Mr. Downing uttered a cry of triumph, and tore the shoe from its resting
place.
"I told you," he said. "I told you."
"I wondered where that shoe had got to," said Psmith. "I've been looking
for it for days."
Mr. Downing was examining his find. He looked up with an exclamation of
surprise and wrath.
"This shoe has no paint on it," he said, glaring at Psmith. "This is not
the shoe."
"It certainly appears, sir," said Psmith sympathetically, "to be free
from paint. There's a sort of reddish glow just there, if you look at it
sideways," he added helpfully.
"Did you place that shoe there, Smith?"
"I must have done. Then, when I lost the key--"
"Are you satisfied now, Downing?" interrupted Mr. Outwood with asperity,
"or is there any more furniture you wish to break?"
The excitement of seeing his household goods smashed with a dumbbell had
made the archaeological student quite a swashbuckler for the moment. A
little more, and one could imagine him giving Mr. Downing a good,
hard knock.
The sleuth-hound stood still for a moment, baffled. But his brain was
working with the rapidity of a buzz saw. A chance remark of Mr.
Outwood's set him fizzing off on the trail once more.
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