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Clutching the bed-rail, Winifred reached up and turned the switch of the light hanging above her dressing-table. He appeared just on the rim of the light's circumference, emblazoned from the absence of his watch-chain down to boots neat and sooty brown, but yes! split at the toecap. His chest and face were shadowy. Surely he was thin or was it a trick of the light?
Clutching the bed-rail, Winifred reached up and turned the switch of the light hanging above her dressing-table. He appeared just on the rim of the light's circumference, emblazoned from the absence of his watch-chain down to boots neat and sooty brown, but yes! split at the toecap. His chest and face were shadowy. Surely he was thin or was it a trick of the light?
The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying his boots. She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the other, and stared at it, sucking in her cheeks. Suddenly she bent forward, spat on the toecap, and started polishing with a brush rooted out of her apron pocket... "Slut of a girl! Heaven knows what infectious disease may be breeding now in that boot.
"Take stock of that footprint," he began, pointing to the moist ground. "Horseshoe heel, a toecap, an' two rows of hob-nails; one nail missin'. D'ye know anythin'?" Rube shook his head. "None of our men wears boots like that," he declared. "But I've a idea I've seen the same impression before somewhere. Lemme think."
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