_The Visitor_
Days passed swiftly. Gold seemed to have become an obsession with
the phantom bandit. The police were powerless. The crook robbed and
killed at will, feeling safe and secure in his ability to swoop down
and vanish, leaving the alert minions of the law baffled completely.
In three days he had robbed four banks and escaped with his loot. He
left death and fear behind him on each occasion. Then for a whole day
he failed to appear, but Mortenson felt that he would return. And he
did, the following day, to loot the city treasury of a quarter million
dollars!
Then the rumbling of public protest echoed through the press. Chief
Steckel and his department were at once swamped in a vortex of
caustic sentiment. But the chief had been under fire before and
remained silent, while the press made light of his ability to cope
with the underworld forces, particularly with the phantom bandit. He
was powerless and knew it, yet he kept secret his negotiations with
Professor Mortenson. It would never do to allow that to get out! Before
Mortenson could complete his apparatus, the phantom crook would swoop
down upon him and kill him. What then? Chief Steckel was no fool, and
he took the bitter dose without complaint.
The "_Journal_" boldly asked the mayor and the police commission to
dismiss him. Steckel was called on the carpet and thoroughly denounced.
Sentiment and unmerciful nagging were beginning to disrupt the whole
department, a fine machine that he had built up for the protection of
the people. He smiled grimly through it all, and finally asked for
a fifteen day stay of removal. This was granted to him by the mayor
despite the protests of the press and the commission. Steckel laughed
secretly and told himself that there'd be a change of opinion at the
end of fifteen days.
Meanwhile, Mortenson, with five expert opticians and three master
mechanics under him, worked doggedly in his laboratory. The laboratory
adjoined the scientist's big house where they consumed their meals
hurriedly. Mortenson slept with the men a few hours each night in the
workroom. Plain-clothes men lurked about the place as a precaution
against a raid on the scientist by the vanishing criminal who, they
suspicioned, might have learned through the grapevine system what was
going on.
But the crook appeared to have taken Mortenson's word that it was
impossible to duplicate the instrument that transferred him from
one plane to another. He seemed satisfied to add to his already
fabulous coffers and let the scientist alone. Perhaps he was afraid of
Mortenson, fearing that the scientist might have evolved some means of
nullifying the effect of the vibration on the physical body.
Mortenson was elated at his progress, but he had a constant fear of
the criminal. Doubtlessly the man would kill him if he learned that he
was putting his heart and soul into the work of building sufficient
apparatus to outfit a squad of police officers who would use them to
hunt him down in the mysterious, invisible world. Yet the scientist
worked dauntlessly, night and day, feeling more secure with each
passing hour as the instruments neared completion.
To kill Mortenson, the desperado would first have to emerge from behind
the veil of the Fifth Dimension. To do this would lay him open for
immediate death at the hands of the officers and plain-clothes men, who
constantly guarded the scientist. As a further precaution, Mortenson
was on the alert at all times. He was armed and ready to defend his
life, yet there persisted within him a constant fear that the man would
unexpectedly appear and shoot him in the back.
Finally Mortenson stepped back and appraised ten complete Fifth
Dimension sets neatly arranged on the workbench. Each set was equipped
with a wide metal belt, attached to which was a small, oval box
containing storage batteries capable of releasing vibratory electronic
current. Loose wires as thin as thread, with small plugs at the ends,
ran from the head-gear. The gear appeared like field glasses connected
to a leather helmet. But inside the leather ran meshed wire with bare
electrodes exposed to fit snugly against the forehead and the back of
the neck.
He trembled with excitement when he realized that at last the job was
completed. The plans had been followed to the minutest detail. Nothing
could go wrong and Mortenson shivered at the thought of what lay behind
the curtain that hid the Fifth Dimension from view. He meditated a
moment on the miracle that had prevented the phantom terror from
meeting his doom behind the veil. Then his telephone disrupted his
thoughts. He went to it at once. His caller was Chief Steckel and his
voice trembled fearfully.
"My God, Mortenson," he informed the scientist. "The phantom bandit
shot at me on Broadway a few moments ago! His slug creased my shoulder!"
"No!" Mortenson was incredulous. "Why would he want to kill you?"
"I told you before, Mortenson," Steckel said, "that he might kill
me for the benefit of the underworld! They couldn't buy me off for
protection, but they could kill me to intimidate the Department!"
