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 medicine and biomedical sciences in modern history
ANIMALS AND THE SHAPING
OF MODERN MEDICINE
ONE HEALTH AND ITS HISTORIES

ABIGAIL WOODS, MICHAEL BRESALIER,

ANGELA CASSIDY, RACHEL MASON DENTINGER
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences
in Modern History

Series Editors
Carsten Timmermann
University of Manchester
Manchester
United Kingdom

Michael Worboys
University of Manchester
Manchester
United Kingdom
The aim of this series is to illuminate the development and impact of
medicine and the biomedical sciences in the modern era. The series was
founded by the late Professor John Pickstone, and its ambitions reflect
his commitment to the integrated study of medicine, science and tech-
nology in their contexts. He repeatedly commented that it was a pity
that the foundation discipline of the field, for which he popularized the
acronym ‘HSTM’ (History of Science, Technology and Medicine) had
been the history of science rather than the history of medicine. His point
was that historians of science had too often focused just on scientific
ideas and institutions, while historians of medicine always had to con-
sider the understanding, management and meanings of diseases in their
socio-economic, cultural, technological and political contexts. In the
event, most of the books in the series dealt with medicine and the bio-
medical sciences, and the changed series title reflects this. However, as
the new editors we share Professor Pickstone’s enthusiasm for the inte-
grated study of medicine, science and technology, encouraging studies
on biomedical science, translational medicine, clinical practice, disease
histories, medical technologies, medical specialisms and health policies.
The books in this series will present medicine and biomedical science
as crucial features of modern culture, analysing their economic, social
and political aspects, while not neglecting their expert content and con-
text. Our authors investigate the uses and consequences of technical
knowledge, and how it shaped, and was shaped by, particular economic,
social and political structures. In re-launching the Series, we hope to
build on its strengths but extend its geographical range beyond Western
Europe and North America.
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History is intended to
supply analysis and stimulate debate. All books are based on searching
historical study of topics which are important, not least because they cut
across conventional academic boundaries. They should appeal not just to
historians, nor just to medical practitioners, scientists and engineers, but
to all who are interested in the place of medicine and biomedical sciences
in modern history.

More information about this series at

http://www.springer.com/series/15183
 Abigail Woods · Michael Bresalier
Angela Cassidy · Rachel Mason Dentinger

Animals and the

Shaping of Modern
Medicine
One Health and its Histories
Abigail Woods Angela Cassidy
Department of History Department of Politics
Kings College London University of Exeter
London, UK Exeter, UK

Michael Bresalier Rachel Mason Dentinger

Department of History University of Utah
Swansea University Salt Lake City, UT, USA
Swansea, UK

Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History

ISBN 978-3-319-64336-6 ISBN 978-3-319-64337-3 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-64337-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017948270

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2018. This book is an open access publication.
Open Access This book is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution
4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits
use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as
you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the
Creative Commons license and indicate if changes were made.
The images or other third party material in this book are included in the book’s Creative
Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material
is not included in the book’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not
permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain
permission directly from the copyright holder.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication.
Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published
maps and institutional affiliations.

Cover credit: [Plate eight - Man, cow and sheep and explanatory text], pp. [unnumbered]-22,
in Hawkins, Benjamin Waterhouse / A comparative view of the human and animal frame
(1860), Image courtesy of The University of Wisconsin Libraries

Printed on acid-free paper

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

The registered company is Springer International Publishing AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
To the animals (human and non-human) who brought us together.
 Preface

It is not long since the question ‘Where are the animals in medical
­history?’ prompted yawning and shuffling of feet among scholars of that
discipline. While in the wider world the health agenda known as ‘One
Medicine’ or ‘One Health’ was gathering momentum by highlighting
the deeply interconnected nature of human and animal health and the
need for integrated approaches to it, with a few key exceptions, scholars
in medical history continued to believe that the only animals important
to medicine were human animals. Conference organizers asked if animals
belonged on medical history programmes; conference delegates voted
with their feet; and scholarly discussions proceeded largely in ignorance
of how animals and animal health had shaped—and been shaped by—the
history of human health, medicine and society.
This was the situation that inspired the programme of research on
which this volume is based. Generously sponsored by the Wellcome
Trust,1 it set out to explore the zoological foundations of human medi-
cine, to illuminate the history of animals in medicine, and to develop an
empirically grounded history of the recent movement for One Health.
Research began at Imperial College London in 2011 and terminated
at King’s College London in 2016. It was conducted by a team of four
scholars—Abigail Woods (principal investigator), Michael Bresalier,

