‘Wait a moment, Agnes,’ said Dr Ackrington loudly. ‘Will you attend to me? Never mind the windows now. Mind what I say. Barbara, will you listen!’

‘Yes, James.’

‘Yes, Uncle James.’

They turned back dutifully. Dikon, sharing Dr Ackrington’s desire that Barbara should not see the men outside, got to his feet and moved behind her chair. Dr Ackrington spoke loudly and rapidly. Colonel Claire and his wife and daughter looked at him. The others made no pretence of doing so, and Dikon tried to read in their faces the progress of the men beyond the window.

‘…I repeat,’ Dr Ackrington was saying, ‘that it’s as clear as daylight. Questing, having changed into workman’s clothes and heavy boots, stamped away the clod from the path, threw his evening clothes into the cauldron and bolted. We were meant to presume accidental death.’

‘I still think it was incredibly stupid of him to forget that he would leave prints,’ said Dikon. He saw Simon’s eyes widen as he watched the men beyond the windows.

‘He thought the clod would fall into the cauldron, Bell. It must be by the merest fluke that it did not do so.’

Simon’s hands were clenched. Falls raised an eyebrow. Dr Ackrington himself, looking, as they did, beyond the windows, paused and then added rapidly: ‘If Questing is found before he gets clean away, he will be wearing hobnail boots. I’ll stake my oath on it.’

Simon was on his feet pointing. ‘Look!’

Now they all turned.

The group of men outside the window parted. Webley had taken something from the sack. He held it up. It was a heavy boot and it dripped mud.

II

They were all shown the boot. Webley brought it into the dining-room and displayed it, standing on a sheet of newspaper in the middle of the table, and exuding a strong smell of sulphur. He wiped away most of the mud. The surface of the leather was pulpy and greatly disfigured, some of the metal eyelets had fallen out and the upper had become detached in places from the sole. There were, however, still two hobnails in the heel, though the others had fallen out.

Webley wiped his large flat hands on a piece of rag and looked woodenly at his trophy.

‘I’d be obliged,’ he said, ‘if any of you ladies or gentlemen could put an owner on this. We’ve got its mate outside.’

Nobody spoke.

‘We fished them out with a hay fork,’ Webley said. ‘Don’t any of you gentlemen recognize it?’

Dr Ackrington made a brusque movement. ‘Yes, Doctor?’ Webley said at once. ‘You were going to say something?’

‘I believe—I think that quite possibly they were Questing’s.’

‘His? But you told me he wore evening shoes, Doctor.’

‘Yes. There’s a new development, however. My nephew—perhaps he should explain.’