"You mean actually that the fellow shot at you right on Broadway?"
Mortenson inquired dubiously.
"He did!" snapped Steckel. "What's more, he took a chunk out of my
shoulder! Before he could shoot again a crowd surged around him. He
vanished in a blue haze like a ghost!"
"It seems incredible that the fellow would be so bold," said Mortenson,
"but will your wound interfere with your going into the other world?"
"I'm not hurt seriously enough for that," responded the chief. "How
soon are you going to be ready?"
"Right away, Steckel," said the scientist grimly. "I was going to
call you in a few moments. But get your squad and come on over to my
laboratory. Everything is ready!"
"Good!" said Steckel. "Take my advice and watch your step! That fellow
may try to get you! I think he's been tipped off to our plans!"
"Don't worry about me," said Mortenson lightly. "I'm well guarded."
Mortenson hung up the receiver and turned to his staff of assistants.
The work was completed and he needed them no longer. His payroll was
already prepared and he paid them off. They were dismissed, but as they
filed through the door, Mortenson kept his right hand in his pocket.
His fingers closed tightly around the butt of an automatic. He was
taking no chances on a sudden appearance of the phantom bandit.
For fully five minutes after the last man had gone out of the room, he
stood beside the bench and waited silently. Then cautiously he went
to the door and barred it from the inside. With a sigh of relief he
turned. A blue haze appeared suddenly before him. It made him blink for
an instant. Then out of the shimmering, vibrating mist appeared the
form of a man.
Had Professor Mortenson been struck by lightning, he could have been
no more stunned or electrified. He recoiled, throwing his arms up as
though to shield his face from a blow. Out of the dimming haze emerged
a man, looking grotesque in a Fifth Dimension helmet. In his right hand
was a blunt-nosed automatic. Mortenson's face went bloodless.
The phantom bandit stood before him, a cold, significant sneer on his
lips. Suddenly he laughed outright, like a man without a soul. The tone
of it filled Mortenson with a deep-seated fear.
"You--you've come back!" he gasped, glancing about him wildly.
The bandit laughed again in a weird display of mirth. Something had
changed the man, re-made him entirely, Mortenson thought. He was not
the young, dashing desperado that had appeared in the laboratory ten
days previously and walked away with the Fifth Dimensional apparatus!
This man had a stubble of gray beard on his chin and his clothes were
tattered and torn. And he seemed like a man who had gone through hell
and left his soul with the devil's imps!
"I said I'd come back, didn't I, professor?" he snapped savagely. "I
thought you were telling me the truth, the night I cracked you on the
head. But you're a liar, Mortenson!"
"But ..." Mortenson began, stammering.
"Shut up!" the bandit cut in with an oath. "You thought you could
fool me, didn't you, Mortenson? But you didn't, you sneak! You never
stopped to think that I'd have you watched, did you?"
Mortenson winced. His vitals seemed to turn over within him at the cold
chill of the killer's now sharp, biting voice. He was getting control
of himself rapidly now and he stood in the middle of the floor like a
graven image. He could not see the man's eyes, for they were hidden
behind the vision cylinders of the helmet. But he could watch the
fellow's lips. They were thick and cruel and curled up to the right
side of his mouth with almost every word he spoke.
"Then why didn't you kill me a week ago?" the scientist hissed suddenly.
Again the bandit laughed. "I just wanted to see how far you'd go,
Mortenson!" he snarled. "I thought I'd let you get your ten sets of
apparatus built and then bump you off for your trouble!"
"You're a cool liar!" said the scientist boldly. "There's something
deeper than that. You thought you'd let me build ten more sets so you
could take them for your pals, eh?"
"You astound me with your psychic powers, professor!" the bandit
sneered. "Of course I wanted the other sets! But I'm going to kill
you nevertheless! Isn't it a disappointment to have worked like a dog
merely to be killed in the end?"
Mortenson was perfectly aware of that, but his deadly cold features
failed to display the truth. He laughed loudly in the man's face.
"You're not going to kill me or anybody else, my friend!" he said
perhaps a trifle hysterically. "All I need to do is to call the guards!"
"Humph!" the killer growled. "I fixed every bull on the place; knocked
every one of them cold. They're a bunch of lazy flat-feet!"
"Good Lord, man!" gasped Mortenson, sobering. "Don't tell me you killed
all those detectives!"
