We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more upon the footsteps in the dust.
“I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks,” he said. “Do you observe anything noteworthy about them?”
“They belong,” I said, “to a child or a small woman.”
“Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?”
“They appear to be much as other footmarks.”
“Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief difference?”
“Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe distinctly divided.”
“Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the woodwork? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand.”
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell.
“That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run downstairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin.”
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glowworm crawling very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seated at one of the corner eaves.