‘Well, they were small, like himself. Small boots like you’d expect a boy to wear.’ ‘With nails in the soles?’ ‘Just that. Guess, mister, you’re a ’tec?’ Tanner nodded. ‘From Scotland Yard,’ he answered. ‘I’m after that man Douglas, and if you can tell me anything about him, I’ll make it worth your while.’ The man whistled. ‘Gosh! but I just thought he was a wrong ’un. Wot’s ’e been up to, mister?’ ‘Never mind now. Why did you think he was a wrong ’un?’ ‘W’y, ’e looked scared fit to die. ’E ’ad something worrying ’im, ’e ’ad.’ ‘All the time he was here?’ ‘No, the morning ’e left. ’E got ’is tea the night before a bit early—about ’alf five or thereabouts—and then went out, and ’e didn’t come back till seven o’clock the next morning; walks in at seven o’clock all shaking and grey about the face and calls for brandy. Swallowed two large brandies nearly neat, ’e did. They pulled ’im together some, and then ’e pays ’is bill and ’ooks it.’ ‘Hooked it?’ ‘Yes, we never saw ’im no more after that.’ ‘And do you remember what day that was?’ ‘No, but I can get it for you at the office.’ The porter vanished for a moment to a room at the back. ‘’E left on Thursday morning, the 8th.’ ‘Did you notice anything about his boots that morning?’ ‘Yes. They were covered with mud—just covered. You couldn’t but notice them. And the ends of ’is trousers too. ’E looked as if ’e ’ad been up to the knees in muddy water.’ Tanner was as nearly excited as his dignity would allow. There could be little doubt, he felt, that this Douglas was indeed the man of whom he was in search. The man’s size—a small man would take short steps—the little, hobnailed boots, the wet and muddy trousers, the goatee beard—these points considered cumulatively, made the evidence of identity almost overwhelming. And in addition he had been out all the night of the tragedy, and had returned in the morning shaken and clamouring for brandy. Enough evidence to hang a man, Tanner thought with satisfaction. He turned again to the porter. ‘What day did he come here first?’ ‘I looked that up when I went to the office. It was on the Friday evening before.’ ‘He left no address, I suppose?’ ‘Not ’im,’ said the porter with a wink. ‘How did he go away? Did he get a cab?’ ‘Keb?’ returned the other disgustedly. ‘Not ’im. ’E took ’is bag in ’is hand and just ’ooked it on ’is blooming feet.’ Tanner replied absently. He was thinking that a man who departed on foot from an hotel without leaving an address might not be so easy to trace. And the best description of his appearance he could get was too vague to be of much use. The porter had not noticed the colour of the man’s eyes, if there was any scar or mark on his face or hands, the shape of his ears, any peculiarity in his gait—none of the matters on which identification depends. Tanner could only remind himself that a general hazy notion was better than no notion at all.