As they reached the second floor, Ham Griggs and Sergeant Tish were waiting, the former with considerable impatience. Doctor Bushnell unlocked the door of the murder chamber and threw it wide. The body of Helen Gilmore, as the butler had informed them, had been removed, but the chaise longue, its creton upholstering stained with dark splotches, bore its mute testimony of the tragedy. "Here we are," grunted the constable, "but I dunno what you expect to find more'n has already been found." Sergeant Tish projected his rotund form to the center of the room, glanced about briefly, and then went to the windows, raising the shades to their full height so that all possible light would be admitted. At the second window the ripped curtain dangled before him and drew his attention. "It would be my guess," he said, pointing to the curtain, "that this means one of two things: Either it was done in a struggle with the murdered woman, or when the murderer beat it through the window." He paused a moment and added: "Still, it doesn't look as if he'd have taken the time to shut the window behind him." He peered through the glass to the roof of the porch, puffed out his round cheeks, and quickly threw up the sash. There had been no rain in weeks, and the porch shingles were covered with a coating of dust. This film was broken where Don Haskins' body had wiggled upward from the cornice in his careful approach to the window, and, in more places than one, the imprint of the man's stockinged feet showed. At Tish's grunt of elation, Constable Griggs dashed forward, with Doctor Bushnell and Wiggly behind him. "Somebody either entered or left this room through the window!" exclaimed Tish. "There's his trail in the dust on the shingles." "Entered!" said the newspaper reporter, his ears twitching. "You can see that those footprints--and the man was in his stockings--are all turned this way. Yes, he came in by the window, but he didn't leave by the window. Another check in Sarbella's favor. "The man must have torn the curtain here, as he came into the room." Constable Griggs gulped, but said nothing. Sergeant Tish bent forward and examined the pane of the raised sash. Clear and distinct there were the prints of a man's fingers--on the inside of the glass. These prints were punctuated with downward streaks, as if the fingers had slipped, but the whorls had not been obliterated; in fact they were clear and distinct. Tish reached his pudgy fingers to the breast pocket of his coat and drew forth a Bertillon card which he had borrowed from headquarters, and which bore, in addition to rogues' gallery photographs, full-face and profile, of Don Haskins, the crook's finger prints. He bobbled his head back and forth, getting the light at the best possible angle, and then he compared the finger prints on the window glass with those upon the card. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and nodded his head in affirmation.