"It appears to me, however—"
"There can be no mistake, Monsieur Plantat. Certain it is that the sand has been disturbed and thrown about. But all these trails that lay bare the earth which was covered by the sand, were made by the same foot. Perhaps you don't believe it. They were made, too, with the end of the foot; that you may see for yourself."
"Yes, I perceive it."
"Very well, then; when there has been a struggle on ground like this, there are always two distinct kinds of traces—those of the assailant and those of the victim. The assailant, throwing himself forward, necessarily supports himself on his toes, and imprints the fore part of his feet on the earth. The victim, on the contrary, falling back, and trying to avoid the assault, props himself on his heels, and therefore buries the heels in the soil. If the adversaries are equally strong, the number of imprints of the toes and the heels will be nearly equal, according to the chances of the struggle. But what do we find here?"
M. Plantat interrupted:
"Enough; the most incredulous would now be convinced." After thinking a moment, he added:
"No, there is no longer any possible doubt of it."
M. Lecoq thought that his argument deserved a reward, and treated himself to two lozenges at a mouthful.
"I haven't done yet," he resumed. "Granted, that the countess could not have been murdered here; let's add that she was not carried hither, but dragged along. There are only two ways of dragging a body; by the shoulders, and in this case the feet, scraping along the earth, leave two parallel trails; or by the legs—in which case the head, lying on the earth, leaves a single furrow, and that a wide one."
Plantat nodded assent.