1Programme Grant reference 092719/Z/10/A.

vii
viii    Preface

Rachel Mason Dentinger and Angela Cassidy—who are the joint authors
of this volume.
Combining first degrees in veterinary medicine and the life sci-
ences, with scholarly careers that straddle the history and sociology of
veterinary medicine, human medicine and biology, we formed an inter-
disciplinary team well equipped to study the history of medicine as an
interdisciplinary, interspecies phenomenon. Each of us has worked on
discrete research projects that address a different aspect of this issue. This
volume presents findings from each project, in five sample chapters that
bear the authors’ names.
However, the work as a whole is a shared endeavour. It grew out of
our many meetings, in which we reviewed existing historical accounts
of animals and medicine, and worked together to develop a shared lan-
guage, conceptual apparatus and approach to studying their intercon-
nected histories. It aspires to greater cohesion and coherence than a
standard edited volume. It was also more difficult to write—more diffi-
cult, even, than a standard monograph in which only a single author has
to make decisions about arguments and narrative. We found few prec-
edents to guide us: team working is relatively new to the discipline of
history, and, judging by certain publishers’ responses to the notion of a
volume with four authors, it is equally unfamiliar to academic publishing.
Consequently, we have had to develop our working, writing and publish-
ing practices by trial and error. This has been a very time-consuming but
ultimately fulfilling experience. The mutual support and advice of col-
leagues has pushed our scholarship to a higher level, and enabled us to
work on a broader canvas than would have been possible otherwise.
We are very grateful to Palgrave for supporting our vision and helping
us to realize it. We hope that our readers—whether medical historians,
animal historians or participants in One Health today—will find this an
interesting and a thought-provoking volume. We also hope that it will
persuade our colleagues in medical history that without asking ‘Where
are the animals?’ and ‘What do they do?’, we cannot truly understand
what has constituted medicine in history or what it has become today.
Many people have contributed to the preparation of this volume.
Collectively, we wish to thank the Wellcome Trust for funding our
research, colleagues (especially Dr. Kathryn Schoefert) in the Centre
for the History of Science, Technology and Medicine at King’s College
London for their ongoing support, and the various audiences, review-
ers and expert advisors who have provided constructive feedback on our
 Preface    ix

findings in the course of the research programme. Abigail Woods would

also like to thank Department III at the Max Planck Institute for the
History of Science, Berlin, for hosting her during the spring term of
2017, which was a crucial writing-up phase. Angela Cassidy would like
to thank new colleagues at the University of Exeter for their support
during writing up, and the scientists and veterinarians she interviewed
as part of this research for their essential insights into One Health and
disciplinary politics in the twenty-first century. Rachel Mason Dentinger
would also like to thank new colleagues at the University of Utah for
providing support during the completion of this book. Michael Bresalier
would like to thank archivists at the Food and Agriculture Organization
(Fabio Ciccarello) and the World Health Organization (Reynald Erard)
for their support of the research for his chapter, his new colleagues at
Swansea University for embracing his work, and Abigail Woods for her
remarkable support in completing the job.

