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Page 98
In the garden Lord Emsworth, garden fork in hand, was dealing
summarily with a green young weed that had incautiously shown its
head in the middle of a flower bed. He listened to Baxter's
statement with more interest than he usually showed in anybody's
statements. He resented the loss of the scarab, not so much on
account of its intrinsic worth as because it had been the gift of
his friend Mr. Peters.
"Indeed!" he said, when Baxter had finished. "Really? Dear me!
It certainly seems--It is extremely suggestive. You are certain
there was red paint on this shoe?"
"I have it with me. I brought it on purpose to show you." He
looked at Ashe, who stood in close attendance. "The shoe!"
Lord Emsworth polished his glasses and bent over the exhibit.
"Ah!" he said. "Now let me look at--This, you say, is the--Just
so; just so! Just--My dear Baxter, it may be that I have not
examined this shoe with sufficient care, but--Can you point out
to me exactly where this paint is that you speak of?"
The Efficient Baxter stood staring at the shoe with wild, fixed
stare. Of any suspicion of paint, red or otherwise, it was
absolutely and entirely innocent!
The shoe became the center of attraction, the center of all eyes.
The Efficient Baxter fixed it with the piercing glare of one who
feels that his brain is tottering. Lord Emsworth looked at it
with a mildly puzzled expression. Ashe Marson examined it with a
sort of affectionate interest, as though he were waiting for it
to do a trick of some kind. Baxter was the first to break the
silence.
"There was paint on this shoe," he said vehemently. "I tell you
there was a splash of red paint across the toe. This man here
will bear me out in this. You saw paint on this shoe?"
"Paint, sir?"
"What! Do you mean to tell me you did not see it?"
"No, sir; there was no paint on this shoe."
"This is ridiculous. I saw it with my own eyes. It was a broad
splash right across the toe."
Lord Emsworth interposed.
"You must have made a mistake, my dear Baxter. There is certainly
no trace of paint on this shoe. These momentary optical delusions
are, I fancy, not uncommon. Any doctor will tell you--"
"I had an aunt, your lordship," said Ashe chattily, "who was
remarkably subject--"
"It is absurd! I cannot have been mistaken," said Baxter. "I am
positively certain the toe of this shoe was red when I found it."
"It is quite black now, my dear Baxter."
"A sort of chameleon shoe," murmured Ashe.
The goaded secretary turned on him.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, sir."
Baxter's old suspicion of this smooth young man came surging back
to him.
"I strongly suspect you of having had something to do with this."
"Really, Baxter," said the earl, "that is surely the least
probable of solutions. This young man could hardly have cleaned
the shoe on his way from the house. A few days ago, when painting
in the museum, I inadvertently splashed some paint on my own
shoe. I can assure you it does not brush off. It needs a very
systematic cleaning before all traces are removed."
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