Ashe began to pick up the scattered footgear.
"That's the lot, sir," he said, rising.
"Now come with me. Leave the basket there. You can carry it back when you return."
"Shall I put back that shoe, sir?"
"Certainly not. I shall take this one with me."
"Shall I carry it for you, sir?"
Baxter reflected.
"Yes. I think that would be best."
Trouble had shaken his nerve. He was not certain that there might not be others besides Lord Emsworth in the garden; and it occurred to him that, especially after his reputation for eccentric conduct had been so firmly established by his misfortunes that night in the hall, it might cause comment should he appear before them carrying a shoe.
Ashe took the shoe and, doing so, understood what before had puzzled him. Across the toe was a broad splash of red paint. Though he had nothing else to go on, he saw all. The shoe he held was a female shoe. His own researches in the museum had made him aware of the presence there of red paint. It was not difficult to build up on these data a pretty accurate estimate of the position of affairs.