I saw a look in his eyes which was a look of horror.
He snatched the boot out of my hand, and set it in a footmark on the sand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pointing straight towards the rocky ledge called the South Spit.

The mark was not yet blurred out by the rain--and the girl's boot fitted it to a hair.
The Sergeant pointed to the boot in the footmark, without saying a word.
I caught at his arm, and tried to speak to him, and failed as I had failed when I tried before.

He went on, following the footsteps down and down to where the rocks and the sand joined.

The South Spit was just awash with the flowing tide; the waters heaved over the hidden face of the Shivering Sand.

Now this way and now that, with an obstinate patience that was dreadful to see, Sergeant Cuff tried the boot in the footsteps, and always found it pointing the same way--straight TO the rocks.