“Well I never!” said Doyle.
“That’s a good piece of deduction,” said Guy.
George said nothing.
Doyle scrutinised the prints with elaborate care. “But look here, Inspector,” he remarked, “these seem to be all male prints. What about the girl? Didn’t she come this way?”
This time Doyle had said the right thing. The Inspector beamed upon him.
“The girl, sir, as we know from Mr. Foster’s evidence, stayed behind. The others, becoming impatient, moved the boat a little farther along and she went aboard there, after they’d gone on shore again to see what was happening to her.”
“Good gracious!” said Doyle.
“Inspector, this is magical! How on earth do you know that?” said Guy.
George said nothing.
Almost bursting with triumph, the Inspector led them along the bank. This was where the Nesbitts usually landed, and the soft turf was marked with many footprints, among which Cynthia’s high heels were conspicuous. Quite speechless with admiration of his own perspicacity, the Inspector pointed at them in silence.