but with equal frequency in those of the deceased. Moreover, when the body was removed, I observed that the footprints in the sand on which it was lying were exclusively those of the deceased. There was not a sign of any nail-marked footprint under the corpse, although there were many close around it. It was evident, therefore, that the footprints of the deceased were made first and those of the nailed shoes afterwards.”
As Thorndyke paused the magistrate rubbed his nose thoughtfully, and the inspector gazed at the witness with a puzzled frown.
“The singularity of this fact,” my colleague resumed, “made me look at the footprints yet more critically, and then I made another discovery. There was a double track of the nailed shoes, leading apparently from and back to the Shepherd’s Path. But on examining these tracks more closely, I was astonished to find that the man who had made them had been walking backwards; that, in fact, he had walked backwards from the body to the Shepherd’s Path, had ascended it for a short distance, had turned round, and returned, still walking backwards, to the face of the cliff near the corpse, and there the tracks vanished altogether. On the sand at this spot were some small, inconspicuous marks which might have been made by the end of a rope, and there were also a few small fragments which had fallen from the cliff above. Observing these, I examined the surface of the cliff, and at one spot, about six feet above the beach, I found a freshly rubbed spot on which were parallel scratches such as might have been made by the nailed sole of a boot. I then ascended the Shepherd’s Path, and examined the cliff from above, and here I found on the extreme edge a rather deep indentation, such as would be made by a taut rope, and, on lying down and looking over, I could see, some five feet from the top, another rubbed spot with very distinct parallel scratches.”
“You appear to infer,” said the chairman, “that this man performed these astonishing evolutions and was then hauled up the cliff?”
“That is what the appearances suggested,” replied Thorndyke.
The chairman pursed up his lips, raised his eyebrows, and glanced doubtfully at his brother magistrates. Then, with a resigned air, he bowed to the witness to indicate that he was listening.
“That same night,” Thorndyke resumed, “I cycled down to the shore, through the Gap, with a supply of plaster of Paris, and proceeded to take plaster moulds of the more important of the footprints.” (Here the magistrates, the inspector, and Mr. Bashfield with one accord sat up at attention; Sergeant Payne swore quite audibly; and I experienced a sudden illumination respecting a certain basin and kitchen spoon which had so puzzled me on the night of Thorndyke’s arrival.) “As I thought that liquid plaster might confuse or even obliterate the prints in sand, I filled up the respective footprints with dry plaster, pressed it down lightly, and then cautiously poured water on to it. The moulds, which are excellent impressions, of course show the appearance of the boots which made the footprints, and from these moulds I have prepared casts which reproduce the footprints themselves.
“The first mould that I made was that of one of the tracks from the boat up to the Gap, and of this I shall speak presently. I next made a mould of one of the footprints which have been described as those of the deceased.”
“Have been described!” exclaimed the chairman. “The deceased was certainly there, and there were no other footprints, so, if they were not his, he must have flown to where he was found.”
“I will call them the footprints of the deceased,” replied Thorndyke imperturbably. “I took a mould of one of them, and with it, on the same mould, one of my own footprints. Here is the mould, and here is a cast from it.” (He turned and took them from the triumphant Polton, who had tenderly lifted them out of the trunk in readiness.) “On looking at the cast, it will be seen that the appearances are not such as would be expected. The deceased was five feet nine inches high, but was very thin and light, weighing only nine stone six pounds, as I ascertained by weighing the body, whereas I am five feet eleven and weigh nearly thirteen stone. But yet the footprint of the deceased is nearly twice as deep as mine—that is to say, the lighter man has sunk into the sand nearly twice as deeply as the heavier man.”
The magistrates were now deeply attentive. They were no longer simply listening to the despised utterances of a mere scientific expert. The cast lay before them with the two footprints side by side; the evidence appealed to their own senses and was proportionately convincing.
“This is very singular,” said the chairman; “but perhaps you can explain the discrepancy?”
“I think I can,” replied Thorndyke; “but I should prefer to place all the facts before you first.”
“Undoubtedly that would be better,” the chairman agreed. “Pray proceed.”
“There was another remarkable peculiarity about these footprints,” Thorndyke continued, “and that was their distance apart—the length of the stride, in fact. I measured the steps carefully from heel to heel, and found them only nineteen and a half inches. But a man of Hearn’s height would have an ordinary stride of about thirty-six inches—more if he was walking fast. Walking with a stride of nineteen and a half inches he would look as if his legs were tied together.
“I next proceeded to the Bay, and took two moulds from the footprints of the man with the nailed shoes, a right and a left. Here is a cast from the mould, and it shows very clearly that the man was walking backwards.”
“How does it show that?” asked the magistrate.
“There are several distinctive points. For instance, the absence of the usual ‘kick off’ at the toe, the slight drag behind the heel, showing the direction in which the foot was lifted, and the undisturbed impression of the sole.”
“You have spoken of moulds and casts. What is the difference between them?”
“A mould is a direct, and therefore reversed, impression. A cast is the impression of a mould, and therefore a facsimile of the object. If I pour liquid plaster on a coin, when it sets I have a mould, a sunk impression, of the coin. If I pour melted wax into the mould I obtain a cast, a facsimile of the coin. A footprint is a mould of the foot. A mould of the footprint is a cast of the foot, and a cast from the mould reproduces the footprint.”
“Thank you,” said the magistrate. “Then your moulds from these two footprints are really facsimiles of the murderer’s shoes, and can be compared with these shoes which have been put in evidence?”
“Yes, and when we compare them they demonstrate a very important fact.”
“What is that?”
“It is that the prisoner’s shoes were not the shoes that made those footprints.” A buzz of astonishment ran through the court, but Thorndyke continued stolidly: “The prisoner’s shoes were not in my possession, so I went on to Barker’s pond, on the clay margin of which I had seen footprints actually made by the prisoner. I took moulds of those footprints, and compared them with these from the sand. There are several important differences, which you will see if you compare them. To facilitate the comparison I have made transparent photographs of both sets of moulds to the same scale. Now, if we put the photograph of the mould of the prisoner’s right shoe over that of the murderer’s right shoe, and hold the two superposed photographs up to the light, we cannot make the two pictures coincide. They are exactly of the same length, but the shoes are of different shape. Moreover, if we put one of the nails in one photograph over the corresponding nail in the other photograph, we cannot make the rest of the nails coincide. But the most conclusive fact of all—from which there is no possible escape—is that the number of nails in the two shoes is not the same. In the sole of the prisoner’s right shoe there are forty nails; in that of the murderer there are forty-one. The murderer has one nail too
