While Mr. Crispen was getting up from his bench to look for the name and address of the buyer of the star heel plates, Teddy whispered to his chums: “We’re on his trail! We have the heel plate clue! Maybe now we can trace the mysterious deer!” CHAPTER XII THE TRAP Old Mr. Crispen was never in very much of a hurry. He had been the cobbler, or shoemaker as most Oakdale folk called him, for many years. But Mr. Crispen no longer made shoes. He only repaired them. And he took his own time about doing that. If Teddy or any of his chums brought their own shoes, or those of any member of their families, to Mr. Crispen’s shop, they were often told the shoes would be ready in a day or two. “Next Tuesday or Wednesday,” Mr. Crispen would say as he marked some mysterious characters in chalk on the sole. But when Tuesday or Wednesday came, nearly always the shoes would not be ready. “Had more work than I expected,” Mr. Crispen would report. “I’ll have your shoes tomorrow,” he would say, or it might be the next day. So Teddy and his chums, as well as nearly everyone else in Oakdale, never went for their shoes on the day they were promised. They waited one or two days after that and usually then the shoes would be ready. So it was no surprise to the deer hunters to hear Mr. Crispen say, after he had fumbled about his bench, counter and shelves: “Sorry, boys, but those shoes won’t be ready afore tomorrow.” “But,” said Teddy with a wink at his chums, “we didn’t come here for shoes.” “What did you come for, then?” “Heel-plates,” prompted Joe. “With a star on,” added Dick. “Oh, yes. I remember now. I sold them to a man, sort of a cowboy with a lasso. I was going to give you his name, wasn’t I?” “Yes,” Teddy answered, “you were, Mr. Crispen.” “Well, I’m sorry, but that name won’t be finished afore day arter tomorrow. I’ve been sort of rushed with work lately, and--” “But this wasn’t _work_,” explained Teddy. “You were just going to look for the name of the man you sold one pair of star heel plates to, and who wanted another pair. Just his _name_, you know.” “Oh, yes, that’s so, the name. You only want his name. I thought you wanted shoes. Well, let me see now, what did I do with his name? I wrote it on a piece of paper and then I put the paper away some place. I can’t just remember where. But it’ll come to me in a day or two, I dare say. Come back then.” “Don’t you think you could find it now?” asked Dick. “No, I don’t,” said Mr. Crispen as he took up a hammer and began pounding a leather sole. “I can’t remember.” “Maybe you could if we helped you,” suggested Joe. “What’s that?” exclaimed the old man, looking up through his thick, bushy eyebrows at the chums. “Let you lads go all over my place looking for a paper with a name on? No, sir-ee! You’d mix everything all up. I wouldn’t be able to find a waxed end in a month. It can’t be done! Give me, say a week, and I’ll find that paper.” “That might be too late,” said Teddy.