London, UK Abigail Woods

Swansea, UK Michael Bresalier
Exeter, UK Angela Cassidy
Salt Lake City, USA Rachel Mason Dentinger
 Contents

1 Introduction: Centring Animals Within Medical History 1

1.1 Why Animals? 4
1.2 Writing Animal Histories 7
1.3 Animals in Medical History 11
1.4 One Health and its Histories 14
Bibliography 20

2 Doctors in the Zoo: Connecting Human and Animal

Health in British Zoological Gardens, c.1828–1890 27
Abigail Woods
2.1 Disease and Death in the Zoo 32
2.1.1 Public Health 35
2.1.2 Bedside Medicine 39
2.1.3 Hospital Medicine 43
2.2 Comparative Perspectives 46
2.2.1 The Pursuit of Comparative Pathology 49
2.2.2 Tuberculosis and Rickets 54
2.3 Conclusion 58
Bibliography 61

xi
xii    Contents

3 From Coordinated Campaigns to Watertight

Compartments: Diseased Sheep and their Investigation
in Britain, c.1880–1920 71
Abigail Woods
3.1 Coordinated Campaigns 75
3.2 Research Reconfigurations 87
3.3 Watertight Compartments 97
3.4 Conclusion 103
Bibliography 107

4 From Healthy Cows to Healthy Humans: Integrated

Approaches to World Hunger, c.1930–1965 119
Michael Bresalier
4.1 Cows in Interwar Medicine and Agriculture 123
4.2 War and its Aftermath 130
4.3 Healthy Cows, Healthy Humans 136
4.4 Conclusion 147
Bibliography 150

5 The Parasitological Pursuit: Crossing Species and

Disciplinary Boundaries with Calvin W. Schwabe and
the Echinococcus Tapeworm, 1956–1975 161
Rachel Mason Dentinger
5.1 Pursuing Echinococcus in Beirut: The Parasitology
of Calvin W. Schwabe 165
5.2 Echinococcus Leaves the Laboratory: Schwabe’s
Parasitology at the Population Level 171
5.3 Following Echinococcus Across the Globe: Schwabe’s
Persistent Parasitology 176
5.4 Conclusion 184
Bibliography 187

6 Humans, Other Animals and ‘One Health’ in the Early

Twenty-First Century 193
Angela Cassidy
6.1 One Health or Many? 198
6.1.1 Calvin Schwabe and One Medicine 200
6.1.2 The Wildlife Conservation Society 205
 Contents    xiii

6.1.3 The Swiss Tropical and Public Health Institute 207

6.1.4 The One Health Initiative and Commission 209
6.2 The Animal Subjects of One Health 214
6.2.1 Animals in One Health Research Texts 215
6.2.2 Animals in One Health Imagery 219
6.3 Conclusion 225
Bibliography 227

7 Conclusion 237

Appendix: Annotated Bibliography of Animals

in the History of Medicine 247

Index 269
 List of Figures

Fig. 6.1 The One Health umbrella 199

Fig. 6.2 Citations to Schwabe’s VMHH, 1964, 1969, 1984 201
Fig. 6.3 Growth of the One Health bandwagon 215
Fig. 6.4 Human–animal partnerships 219
Fig. 6.5 OH contextualised 221

xv
 List of Tables

Table 3.1 British research into diseased sheep, 1880–1901 78

Table 3.2 British research into diseased sheep, 1902–1920 89
Table 6.1 One Health and animal categories 216
Table 6.2 One Health and animal species 217

xvii
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction: Centring Animals

Within Medical History

In a recent handbook on the history of medicine, authors Robert Kirk

and Michael Worboys argued that ‘In no body of scholarship is it more
obvious, puzzling and true to say that “animals disappear.”’1 Literally, of
course, this is not the case, for as Etienne Benson points out,

to a limited but important extent, writing about human history is always—

already writing about animals … Humans are a kind of animal that (like all
kinds of animal) has been and continues to be profoundly reshaped by its
interactions with other kinds of animals … All history is animal history, in
a sense.

However, Benson acknowledges the difference between scholarship that

incorporates the impact of animal life on humans but is essentially focused
on humans, and that which aims ‘to explore the history of nonhuman
animals as subjects in their own right and for their own sakes’.2 Nearly all
medical history scholarship falls into the former category. While animals
do feature in it, and to an increasing degree since the turn of the twenty-
first century,3 they are usually shadowy, marginal creatures, ‘mere blank

1 Kirk
and Worboys (2011), p. 561.
2 Benson(2011) p. 5.
3 Recent reviews of this literature include: Rader (2007), Kirk and Worboys (2011),

Woods (2016, 2017a, 2017b), Kirk (2017).

