“Why,” he said, “Bill” (three out of the five companions seemed to have been usually called “Bill"), “Bill, your boots are in a mess.”

The Bill in question made caustic remarks.  He observed that it would be remarkable if they were not in such weather.  But the other persisted that this was not mud, and a general inspection was made.  This resulted in the opinion of the majority being formed that Bill had trodden in some blood.  Bill himself was one of the majority, though he attempted in vain to think of any explanation.  Two men, however, declared that in their opinion it was only red earth. (A certain obscurity appears in the evidence at this point, owing to the common use of a certain expletive in the mouth of the British working-man.) There was a hot discussion on the subject, and the Bill whose boots were under argument seems to have been the only man to keep his head.  He argued very sensibly that if the stains were those of blood, then he must have stepped in some—­perhaps in the gutter of a slaughter-house; and if it was not blood, then it must be something else he had trodden in.  It was urged upon him that it was best washed off, and he seems finally to have taken the advice, though without enthusiasm.

Then the four men departed.

The landlady’s evidence was to the same effect.  She states that the new-comer, with whose name she had been previously unacquainted, though she knew his face, had remained very tranquilly for an hour or so and had breakfasted off bacon and eggs.  He seemed to have plenty of money, she said.  He had finally set off, limping a little, in a northward direction.

Now this incident is a very small one.  I only mention it because, in reading the evidence later, I found myself reminded of a parallel incident, recorded in a famous historical trial, in which something resembling blood was seen on the hand of the judge.  His name was Ayloff, and his date the sixteenth century.

(II)

Mrs. Partington had a surprise—­not wholly agreeable—­on that Christmas Eve.  For at half-past three, just as the London evening was beginning to close in, her husband walked into the kitchen.

She had seen nothing of him for six weeks, and had managed to get on fairly well without him.  I am not even now certain whether or no she knows what her husband’s occupation is during these absences of his—­I think it quite possible that, honestly, she does not—­and I have no idea myself.  It seemed, however, this time, that he had prospered.  He was in quite a good temper, he was tolerably well dressed, and within ten minutes of his arrival he had produced a handful of shillings.  Five of these he handed over to her at once for Christmas necessaries, and ten more he entrusted to Maggie with explicit directions as to their expenditure.

While he took off his boots, his wife gave him the news—­first, as to the arrival of the Major’s little party, and next as to its unhappy dispersion on that very day.