"No, I didn't kill 'em!" the other barked. "But it'll be a month before
they get over their headaches! Now listen to me, Mortenson. You're a
damned smart man ..." he lowered his voice, "and I hate to kill smart
men...."
"You don't say!" Mortenson cut in sarcastically.
"Shut your mouth!" the bandit snarled, shoving forth his gun in a
significant gesture. "I'll do the talking! You listen until I ask you
to speak!"
The scientist, resolved that if he was destined to die, he would do so
like a man and he realized suddenly that if ever a man faced death,
he was facing it now. But somehow, after his first scare, he was not
frightened and in a few moments Steckel would arrive with his squad. If
he could stall the bandit along until then, well....
The killer's voice diverted his thoughts.
"As I was saying," he said softly, "you're a smart man and I understand
you're not very well fixed financially. Now just supposing I'd settle
a million on your bank account ... just supposing I would. Would that
make any difference in your life?"
"Just what do you mean, young man?" Mortenson arched his brows.
"Don't stall, professor!" the man ordered curtly. "You know what I'm
driving at. In case you don't, I'll enlighten you. I'd like to have a
man like you on my side and I'm willing to pay a big price, too. I'm
going to organize a bunch of my friends and declare the Fifth Dimension
as my inviolate domain. In exchange for your services and help I'd make
you my right hand man. With your brains and my guts, we could go a long
way, but listen! I don't really need you! I can have those devices
duplicated anytime! I'm merely giving you a chance to live. What do you
say?"
Bribery! But why would this man try to tempt him? What could he,
Mortenson, do that would aid the underworld, unless it was to build
Fifth Dimensional apparatus to outfit the phantom criminal's followers?
Mortenson studied the man meditatively, his brain working rapidly.
So the fellow wanted his services, eh? Why, when he could have the
apparatus duplicated by some corrupt scientist? Or could anyone
duplicate them at all, beyond himself? Mortenson's eyes narrowed as he
grasped the full significance of the man's bold proposition.
The apparatus could not be duplicated by anyone but himself! That was
why the bandit was so intent upon enlisting his aid to set up a domain
of terror in the Fifth Dimension, a domain that would prey unmercifully
upon the world in which he now stood. That was Mortenson's conclusion
and it was correct. The bandit had tried elsewhere to have the
apparatus duplicated and had failed. Without Mortenson's help his mad,
daring scheme would also fail.
Mortenson stroked his chin in silence. His attitude was that of a man
deciding an important issue in deep thought. The bandit squinted at him
shrewdly, a leering smile on his almost diabolical lips. Then Mortenson
addressed him.
"What about the creatures in the Fifth Dimension?" he asked curtly.
Before the criminal could make a reply, there came the sound of heavy
footsteps from the hall leading to the laboratory from the outside.
Instantly the man tensed, jerking his automatic in line with the door.
Mortenson's heart pounded like a triphammer. Chief Steckel and his men
had arrived. But were they in time?
The phantom bandit backed slowly toward the work bench on which lay the
ten completed sets of Fifth Dimension apparatus. A heavy knock rattled
the laboratory door. The bandit squinted at the scientist.
"Well, what about it, Mortenson?" he hissed coldly. "You with me or
not?"
The scientist winced as the man levelled his automatic at him.
"I haven't had time to decide," he replied in a quivering voice. He
glanced at the door. It was barred, but through it he could hear the
voices of the men outside.
"Then I'll be generous with you and give you twelve hours to make up
your mind," he jeered. "Meantime I'm going to take care of these ten
sets of apparatus."
A wave of fear and desperation went over Mortenson as he realized that
the man was going to make away with the Fifth Dimensional devices. He
felt an urge to cry out to Steckel to smash down the door, but the
bandit's pistol prevented it. In his pocket lay his own automatic, but
it was useless now. If he made one move to draw it the bandit would
undoubtedly kill him without a qualm.
Suddenly he seemed to calm. He overcame a wild roving of his eyes and
settled them on the bandit. Then slowly he advanced toward the man,
speaking in a lowered voice. "You say there's a million in it for me?"
he asked in a half whisper.
The bandit nodded and relaxed. "Yeah!" he said quickly. "And more if
you play ball with me."
"How do I know you will not double-cross me?" Mortenson asked,
advancing carelessly.