© The Author(s) 2018 1

A. Woods et al., Animals and the Shaping of Modern Medicine,
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-64337-3_1
2 A. Woods et al.

pages onto which humans wrote meaning’.4 They appear because of their
implications for human health and medicine, or because of their capacity
to illuminate wider developments in human history, such as the growth of
government, colonialism and international trade.
This volume breaks new ground in applying Benson’s second per-
spective to medical history: ‘to explore the history of nonhuman ani-
mals as subjects in their own right and for their own sakes’.5 Humans
remain important, of course, for ultimately we can only know about
animals from the records that humans have created, and which reflect
human interests in animals. However, by taking animals seriously as his-
torical subjects, it is possible to shed a different light on human history
by revealing the myriad ways in which animals have influenced human
actions and perceptions. Adopting this approach also illuminates ani-
mals as creatures with their own histories, which have been profoundly
altered by their relationships with humans, and the roles that humans
have decided they should perform. It results in a richer, less anthropo-
centric account of the medical past, which reveals how, in different times
and places, animals have experienced medicine, how they have been pro-
duced by it and how they have changed it.
In widening the historical lens to incorporate animals and their fash-
ioning into medical subjects and objects, this volume pursues three key
goals. First, it seeks to make a programmatic contribution to the field of
medical history by elucidating some of the largely unrecognized ways in
which animals have informed the knowledges, practices and social forma-
tions of medicine. Through analysing key contexts in which animals have
attracted medical attention and with what effects, it will expose a series of
medical problems, concerns, personnel and practices that barely feature
in existing scholarship. In addition, by studying the historical position-
ing of animals at the shifting boundaries between medicine, veterinary
medicine and the life sciences, it will cast new light on the relationships
between these fields. It will thereby demonstrate how, by attending to
the more-than-human dimensions of medicine, we reach new under-
standings of its historical identity, participants and manner of pursuit.
Second, the volume seeks to enhance the burgeoning field of animal
history by offering the first substantive account of animals in medicine.

4 Fudge (2006).
5 Benson (2011) p. 5.
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 3

Expanding beyond much-studied laboratory contexts to explore the

medical history of animals in zoos, on farms, in hospitals, post-mortem
rooms and international policy arenas, it illuminates the diverse species
that have participated in medicine, the many roles they have played in
it, and how their bodies and habits have both shaped and been shaped
by its ideas, practices and institutions. Crucially, the volume highlights
how these diverse species forged multispecies networks, thereby extend-
ing animal history’s typical focus on the dyadic relationships between
humans and another species of animal.
The third objective of this volume is to speak to the twenty-first-cen-
tury initiative known as One Health (OH). Featuring prominently in
medical, veterinary and scientific publications, and in national and inter-
national health policy and position statements, OH pursues an expansive
vision of improving health and wellbeing through the multidisciplinary
study of problems at the interface of humans, animals and their environ-
ments. For its proponents, OH represents a necessary response to a host
of shared threats to human and animal health, such as emerging diseases
that transmit between animals and humans, antimicrobial resistance,
food insecurity, food safety and climate change. They argue that such
issues cannot be tackled effectively within the traditional disciplinary
compartments of human medicine, veterinary medicine and the life sci-
ences. Rather, integrated, coordinated approaches are required, in which
the health of animals is considered in relation to the health of humans
and the environment.6 This volume situates OH within a longer histori-
cal context by illuminating certain precedents to this way of working. It
also offers a critical, empirically grounded perspective on its operation
today by exploring the circumstances that gave rise to its emergence as
a self-conscious movement, and how its proponents conceptualize the
roles of animals within it.
In addressing these three objectives, the volume also addresses three
distinct audiences: historians of animals, historians of science and medi-
cine, and health professionals concerned with OH today. The remainder
of this chapter introduces the history of animals as a field of enquiry, and
situates this study in relation to it. While historians of animals will be
familiar with its discussion of the methodological and conceptual issues

6 For example: Gibbs (2014), American Veterinary Association, Centers for Disease

Control and Prevention, One Health Initiative.

