As Thorndyke concluded his demonstration the sound of voices was borne to us from above, mingled with the tramping of feet, and immediately afterwards a very singular party appeared at the head of the gap descending towards the shore.  First came a short burly fisherman clad in oilskins and sou’-wester, clumping along awkwardly in his great sea-boots, then the local police-sergeant in company with my professional rival Dr. Burrows, while the rear of the procession was brought up by two constables carrying a stretcher.  As he reached the bottom of the gap the fisherman, who was evidently acting as guide, turned along the shore, retracing his own tracks, and the procession followed in his wake.

“A surgeon, a stretcher, two constables, and a police-sergeant,” observed Thorndyke.  “What does that suggest to your mind, Jervis?”

“A fall from the cliff,” I replied, “or a body washed up on the shore.”

“Probably,” he rejoined; “but we may as well walk in that direction.”

We turned to follow the retreating procession, and as we strode along the smooth surface left by the retiring tide Thorndyke resumed: 

“The subject of footprints has always interested me deeply for two reasons.  First, the evidence furnished by footprints is constantly being brought forward, and is often of cardinal importance; and, secondly, the whole subject is capable of really systematic and scientific treatment.  In the main the data are anatomical, but age, sex, occupation, health, and disease all give their various indications.  Clearly, for instance, the footprints of an old man will differ from those of a young man of the same height, and I need not point out to you that those of a person suffering from locomotor ataxia or paralysis agitans would be quite unmistakable.”

“Yes, I see that plainly enough,” I said.

“Here, now,” he continued, “is a case in point.”  He halted to point with his stick at a row of footprints that appeared suddenly above high-water mark, and having proceeded a short distance, crossed the line again, and vanished where the waves had washed over them.  They were easily distinguished from any of the others by the clear impressions of circular rubber heels.

“Do you see anything remarkable about them?” he asked.

“I notice that they are considerably deeper than our own,” I answered.

“Yes, and the boots are about the same size as ours, whereas the stride is considerably shorter—­quite a short stride, in fact.  Now there is a pretty constant ratio between the length of the foot and the length of the leg, between the length of leg and the height of the person, and between the stature and the length of stride.  A long foot means a long leg, a tall man, and a long stride.  But here we have a long foot and a short stride.  What do you make of that?” He laid down his stick—­a smooth partridge cane, one side of which was marked by small lines into inches and feet—­beside the footprints to demonstrate the discrepancy.