John Thorndykes Cases | Page 6

am going to call on him now."
We walked on along the footpath that led towards the village, but had
only proceeded two or three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our
attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction
of the cliff.
"Why, here is Mr. Draper himself," exclaimed the sergeant, stopping
short and waving his hand. "I expect he has heard the news already."
Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the
approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we

saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in a
Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary
country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a
walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of
which partly projected from his pocket.
"Is it true, Sergeant?" he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from
his exertions. "About Mr. Hearn, I mean. There is a rumour that he has
been found dead on the beach."
"It's quite true, sir, I am sorry to say; and, what is worse, he has been
murdered."
"My God! you don't say so!"
He turned towards us a face that must ordinarily have been jovial
enough, but was now white and scared and, after a brief pause, he
exclaimed:
"Murdered! Good God! Poor old Hearn! How did it happen, Sergeant?
and when? and is there any clue to the murderer?"
"We can't say for certain when it happened," replied the sergeant, "and
as to the question of clues, I was just coming up to call on you."
"On me!" exclaimed Draper, with a startled glance at the officer. "What
for?"
"Well, we should like to know something about Mr. Hearn--who he
was, and whether he had any enemies, and so forth; anything, in fact,
that would give as a hint where to look for the murderer. And you are
the only person in the place who knew him at all intimately."
Mr Draper's pallid face turned a shade paler, and he glanced about him
with an obviously embarrassed air.
"I'm afraid." he began in a hesitating manner, "I'm afraid I shan't be
able to help you much. I didn't know much about his affairs. You see he

was--well--only a casual acquaintance--"
"Well," interrupted the sergeant, "you can tell us who and what he was,
and where he lived, and so forth. We'll find out the rest if you give us
the start."
"I see," said Draper. "Yes, I expect you will." His eyes glanced
restlessly to and fro, and he added presently: "You must come up
to-morrow, and have a talk with me about him, and I'll see what I can
remember."
"I'd rather come this evening," said the sergeant firmly.
"Not this evening," pleaded Draper. "I'm feeling rather--this affair, you
know, has upset me. I couldn't give proper attention--"
His sentence petered out into a hesitating mumble, and the officer
looked at him in evident surprise at his nervous, embarrassed manner.
His own attitude, however, was perfectly firm, though polite.
"I don't like pressing you, sir," said he, "but time is precious--we'll have
to go single file here; this pond is a public nuisance. They ought to
bank it up at this end. After you, sir."
The pond to which the sergeant alluded had evidently extended at one
time right across the path, but now, thanks to the dry weather, a narrow
isthmus of half-dried mud traversed the morass, and along this Mr.
Draper proceeded to pick his way. The sergeant was about to follow,
when suddenly he stopped short with his eyes riveted upon the muddy
track. A single glance showed me the cause of his surprise, for on the
stiff, putty-like surface, standing out with the sharp distinctness of a
wax mould, were the fresh footprints of the man who had just passed,
each footprint displaying on its sole the impression of stud-nails
arranged in a diamond-shaped pattern, and on its heel a group of similar
nails arranged in a cross.
The sergeant hesitated for only a moment, in which he turned a quick
startled glance upon us; then he followed, walking gingerly along the

edge of the path as if to avoid treading in his predecessor's footprints.
Instinctively we did the same, following closely, and anxiously
awaiting the next development of the tragedy. For a minute or two we
all proceeded in silence, the sergeant being evidently at a loss how to
act, and Mr. Draper busy with his own thoughts. At length the former
spoke.
"You think, Mr. Draper, you would rather that I looked in on you
to-morrow about this affair?"
"Much rather, if you wouldn't mind," was the eager reply.