THE CLUE OF THE PHOTOGRAPHS
“What do you make of it, Inspector?” asked my friend. Detective-Inspector Wessex smiled, and scratched his chin.
“There was no need for me to come down!” he replied. “And certainly no need for you, Mr. Harley!”
Harley bowed, smiling, at the implied compliment.
“It's a common or garden elopement!” continued the detective. “Vane's reputation is absolutely rotten, and the girl was clearly infatuated. He must have cared a good bit, too. He'll be cashiered, as sure as a gun!”
Leaving Sir Howard at the Manor, we had joined Inspector Wessex at a spot where the baronet's preserves bordered a narrow lane. Here the ground was soft, and the detective drew Harley's attention to a number of footprints by a stile.
“I've got evidence that he was seen here with the girl on other occasions. Now, Mr. Harley, I'll ask you to look over these footprints.”
Harley dropped to his knees and made a brief but close examination of the ground round about. One particularly clear imprint of a pointed toe he noticed especially; and Wessex, diving into the pocket of his light overcoat, produced a patent-leather shoe, such as is used for evening wear.
“He had a spare pair in his bag,” he explained nonchalantly, “and his man did not prove incorruptible!”
Harley took the shoe and placed it in the impression. It fitted perfectly!