He grinned and pocketed the shoe.
“Hold up your foot, young lady. It’s a lovely night and all that, but we’re going to get out of it as soon as possible.”
He placed one of the folded pads beneath the sole of her foot and wound a strip of slicker about it and the foot bringing the ends together in a knot about her ankle.
“Now the other,” he prompted, and dealt with it in the same way.
Dorothy stood up and took a trial step or two.
“Wonderful!” she said. “I could walk to New York in these. They’re a lot more comfortable than the shoes I ordinarily wear.”
“We’ll have to patent the idea.”
“That reminds me, Bill,” Dorothy spoke slowly. They were moving along the trail again. “Do you think the letter Mr. Conway is supposed to have written Stoker could possibly have had anything to do with patents?”
“What patents?”
“Oh, I don’t know exactly—patents belonging to Mr. Conway.”