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Page 97
"Go and bring that basket to me. Bring it to me in this room."
* * *
The room to which he referred was none other than the private
sanctum of Mr. Beach, the butler, the door of which, standing
open, showed it to be empty. It was not Baxter's plan, excited as
he was, to risk being discovered sifting shoes in the middle of a
passage in the servants' quarters.
Ashe's brain was working rapidly as he made for the shoe
cupboard, that little den of darkness and smells, where Billy,
the knife-and-shoe boy, better known in the circle in which he
moved as Young Bonehead, pursued his menial tasks. What exactly
was at the back of the Efficient Baxter's mind prompting these
maneuvers he did not know; but that there was something he was
certain.
He had not yet seen Joan this morning, and he did not know
whether or not she had carried out her resolve of attempting to
steal the scarab on the previous night; but this activity and
mystery on the part of their enemy must have some sinister
significance. He gathered up the shoe basket thoughtfully. He
staggered back with it and dumped it down on the floor of Mr.
Beach's room. The Efficient Baxter stooped eagerly over it.
Ashe, leaning against the wall, straightened the creases in his
clothes and flicked disgustedly at an inky spot which the journey
had transferred from the basket to his coat.
"We have here, sir," he said, "a fair selection of our various
foot coverings."
"You did not drop any on your way?"
"Not one, sir."
The Efficient Baxter uttered a grunt of satisfaction and bent
once more to his task. Shoes flew about the room. Baxter knelt on
the floor beside the basket, and dug like a terrier at a rat
hole. At last he made a find and with an exclamation of triumph
rose to his feet. In his hand he held a shoe.
"Put those back," he said.
Ashe began to pick up the scattered footgear.
"That's the lot, sir," he said, rising.
"Now come with me. Leave the basket there. You can carry it back
when you return."
"Shall I put back that shoe, sir?"
"Certainly not. I shall take this one with me."
"Shall I carry it for you, sir?"
Baxter reflected.
"Yes. I think that would be best."
Trouble had shaken his nerve. He was not certain that there might
not be others besides Lord Emsworth in the garden; and it
occurred to him that, especially after his reputation for
eccentric conduct had been so firmly established by his
misfortunes that night in the hall, it might cause comment should
he appear before them carrying a shoe.
Ashe took the shoe and, doing so, understood what before had
puzzled him. Across the toe was a broad splash of red paint.
Though he had nothing else to go on, he saw all. The shoe he held
was a female shoe. His own researches in the museum had made him
aware of the presence there of red paint. It was not difficult to
build up on these data a pretty accurate estimate of the position
of affairs.
"Come with me," said Baxter.
He left the room. Ashe followed him.
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