiles into the gutter below. A small fragment of a well-smoked cigarette could just be descried in it. “My luck again,” he said with a chuckle. “If some reporter or sensation hunter didn’t throw it there, which is scarcely likely, I may be on the right track after all. Now who could have been smoking cigarettes up here? First and foremost I’ll have a look at it.”