The Case of the Wrong Footprint

Pim came home from school. His mama was standing in the hallway, looking at the floor.

"Pim," she said, "did you walk through here at lunchtime?"

"No," said Pim. "I was at school."

The hallway floor had a small grey footprint right in the middle. Mama had painted the floor that morning. It had only just dried. Now there was a footprint where there should not have been one.

"Whose foot is that?" said Mama.

Pim opened his notebook.

Case Number 8: The Mysterious Footprint.

He kneeled down. The footprint was small. Smaller than a grown-up's. About the same size as Pim's own foot, maybe a bit bigger.

He compared his shoe. His shoe was a little bigger than the footprint. Not by much.

"It's not me," said Pim. "Look — my shoe is bigger. And I haven't been home today."

"Then who?" said Mama.

Pim looked around. The hallway had two doors. One led to the kitchen. One led to the front door, which had been locked. Pim's mama had been in the kitchen all afternoon, baking. So whoever made the footprint had to come from outside.

But the front door had been locked.

So how had they got in?

Pim went to the kitchen. The kitchen window — was open.

"Did you have the kitchen window open?" he asked.

"Yes. For the smell of the paint."

Pim leaned out the kitchen window.

There was a small smudge of grey paint on the windowsill, on the outside.