To Dick's surprise, Chippy seemed fixed to the spot, his finger pointing, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping open, as if he could not believe what he saw. 'I know the tracks,' gasped Chippy. 'I know 'im! I can tell yer who it is!'
CHAPTER XIII
ALBERT, WHO WASN'T ALBERT
'You know who it is?' cried Dick. 'Well, who?'
'It's Albert,' said Chippy. 'It ain't no convict at all. It's Albert.'
'Who's Albert?' asked Dick.
Chippy told the story of his grandmother's lodger, and pointed to the heel-mark before them. It was the first time since they hit the trail that the heel-mark had been clearly shown. 'Screws in the heel-tip,' said Chippy. 'That settles it. It's Albert.'
'But wait a bit, Chippy, wait a bit,' said Dick. 'You're making jolly sure all at once over this one point. Fifty fellows might have screws in their heels.'
'Not they,' returned Chippy. 'I know more about them sorts o' boots than wot you do. It's a scout's job to twig everythin', an' I twigged the screws in his boots. I knowed they worn't common, an' a day or two arter I asked a snob' (a local term for a cobbler) 'about it. I done one or two odd jobs for 'im to get 'im to talk, and then I sez to 'im, "D'yer ever screw tips on heels?" "No," he sez, "never. We screw tips on the toes sometimes, for there ain't much depth o' leather theer. But on heels there's plenty of leather to drive nails into, an' that's a lot quicker."'