"When I give my word, I don't go back on it," the bandit replied with a
perfunctory shrug. He lowered his automatic a trifle, impressed by the
scientist's interest in his proposition.
"All right!" said Mortenson decisively. He halted within four feet of
the bandit and jerked his thumb at the door. "Speak low," he said, "or
they'll hear you. Now, it'll take twenty thousand to start building
apparatus on a big scale."
"That's fine," the bandit nodded, pulling a roll of bills from a pocket
and glancing at it carelessly. By sheer force of desperation, Mortenson
lashed out savagely and brought both hands down on the man's gun-arm.
Instantly the automatic spat like a whiplash and then clattered to the
floor. With an oath he swung around at the scientist, his roll of bills
scattering.
Screaming at the top of his voice, Mortenson lunged himself bodily at
the phantom bandit. His arms caught him around the waist. They fell to
the floor, Mortenson yelling at the officers outside.
"Steckel!" he screamed wildly. "Break down the door! BREAK IT DOWN!"
A savage foot caught Mortenson on the chest and sent him spinning.
There was a rending crash of splintering wood and into the laboratory
rushed Steckel and his men. Mortenson stared at them in a daze.
"Get him, Steckel!" he shrieked. "He's lying on the floor near the
bench!"
Automatics drawn, the officers glanced toward the bench. Above it
hovered a pale blue haze that shimmered like a curtain of smoke. From
it came a venomous curse that all could hear before the phantom bandit
vanished completely into the Fifth Dimension.
"I'll get you for that, Mortenson!" the bandit snarled. "You dirty
double-crosser! I'll get you if it's the last...." His voice trailed
off into nothing as he penetrated the veil between the two worlds.
"Did you hear that, Steckel?" Mortenson gasped, rising.
"What's it all about?" Steckel grumbled, mystified.
"The phantom bandit!" exclaimed the scientist. "He was in here ... you
heard his voice! I tackled him in an effort to hold him, but he kicked
me and got away."
Mortenson rushed to his work bench. On it lay the untouched apparatus.
His mad lunge at the bandit and the appearance of the officers had
thwarted the desperado's intentions of making away with them. The
scientist gave a sigh of relief and turned to Steckel.
"Let's get started, chief," he said urgingly. "There's no time to lose.
The bandit is somewhere close and we must catch him. My life isn't
worth a counterfeit penny now!"
V
_Into the Fifth Dimension_
With Chief Steckel and eight grim-faced officers including Barton and
Riley lined up, Mortenson hurriedly gave instructions on the operation
of the Fifth Dimensional apparatus. Each man wore a set, giving them
the appearance of gargantuan creatures of another world, with the
projecting eyes, tight-fitting helmets and wide metal belts. They
looked like men from Mars, but Mortenson had no time to make such
observations or any comparisons.
He had made some important improvements over the first set of
apparatus taken by the phantom bandit. The new ones were equipped with
a small panel that hung down over the chest. On this were three buttons
arranged in numerical order so that the wearer could press number one
and start the electronic vibrations coursing gently through the body,
and on down to number three which actually neutralized the veil of
invisibility between the two worlds. This arrangement, he thought, made
the apparatus fool-proof.
Finally the scientist donned his own set. As he swung the lenses
before his eyes he glanced along the line of men. Each officer held
an improved model sub-machine gun capable of firing a hundred rounds
of ammunition at one loading. They were short, squat weapons with
cartridge disks on the barrel just before the stock grip. A grim set of
men, he concluded, who would stop at nothing to apprehend the desperado
who struck without warning like a _fer de lance_, leaving death and
terror on his invisible trail.
"Are you all ready, men?" Mortenson inquired suddenly. A murmur of
assent ran along the line. "Remember what I told you ... in event any
of you are wounded in the world which we are now to enter and want
to transfer yourself back here in a hurry, press all three buttons
simultaneously. The vibratory reaction will probably knock you out for
a moment, but it will not harm you. Take note of your surroundings when
we enter the Fifth Dimension so that you can mark the spot for the
return to this laboratory. Now, gentlemen, place your fingers on the
control buttons and press number one. Allow a count of five seconds to
pass, then press number two and repeat the operation until after number
three has been pressed. Ready! Press number one!"
