“So you didn’t do anything about it?”
“At the time, sir, no, sir. But a little after, may have been about half an hour after, or twenty-five minutes, I went down along the island a bit to see after some of Mrs. Burgess’ hens as had got loose in the wood like. Well, sir, you remember that iron bridge as you come under, just a little way down the lock stream? Kind of iron bridge for foot passengers, because there’s no road leads to it, nor like to be.”
“Yes, I remember noticing it. Joins up the island to the West bank. What about it?”
“Maybe you didn’t notice that the steps of that bridge is made of cement, same as the lock here. Well, I goes past them steps, the ones on the island bank of it, and what d’you think I see? Footmarks, sir; naked footmarks, for all the world like Man Friday in the tale. Seemed to me somebody’d been swimming in the water, or paddling maybe, and left those marks along of his feet being wet. Of course, if you was to go there now you wouldn’t see nothing of ’em; they’d be all dried up like by now. But when I come past, there they were, as plain as for anyone to see, all the way down the steps of the iron bridge.”
“But that’s extraordinarily interesting! Which way would they be pointing? I mean, did they go up the steps, or down? And were there any footmarks on the other set of stairs, across the bridge?”
“No, sir, only the one side, same as I’m telling you. And coming down, sir, toes pointing towards the island. So that’s what makes me say to myself, Did the gentleman stay in the canoe?”
“Very interesting indeed! But it beats me to see why he only left marks going down the steps, and none going up.”
“Ah, sir, that’s because you don’t recollect the bridge properly. Rises very sudden, sir, with iron bars to support it, coming down close to the water on either side. And I says to myself, What’s to prevent the young gentleman having laid hold of those iron bars, standing up in the canoe, like, and pulled himself up by his arms on to the bridge? The banks is steep there, you see, and they was muddy after a night of rain; so if he’d gone ashore he’d have been bound to leave some marks of it. But those prints of his wet feet on the bridge steps, why, if I hadn’t have come along within the hour, they’d have faded away altogether, and you and me none the wiser.”
“Then you mean he just got out of the canoe, left it to drift, and went off the nearest way to a road?”
“Not the road, sir, the railroad. If he’d have liked to go down to the end of the island, he’d have just had to swim the weir stream, and then he’d be on the field track that goes straight from the towpath to the station. Though, mind you, he might have come right back to the weir, same as the other gentleman done, and crossed by the weir-bridge, and there he’d get the short path to the station, see? Of course, I won’t say as that would be easy without me seeing of him; but you know how it is, sir, when a man’s got his little bit of garden, he can’t be always looking about him, and I’ve only one pair of eyes.”
“Funny, though, that nobody else should have seen him. Because surely they would have mentioned it by now.”
“It would surprise you, sir, to know what a lonely place this can be, more especially when it’s early morning. Of course, if he’d have taken the longer path, the one opposite the end of the island, I won’t say but he’d have been seen going through Spinnaker Farm; he had to pass through that, you see, to get to the station. But if he took the shorter path, from the weir, there wasn’t nobody about, not a living soul. Come to think of it, there was a gentleman went through in a punt just before they came, because I remember letting of him through. But he’d be out of sight, you see, before I’d got the water through the lock again.”
“Angela, we ought to be getting back. We mustn’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Burgess. I’d better see Mrs. Burgess about the tea, hadn’t I? Good afternoon; I expect we’ll be up this way again before long.”
Bredon, however, had not yet finished with the neighbourhood. As soon as they reached the junction of the two streams, he piloted the canoe to the right bank, and left Angela to paddle on slowly while he had a word with Spinnaker Farm. Here he was greeted by a vociferous dog, fortunately tied to a barrel, and an old lady with a shrill, kindly voice, who needed little diplomacy in the matter of approach. Indeed, her opening question was, “Did you come for the tobacco-pouch, sir?”
“Oh, have you found it?” Bredon answered promptly; he had, fortunately for his success on such occasions, a good reaction-time.
“Yes, we found it sure enough; my Flossie she see it when she was out in the big field yesterday. Oh, she says, whatever is that? But she’s a good girl, Flossie, she didn’t open it; she brought it straight to me, and of course I kept it in case it was called for. That’ll be the one, sir?”
She produced a voluminous waterproof tobacco-pouch, tightly rolled into a hard cylinder. Bredon knew at the touch that it contained something more interesting than tobacco; but he saw no reason to mention the point. “I couldn’t be sure where I’d dropped it,” he said. “Was it along the towpath?”
“Yes, sir, on the towpath, sir; just where it leaves the river over against the island. I thought at first it might have
