The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman

leaving the tracks of stockinged feet. The tracks that I saw at the Gap certainly indicated that the man was carrying something very heavy when he returned to the boat.”

      “But why should the man have climbed a rope up the cliff when he could have walked up the Shepherd’s Path?” the magistrate asked.

      “Because,” replied Thorndyke, “there would then have been a set of tracks leading out of the Bay without a corresponding set leading into it; and this would have instantly suggested to a smart police-officer—such as Sergeant Payne—a landing from a boat.”

      “Your explanation is highly ingenious,” said the magistrate, “and appears to cover all the very remarkable facts. Have you anything more to tell us?”

      “No, your Worship,” was the reply, “excepting” (here he took from Polton the last pair of moulds and passed them up to the magistrate) “that you will probably find these moulds of importance presently.”

      As Thorndyke stepped from the box—for there was no cross-examination—the magistrates scrutinized the moulds with an air of perplexity; but they were too discreet to make any remark.

      When the evidence of Professor Copland (which showed that an unquestionably lethal dose of morphia must have been swallowed) had been taken, the clerk called out the—to me—unfamiliar name of Jacob Gummer. Thereupon an enormous pair of brown dreadnought trousers, from the upper end of which a smack-boy’s head and shoulders protruded, walked into the witness-box.

      Jacob admitted at the outset that he was a smack-master’s apprentice, and that he had been “hired out” by his master to one Mr. Jezzard as deck-hand and cabin-boy of the yacht Otter.

      “Now, Gummer,” said Anstey, “do you remember the prisoner coming on board the yacht?”

      “Yes. He has been on board twice. The first time was about a month ago. He went for a sail with us then. The second time was on the night when Mr. Hearn was murdered.”

      “Do you remember what sort of boots the prisoner was wearing the first time he came?”

      “Yes. They were shoes with a lot of nails in the soles. I remember them because Mr. Jezzard made him take them off and put on a canvas pair.”

      “What was done with the nailed shoes?”

      “Mr. Jezzard took ’em below to the cabin.”

      “And did Mr. Jezzard come up on deck again directly?”

      “No. He stayed down in the cabin about ten minutes.”

      “Do you remember a parcel being delivered on board from a London boot-maker?”

      “Yes. The postman brought it about four or five days after Mr. Draper had been on board. It was labelled ‘Walker Bros., Boot and Shoe Makers, London.’ Mr. Jezzard took a pair of shoes from it, for I saw them on the locker in the cabin the same day.”

      “Did you ever see him wear them?”

      “No. I never see ’em again.”

      “Have you ever heard sounds of hammering on the yacht?”

      “Yes. The night after the parcel came I was on the quay alongside, and I heard someone a-hammering in the cabin.”

      “What did the hammering sound like?”

      “It sounded like a cobbler a-hammering in nails.”

      “Have you over seen any boot-nails on the yacht?”

      “Yes. When I was a-clearin’ up the cabin the next mornin’, I found a hobnail on the floor in a corner by the locker.”

      “Were you on board on the night when Mr. Hearn died?”

      “Yes. I’d been ashore, but I came aboard about half-past nine.”

      “Did you see Mr. Hearn go ashore?”

      “I see him leave the yacht. I had turned into my bunk and gone to sleep, when Mr. Jezzard calls down to me: ‘We’re putting Mr. Hearn ashore,’ says he; ‘and then,’ he says, ‘we’re a-going for an hour’s fishing. You needn’t sit up,’ he says, and with that he shuts the scuttle. Then I got up and slid back the scuttle and put my head out, and I see Mr. Jezzard and Mr. Leach a-helpin’ Mr. Hearn acrost the deck. Mr. Hearn he looked as if he was drunk. They got him into the boat—and a rare job they had—and Mr. Pitford, what was in the boat already, he pushed off. And then I popped my head in again, ’cause I didn’t want them to see me.”

      “Did they row to the steps?”

      “No. I put my head out again when they were gone, and I heard ’em row round the yacht, and then pull out towards the mouth of the harbour. I couldn’t see the boat, ’cause it was a very dark night.”

      “Very well. Now I am going to ask you about another matter. Do you know anyone of the name of Polton?”

      “Yes,” replied Gummer, turning a dusky red. “I’ve just found out his real name. I thought he was called Simmons.”

      “Tell us what you know about him,” said Anstey, with a mischievous smile.

      “Well,” said the boy, with a ferocious scowl at the bland and smiling Polton, “one day he come down to the yacht when the gentlemen had gone ashore. I believe he’d seen ’em go. And he offers me ten shillin’ to let him see all the boots and shoes we’d got on board. I didn’t see no harm, so I turns out the whole lot in the cabin for him to look at. While he was lookin’ at ’em he asks me to fetch a pair of mine from the fo’c’sle, so I fetches ’em. When I come back he was pitchin’ the boots and shoes back into the locker. Then, presently, he nips off, and when he was gone I looked over the shoes, and then I found there was a pair missing. They was an old pair of Mr. Jezzard’s, and what made him nick ’em is more than I can understand.”

      “Would you know those shoes if you saw them!”

      “Yes, I should,” replied the lad.

      “Are these the pair?” Anstey handed the boy a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes, which he seized eagerly.

      “Yes, these is the ones what he stole!” he exclaimed.

      Anstey took them back from the boy’s reluctant hands, and passed them up to the magistrate’s desk. “I think,” said he, “that if your Worship will compare these shoes with the last pair of moulds, you will have no doubt that these are the shoes which made the footprints from the sea to Sundersley Gap and back again.”

      The magistrates together compared the shoes and the moulds amidst a breathless silence. At length the chairman laid them down on the desk.

      “It is impossible to doubt it,” said he. “The broken heel and the tear in the rubber sole, with the remains of the chequered pattern, make the identity practically certain.”

      As the chairman made this statement I involuntarily glanced round to the place where Jezzard was sitting. But he was not there; neither he, nor Pitford, nor Leach. Taking advantage of the preoccupation of the Court, they had quietly slipped out of the door. But I was not the only person who had noted their absence. The inspector and the sergeant were already in earnest consultation, and a minute later they, too, hurriedly departed.

      The proceedings now speedily came to an end. After a brief discussion with his brother-magistrates, the chairman addressed the Court.

      “The remarkable and I may say startling evidence, which has been heard in this court today, if it has not fixed the guilt of this crime on any individual, has, at any rate, made it clear to our satisfaction that the prisoner is not the guilty person, and he is accordingly discharged. Mr. Draper, I have great pleasure in informing you that you are at liberty to leave the court, and that you do so entirely clear of all suspicion; and I congratulate you very heartily on the skill and ingenuity of your legal advisers, but for which the decision of the Court would, I am afraid, have been very different.”

      That evening, lawyers,