Part 6 (1/2)

”You have saved me, Willoughby. You can save my life, if you will.”

”I will,” was my earnest reply. ”You know my secret,” I added, raising her fingers to my hot pa.s.sionate lips before we parted.

She made no mention of the tragedy, and what, indeed, could I remark?

My journey to London I was compelled to postpone in view of what had occurred. She had not referred to it, and to tell the truth I felt that my presence beside her just then was of greater need. Thus, after awaiting my housekeeper's return in order to preserve appearances, I ate my breakfast with the air of a man entirely undisturbed.

Just before nine the doctor came in, ruddy and well-shaven, and throwing himself into an armchair exclaimed--

”You didn't keep your promise! I called and found n.o.body at home. You were out.”

”I'd gone down the village,” I explained.

”Well, I've been up into the park with the police. They've sent that blundering fool Redway--worse than useless! We've been over the ground, but there's so many footprints that it's impossible to distinguish any-- save one.”

”And what's that?”

”Well, strangely enough, my dear fellow, it's a woman's.”

”A woman's!” I gasped, for I saw that all my work had been in vain and in my hurry I must have unfortunately overlooked one.

”Yes, it's the print of a woman's slipper with a French heel--not the kind of shoe usually worn in Sibberton,” remarked the doctor. ”Funny, isn't it?”

”Very,” I agreed with a sickly feeling. ”What do the police think?”

”Redway means to take a plaster cast of it--says it's an important clue.

Got a cigarette?”

I pushed the box before him, with sinking heart, and at the same time invited him to the table to have breakfast, for I had not yet finished.

”Breakfast!” he cried. ”Why, I had mine at six, and am almost ready for lunch. I'm an early bird, you know.”

It was true. He had cultivated the habit of early rising by going cub-hunting with the Stanchester hounds, and it was his boast that he never breakfasted later than six either summer or winter.

”Did they find anything else?” I inquired, fearing at the same time to betray any undue curiosity.

”Found a lot of marks of men's boots, but they might have been ours,” he answered in his bluff way as he lit his cigarette. ”My theory is that the mark of the woman's shoe is a very strong clue. Some woman knows all about it--that's very certain, and she's a person who wears thin French shoes, size three.”

”Does Redway say that?”

”No, I say it. Redway's a fool, you know. Look how he blundered in that robbery in Northampton a year ago. I only wish we could get a man from Scotland Yard. He'd nab the murderer before the day is out.”

At heart I did not endorse this wish. On the contrary the discovery of this footmark that had escaped me was certainly a very serious _contretemps_. My endeavours must, I saw, now all be directed towards arranging matters so that, if necessary, Lolita could prove a complete _alibi_.

”Do you know,” went on the doctor, ”there's one feature in the affair that's strangest of all, and that is that there seems to have been an attempt to efface certain marks, as though the a.s.sa.s.sin boldly returned to the spot after the removal of the body and sc.r.a.ped the ground in order to wipe out his footprints. Redway won't admit that, but I'm certain of it--absolutely certain. I suppose the a.s.s won't accept the theory because it isn't his own.”

I tried to speak, but what could I say? The words I uttered resolved themselves into a mere expression of blank surprise, and perhaps it was as well, for the man before me was as keen and shrewd as any member of the Criminal Investigation Department. He was essentially a man of action, who whether busy or idle could not remain in one place five minutes together. He rushed all over the country-side from early morning, or dashed up to London by the express, spent the afternoon in Bond Street or the Burlington, and was back at home, a hundred miles distant, in time for dinner. He was perfectly tireless, possessing a demeanour which no amount of offence could ruffle, and an even temper and chaffing good-humour that was a most remarkable characteristic. The very name of Pink in Northamptons.h.i.+re was synonymous of patient surgical skill combined with a spontaneous gaiety and bluff good-humour.

”I've given over that bit of white fur to Red way,” he went on. ”And I expect we shall find that the owner of it is also owner of the small shoes. I know most of the girls of Sibberton--in fact, I've attended all of them, I expect--but I can't suggest one who would, or even could, wear such a shoe as that upon the woman who was present at the tragedy, if not the actual a.s.sa.s.sin.”

”Redway will make inquiries, I suppose?” I remarked in a faint hollow voice.