4 A. Woods et al.

that are important to the writing of animal histories, we present them

here for the benefit of medical historians who may not be familiar with
them. We also provide an important overview of how we approach the
history of animals in medicine, and conclude by elaborating on the vol-
ume’s objectives, outlining its research questions and introducing the
case studies that follow.

1.1   Why Animals?

The ways in which non-human animals have shaped human history is a
pressing and important issue for historians today. Recent years have wit-
nessed increasing engagement with the subject, manifesting in a bur-
geoning body of literature that draws on perspectives from material
culture studies, science and technology studies, zoology, performance
studies, and environmental, social and cultural history. Directing their
attention to a variety of animal species, authors have addressed the lives
and experiences of animals, their categorization and manipulation by
humans, their relationships with humans and environments, and their
representations within art and literature.7 The eclectic methods of animal
history, and the many differences between its animal subjects (some of
which had more historical similarities with humans than with each other)
have led some historians to ask whether it can be said to constitute a
coherent field of enquiry, or whether it primarily offers an approach to
animals which can be applied to all existing types of history.8 Insofar
as animal history is a field, this volume is intended to be a contribu-
tion to that body of work, but it also draws on animal history ideas and
approaches in order to develop new perspectives on medical history.
Animal historians acknowledge that the significance of animals to war,
agriculture, science, colonialism, sport and the environment means that
they have long featured in scholarly histories, but usually as supporting

7 Seminal works include: Ritvo (1987), Kete (1994), Anderson (2004). Valuable edited

c­ollections include: Henninger-Voss (2002), Rothfels (2002), Kalof and Resl (2007), Brantz
(2010), Shaw (2013a, 2013b), Nance (2015). An even larger scholarship addresses the contem-
porary dimensions of human–animal relationships, drawing on disciplines such as philosophy,
anthropology, geography, English literature and cultural studies. For an introductory overview,
see Marvin and McHugh (2014). Key authors who have set the framework for thinking about
these issues include: Agamben (2002), Derrida (2002), Wolfe (2003), Haraway (2008).
8 Swart (2007), Andrews (n.d.).
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 5

actors in the drama of human history. Their stated intention is to bring

animals in from the margins and position them at the centre of histor-
ical analysis in order to explore the intertwining of human and animal
lives, and the development of human ideas about, and relationships with,
animals.9 Conceptualizing animals as creatures with their own histories
and the unintentional capacity to effect historical change, authors seek to
trace ‘the many ways in which humans construct and are constructed by
animals in the past’.10 The purpose of these analyses is not simply to fill
a gap in the writing of human history but to rethink conventional histo-
riographies. This volume follows their lead in acknowledging animals as
shapers of medicine in history, and also as shapers of the ways in which
we, as scholars, perceive and write about medical history.11
Developments beyond the academy have helped to precipitate this
‘animal turn’. Since the later twentieth-century, animal-related causes,
from opposition to factory farming and animal experimentation, to the
wider improvement of animal welfare, have gained increasing public
support and political traction. Portrayed variously as victims of, or con-
tributors to, environmental degradation, animals have also become a
key aspect of wider concerns about human interactions with the natu-
ral world. Meanwhile, the impacts of diseases such as bovine spongiform
encephalopathy (BSE) and avian influenza, which emerged in ani-
mals and spread to people, have made the health connections between
humans and animals more visible and threatening. These developments
have prompted much reflection on human responsibilities for non-
human others, and how to live sustainably with them.12 They have also
encouraged animal scientists such as ethologists, vets and ecologists, to
study the sentience and subjectivities of animals, and their relationships
with their environments.13
Enhanced concern for animals and human–animal relations in the pre-
sent has helped to draw attention to their pasts within different domains
of historical scholarship. Situating animals within nature as constituents

9 Ritvo (2002), Fudge (2002), Kean (2012), Sivasundaram (2015).

10 Fudge (2006).
11 We thank Tamar Novick of the Max Planck Institute for the History of Science, Berlin,

for making this observation.

