Dikon wondered if for a fraction of a second Webley had looked resigned, if his singularly inexpressive face had been blurred momentarily with the glaze of boredom. He passed his flat fingers over his jowl, stared at Simon and said: ‘Oh, yes?’ Simon embarked with a great air of consequence upon an account of their visit to the Peak. He forgot to include Dikon in his recital. ‘The night before when I was out on the rock, I picked that Questing was signalling from this ledge on the Peak. That’s why I went straight up there yesterday morning. Soon as I got there I looked for footprints and did I find them! Two beauties. Squatting on his heels, he’d been, under the lee of the bank. Here! You let me have a look at the soles of the boots and I reckon I’ll tell you if they made these prints on the Peak. That’s a fair pop, isn’t it?’

Webley went out and returned with the second boot. It was further advanced in disintegration than its mate. He laid them on their sides with the soles towards Simon.

‘Some of the sprigs are gone,’ he said. ‘You can see where they’ve been, though. How about it?’

Simon leant forward portentously and stared at the boots. He counted under his breath and his face grew redder and redder.

‘How about it?’ repeated Webley.

‘Give us a chance,’ said Simon. He laughed uncomfortably. ‘I’ve just got to think. You know. You have to concentrate on a thing like this.’

‘That’s right,’ said Webley impassively.

Simon concentrated.

Gaunt lit a cigarette. ‘The young investigator seems to be going into a trance,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I shall wait for the revelation. May I be excused?’

‘Don’t you start being funny,’ said Simon angrily. ‘This is important. You stay where you are.’ Dikon took out his notebook and Simon pounced on it. ‘Here! Why didn’t you give me that before?’ He ruffled the pages. ‘This is what I wanted all the time, Mr Webley. I saw the significance of these prints right away and I got Bell to make a sketch of them. Wait till I find it.’

‘Was Mr Bell up there with you?’

‘That’s right. Yes, I took him along as a witness. Here,’ cried Simon in triumph, ‘here it is. Look at that.’

Dikon, having made the sketch, had a pretty clear recollection of the prints. He decided that they might have been made by the boots on the table. Such hobnails as remained, as well as the scars left by those that had fallen out, corresponded, he thought, with the impressions he had copied. Webley, breathing placidly through his mouth, shielded the sketch with his hand and compared it with his muddy exhibits. He looked at Dikon.

‘Would you have any objection, Mr Bell, to my taking possession of this page?’

‘None.’