A faint throbbing surged through the ten men as they simultaneously
pressed the first button. The laboratory went aglow with the pale blue
luminosity. Then the throbbing intensified, whirring like the wings of
a honeybee. To an observer the men might have appeared to vanish slowly
from the room in a thin vapor of blue. The electronic current played
around them in a shimmering curtain, the electrodes pressing against
their flesh creating a slight burning sensation. Their muscles seemed
to jerk as the vibrations intensified. As they pressed the third button
the throbbing became a high-pitched whine, rising in tone until it
almost screamed.
Each man felt a sinister dizziness as he left the laboratory. After a
moment of nausea and the sensation of falling into an abysmal pit, they
felt no other reaction to the rapid vibrations of the apparatus. But
the current continued to whine, sending the oscillations throughout
their bodies and weapons with unceasing force. Gradually the weird,
spectral world of the Fifth Dimension unfolded itself before them.
From their eye-instruments shot twin jets of violet light, that seemed
to illuminate a jumbled mass before them. Slowly the terrain of the
Fifth Dimension assumed definite shape. It was a rolling, uneven world,
covered with a tall violet lush and spectral forests of deep blue. No
tall mountains were visible; rather was the Fifth Dimension a place of
undulating hills, rolling and rippling as far as they could see.
Just rimming the horizon stood a ball of violet flame. Mortenson knew
it was the sun, but he was not certain if it was rising or setting. Its
heat made them uncomfortable, for it seemed to bite into them like
acid at first. Gradually, as the strange world became clearly defined,
they grew accustomed to the force of the violet disk and after a few
moments it had risen above the horizon. They had entered the Fifth
Dimension at sun rise! On their own world it was well past noon.
Tensed almost to the snapping point, each of the ten men stared about
them in search of the horrible creatures Mortenson had told Steckel
existed there. Suddenly they discovered that they were actually
standing in swaying lush that reached to their shoulders. This came
upon them as their eyes began to observe their immediate vicinity. The
sudden change of environment had caused them a mild far-sightedness,
but now they could see clearly on every side. The lush rolled and
swayed like a sea of earthly wheat-stalks in a light breeze.
Mortenson realized in a moment that they would have to mark the spot or
their inevitable wanderings would cause them to become hopelessly lost.
He yanked his kerchief from a pocket and tied it like a flag to a tuft
of the taller plants. It waved feebly in a cool breeze. He turned to
Chief Steckel.
"I think it best that we string out in a line, Steckel," he said, his
voice sounding microscopically low. "We ought to come upon the phantom
bandit's trail in this vicinity. But be careful! He must be desperate
and will shoot on sight."
Steckel gave his curt orders. The officers stretched out in a long
line. The chief and Mortenson went forward side-by-side with Barton
and Riley flanking them. The line swung gradually in a circle around
the scientist's handkerchief which acted as a centre. The lush seemed
unbroken, being so closely grown together that even a small animal
would have left visible indications of its passing through it. They
continued onward until suddenly the officers at the far end of the line
emitted a triumphant yell. Immediately the others surrounded him to
find the lush broken in a narrow path through which the desperado had
gone. Feet had trampled down one spot. The trail led away from it. The
trampled lush in the one place gave them the impression that the man
had popped up out of the yielding soil to go marching away.
Barton suddenly stooped over to pick up an object. He handed it to
Chief Steckel. It was a black-tipped matchstick.
"We're on his trail, chief," he said excitedly. "He lit a smoke here
and tossed the match at his feet!"
Steckel gave a sibilant whistle. "Damned if we haven't traced the snake
to his hole!" he snapped. "I hadn't much stock in this scheme, but it
looks like his trail, all right. Let's follow it, strung out. He might
be hiding in the grass and a line will bring him out."
He started forward rapidly, eagerly. Mortenson grasped his arm.
"Not so fast, Steckel," he warned ominously. "We're not in our own
world, but in one unknown. This tall lush might harbor anything. I
have no stomach for running into a wandering band of Fifth Dimensional
beings."
Steckel fell back instantly. With Mortenson beside him he followed
the trail, the others strung out on either side. Slowly they went on
for what seemed hours. It was hard work for them to go through the
lush. It was as tough and fibrous as dried coconut husks. Had it not
been for their heavy clothing they would have been cut to shreds in
no time. Their hands suffered from the ordeal, but it could not be
helped. They had not prepared for such conditions and it was too late
to go back. They were at last on the trail of the phantom killer. Only
death or inconceivable terror could drive them from it. The man must be
apprehended at any cost and each had secretly resolved to see the thing
through to a finish. Yet they derived a certain sense of pride from the
fact that they were among the first humans ever to tread this strange,
blue-tinted world. Police history would long remember them for their
daring.
