I have said two, but that is not strictly correct. One, that of a workman’s right boot with heavy hobnails, was complete in every detail, the clay holding the impression like plaster of Paris. The other, some distance in front and to the left and apparently the next step forward, was on the edge of the clay patch and showed the heel only, the sole having borne on the hard.
Inspector Burnley’s eyes brightened. Never had he seen better impressions. Here was something tangible at last. He bent down to examine them more closely, then suddenly sprang to his feet with a gesture of annoyance.
‘Fool that I am,’ he growled, ‘that’s only Watty bringing up the cask.’
All the same he made a careful sketch of the marks, showing the distance between them and the size of the clay patch. Watty, he felt sure, would be easy to find through the carting establishment, when he could ascertain if the footsteps were his. If it should chance they were not, he had probably found a useful clue to the thief. For the convenience of the reader I reproduce the sketch.
Burnley turned to go on, but his habit of thinking things out reasserted itself, and he stood gazing at the marks and slowly pondering. He was puzzled that the steps were so close together. He took out his rule and re-measured the distance between them. Nineteen inches from heel to heel. That was surely very close. A man of Watty’s size would normally take a step of at least thirty inches, and carters were generally long-stepping men. If he had put it at thirty-two or thirty-three inches he would probably be nearer the thing. Why, then, this short step?
He looked and pondered. Then suddenly a new excitement came into his eyes and he bent swiftly down again.
‘Jove!’ he murmured. ‘Jove! I nearly missed that! It makes it more like Watty, and, if so, it is conclusive! Absolutely conclusive!’ His cheek was flushed and his eyes shone.
‘That probably settles that hash,’ said the evidently delighted Inspector. He, nevertheless, continued his methodical search down the remainder of the drive and out on the road, but without further result.
He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock.
‘Two more points and I’m through,’ he said to himself in a satisfied tone.