A small gravelled path joined the terrace a few feet away. In one spot, a few yards from its termination, the ground was wet and boggy. Crossing this wet place there were again the marks of footsteps, and amongst them the shoes with rubber studs.

Poirot followed the path on a little way, the inspector by his side.

“You noticed the women’s footprints?” he said suddenly.

The inspector laughed. “Naturally. But several different women have walked this way⁠—and men as well. It’s a regular shortcut to the house, you see. It would be impossible to sort out all the footsteps. After all, it’s the ones on the windowsill that are really important.”

Poirot nodded.

“It’s no good going farther,” said the inspector, as we came in view of the drive. “It’s all gravelled again here, and hard as it can be.”