Suddenly there was a violent commotion in the lush not far ahead.
Abruptly the intrepid man-hunters halted in their tracks. Machine guns
were snapped forward. Then a terrifying shriek rent the stillness.
Mortenson's blood chilled and he crouched instinctively. The others did
likewise from natural instinct, weapons aimed straight ahead to sweep
the wall of vegetation with a deadly fire.
For a moment thereafter the place was as silent as a tomb. Then another
shriek came from ahead. Tensely the men waited and then the thing
appeared, head and shoulders above the swaying, rolling sea of lush.
Barton let out a feverish yell and snapped up his gun. It rattled with
a staccato snap. The men stood erect to see an incredible monstrosity
staring at them through a triangle of eyes that seemed to spit blue
flame.
The monster of the Fifth Dimension was like an awful nightmare. It had
a long, reptilian neck, at the end of which was a venomous-looking
head. Its eyes, as large as saucers, were deep set in the forehead,
like the three corners of a triangle. From its neck spurted streams
of greenish-blue liquid, spilling through the wounds made by Barton's
missiles. The enormous head was studded with unnumbered horns and waved
back and forth, a long, purple tongue darting from between fang-filled
jaws. With a sudden lunge the beast moved toward the men.
"Shoot!" Steckel bellowed, aghast. "Don't stand there like a squad of
statues! Shoot!"
The machine guns went into action with an ominous deadliness. The first
barrage literally clipped the monster's head from its body. The beast
leaped high in the air and fell with a thud, to writhe in the throes of
agony and death. Its long, reptilian tail lashed out, beating madly.
Finally the creature lay still and the men went cautiously toward it.
The beast had the legs of a centipede, but thick and powerful. The feet
were four-toed and savagely clawed. Mortenson was astounded to find a
cross between the reptile and the insect and he promptly named it a
_serpenta insecteana_.
With a shudder he turned away. The grim-faced man-hunters continued
to follow the trail, wondering silently how the phantom bandit had
managed to escape the terrifying beast. But the man had had at least a
half-hour start on them and Mortenson concluded that the creature had
just happened along.
Mile after mile they plodded on, gripping their guns. The phantom
bandit, it seemed, had covered mileage at a rapid rate. Finally they
entered into a large clearing at the edge of a spectral forest. Weird
trees with thick, leafless branches stood before them, but in the
clearing they found traces of a fire. The coals were dead and cold.
"The bandit must have stopped here several days ago," said Mortenson to
Steckel. "I think he went on into the forest this day. Let's look for
the trail at the edge of the trees."
They discovered the trail quickly. It continued onward through an aisle
of trees. They followed it single-file now, for the growths were too
thick to be penetrated on the sides. The path seemed to be well-beaten
but almost every step of the fleeing desperado was marked by the
outline of his heels in the yielding soil.
There were other tracks too, that interested Mortenson, causing him
considerable apprehension. The foot-marks of the Fifth Dimension
dwellers were clearly defined on the trail. The marks were broad,
disclosing the outlines of feet that were like those of a monster goose.
Eventually they emerged from the forest. It proved to be merely a
mile-wide belt of trees. Now they found themselves in the tall lush
again. The trail continued through it. The lush was well-trampled now
as though a large party of men had gone through.
After another hour of steady walking, they encountered a series of
trails branching from the main path. They paused, baffled.
"Looks like we're getting near some town or encampment, Mortenson,"
Steckel suggested. "Do you think the desperado could have gone on ahead
to mingle with the creatures you say exist here?"
"That," said the scientist blankly, "I cannot answer. It is hard to
believe, however, that any human could stand on friendly terms with
such savage, such grotesque beings. The ones I beheld were indeed
savage, though my imagination might have made them more so than they
are."
Steckel spat at a large, gargantuan beetle that ambled across the
trail. "Which one of these trails do you think we ought to follow?" he
asked bluntly.
"I'd follow the center one," said Mortenson, studying the trail
closely. "Look! There's a heel print."