The Ashiel mystery : $b a detective storyBryce, Marion
General
The Ashiel mystery : $b a detective story
Bryce, Marion
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
"It was when I came upon the footprints in the rose-bed which had done so
much to prove the guilt of Sir David Southern in the eyes of his
accusers, that I began to be certain of his innocence; and a very little
examination convinced me absolutely that whoever had shot Lord Ashiel it
was not his youngest nephew. For the tracks on the flower-bed left no
room for doubt.
"It is true they corresponded exactly with the shooting-boots Sir David
had been wearing on the day the crime was committed. I had provided
myself with a pair that I was assured was exactly like those particular
boots which fitted the tracks and which the police had taken away with
them, and I found that there was indeed no difference, except for the
matter of an extra nail or two on the soles. There was no doubt that Sir
David's boots had made those impressions, but to my mind there was
equally no doubt that Sir David had not been in them when they made them.
For the track which was so plainly distinguishable on the soft mould of
the flower-bed had certain peculiarities which I could hardly overlook.
"There was first a row of footmarks leading from the lawn to the middle
of the bed; then more marks as if the wearer of the boots had moved from
one position to another hard by; and finally, a track leading back again
to the mossy lawn at the side. Now all this was well enough till it came
to the last row of footsteps, those which led off the bed, and which had
presumably been taken after the fatal shot was fired. But was it
conceivable that a man who had that moment committed a cold-blooded
murder should leave the scene of his crime with the same slow, deliberate
footsteps with which he had approached it? Surely not.
"And yet this is what the wearer of the boots had done. The imprints, as
they advanced towards the lawn, were deep and well defined from toe to
heel. Not only that, but they were, if anything, closer together than
those which preceded them. Now a man, running, leaves a deeper impression
of his toe than he does of his heel, and his steps are much farther apart
in proportion to his increase in speed. I, myself, ran from the middle of
the bed, to the lawn, alongside of the footmarks of the soi-disant
murderer, and though I am a short man, while Sir David's legs are
reported long, I left only two footprints to his five. To me it was as
certain as if I had seen it happen that the wearer of the boots trampled
his way off the rose-bed as slowly as he had trampled on. Those
footprints had been made by some one who was determined they should be
seen, not by some one whose only thought was to get away from the place;
not, in short, by a man who had that moment fired a murderous shot
through the darkness. The tracks had undoubtedly been made as a blind and
with the intention of diverting suspicion to the wrong man probably after
the deed itself was done.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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