Entering a simple bedroom, with its tiled flooring and its single white bed, he spared this as he passed to the bath beyond, which had no outlet save a ventilating shaft securely barred by a bronze grating of close, fantastic-scrolled mesh. Delaney's heavy steps were heard in the reception hall as Drew finished. Striding out into the larger room he frowned as the operative deposited a blanket upon a Persian rug and began to untie its corners. "I got 'em here, Chief," explained the assistant with upturned face. "There's five or six prints--all alike." "What? Repeat that!" Drew dropped to one knee. "Sure, Chief. There's only been one guy at that junction-box before the freezing started. He made plenty of tracks. He came and went from the fence to the box. It's a small foot. There was plenty of prints made after the snow piled on top of these little prints." "The operatives?" "Sure, and the Central Office bunch! But these prints I got here are the only ones under the snow. They stuck up when I melted away the surface." Delaney offered a plaster-cast of the top of a footprint. It was roughly done. It had been made, like the others in the blanket, by pouring cold plaster within a retaining bulge of soap. The plaster had hardened and brought out each detail. Drew traced his finger over the toe. "Right foot," he said. "Now let's see the others!" "Here's a left foot, Delaney," added the detective slowly. "Only one left and four right. That might happen. You didn't take them all. Well, bundle them up and plant them somewhere. Put them under that couch, out of sight. I've got an idea!" "What is it, Chief?" asked the operative as he drew on the knots until he had gathered the corners together. "What's new? I can't see anything in sight, at-tall, at-tall. One man--that's all I see." "And that's _all_ I see--the trouble-hunter--Delaney!" "But what about the tall guy who looked like a German? The fellow the trouble-man saw getting over the fence and beating it for Fifth Avenue?" "He didn't leave any tracks!" "Ah, Chief, get out! That ain't human!" Drew paced the floor with his hands clasped behind him. He wheeled with sudden energy. "Go, you!" he exclaimed with a pointing finger. "Hurry out of this house and telephone Gramercy Hill Exchange. Tell the superintendent to send over that trouble-man. I want to compare these prints with his shoes. He couldn't have been lying. There's no object in that! But, Delaney, how could a man tap in on that junction-box and never leave prints in the snow? That's my question!" "How could one shoot a man in a sealed room, Chief? There ain't much difference!" Drew snatched out his watch. "Hurry," he said. "Get over to Gramercy Hill Exchange--it's only three blocks from here. Ask Jack Nefe, or whoever is in charge, for the trouble-man who fixed the phone last night. He'll be able to tell us what part of the fence the tall fellow, who looked like a German, got over. Perhaps he wasn't at the junction-box at all!"