“H'm,” said Harley, glancing under his thick brows in my direction, “could you spare the time, Knox?” “To go to Deepbrow?” I asked with interest. “Yes; we have ten minutes to catch the train.” “I'll come,” said I. “Sir Howard will be delighted to see you, Harley.” II THE CLUE OF THE PHOTOGRAPHS “What do you make of it, Inspector?” asked my friend. Detective-Inspector Wessex smiled, and scratched his chin. “There was no need for me to come down!” he replied. “And certainly no need for you, Mr. Harley!” Harley bowed, smiling, at the implied compliment. “It's a common or garden elopement!” continued the detective. “Vane's reputation is absolutely rotten, and the girl was clearly infatuated. He must have cared a good bit, too. He'll be cashiered, as sure as a gun!” Leaving Sir Howard at the Manor, we had joined Inspector Wessex at a spot where the baronet's preserves bordered a narrow lane. Here the ground was soft, and the detective drew Harley's attention to a number of footprints by a stile. “I've got evidence that he was seen here with the girl on other occasions. Now, Mr. Harley, I'll ask you to look over these footprints.” Harley dropped to his knees and made a brief but close examination of the ground round about. One particularly clear imprint of a pointed toe he noticed especially; and Wessex, diving into the pocket of his light overcoat, produced a patent-leather shoe, such as is used for evening wear. “He had a spare pair in his bag,” he explained nonchalantly, “and his man did not prove incorruptible!” Harley took the shoe and placed it in the impression. It fitted perfectly! “This is Molly Clayton, I take it?” he said, indicating the prints of a woman's foot. “Yes,” assented Wessex. “You'll notice that they stood for some little time and then walked off, very close together.” Harley nodded absently. “We lose them along here,” continued Wessex, leading up the lane; “but at the corner by the big haystack they join up with the tracks of a motor-car! I ask for nothing clearer! There was rain that afternoon, but there's been none since.” “What does the Captain's man think?” “The same as I do! He's not surprised at any madness on Vane's part, with a pretty woman in the case!” “The girl left nothing behind--no note?” “Nothing.” “Traced the car?” “No. It must have been hired or borrowed from a long distance off.” Where the tracks of the tires were visible we stopped, and Harley made a careful examination of the marks. “Seems to have had a struggle with her,” he said, dryly. “Very likely!” agreed Wessex, without interest. Harley crawled about on the ground for some time, to the great detriment of his Harris tweeds, but finally arose, a curious expression on his face--which, however, the detective evidently failed to observe.