12 Ritvo (2002), Shaw (2013a, 2013b), Vandersommers (2016).

13 For example: Bekoff (2002), Grandin and Johnson (2005).

6 A. Woods et al.

of environments and ecosystems, environmental historians have explored

the interplay between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ in the shaping of human
pasts.14 Challenging the very notion of a nature–culture dichotomy
and the priority it awards to human ‘culture’ over animal ‘nature’, post-
humanist scholars have sought to understand how human and animal
differences, essences and linkages have been constructed through his-
torically specific encounters.15 By contrast, for social and cultural histo-
rians, the fact that ‘humans are always, and have always been, enmeshed
in social relations with animals’16 calls for a social historical approach to
animal histories. Their work has established animals as the latest ben-
eficiaries of ‘history from below’, a genre that originated in the 1970s
with E.P. Thompson’s history of the working classes, and expanded
subsequently to incorporate other neglected historical subjects such as
women, colonized peoples, marginalized ethnic groups and the mentally
ill.17 The animals studied tend to be celebrity animals, charismatic wild-
life and those domesticated species that have entered into close relation-
ships with humans. Other, more marginal creatures have been neglected.
This volume offers a partial corrective by examining the medical histories
of some uncharismatic and historically overlooked animals, such as tape-
worms and farmed livestock.
As with the other groups targeted by ‘history from below’, there is
an explicit political dimension to much animal history writing. Some
scholars, who locate themselves within the field of critical animal stud-
ies, aim to improve animal lives in the present by uncovering and criti-
cizing the ways in which humans have exploited them in the past.18
For other animal historians, these narratives of animal domination and
oppression are too simplistic. They, too, are often keen to effect pre-
sent-day changes in attitudes to animals by revealing their treatment in
the past. Consequently, they remain alert to the power dynamics that
have informed past human–animal relationships.19 However, they also
emphasize the complexity and historical specificity of those relationships,

14 McNeill (2000), Nash (2005), Cronon (1990).

15 Lorimer (2009), Cole (2011).
16 Philo and Wilbert (2000) p. 2. See also Swart (2007) p. 276, Eitler (2014) p. 262.
17 Ritvo (2002), Kean (2012). For a history of animals as workers, see Hribal (2007).

18 Taylor and Twine (2014), Institute for Critical Animal Studies.

19 Fudge (2012).
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 7

and the ‘resistance, compliance and compromise’ that variously charac-

terized them.20 This volume follows their lead in believing that historians
have a moral obligation to document how human actions have impacted
animal lives. It seeks to develop a nuanced understanding of the human–
animal relationships that were forged through medical research and prac-
tice, and to analyse the implications of those relationships for humans,
animals and medicine.

1.2   Writing Animal Histories

There are particular challenges associated with writing the history of ani-
mals. Some scholars have questioned whether it is even possible. Pearson
and Weismantel state that the challenges are at once ontological (‘a ques-
tion of imagining animal being’), epistemological (because our commu-
nications with animals are non-verbal) and methodological (how can we
write authentic animal histories when the only records that survive of
them were created by humans?). They suggest that these difficulties are
linked: if animals have no voices, they cannot leave records from which
historians can write their pasts; without language, consciousness or inten-
tionality they are unable to participate in history except as subjects of
biological evolution. For some commentators, it follows that the study of
animals belongs within the natural sciences not the humanities—which
are by definition concerned with human society and culture.21 This
stance has roots in Christian theology, which asserts human dominion
over animals, and in Enlightenment thinking, which posits fundamental
distinctions between humans and animals, nature and culture.22
These dichotomies and the exceptional status they award to humans
have been challenged by post-modern and post-humanist scholarship,
and by studies of developments within technoscience, food production
and climate science, which provide concrete examples of the impossibil-
ity of separating nature from society.23 Historical analyses lend support
to these challenges. By illuminating circumstances in which particular

20 Pooley-Ebert (2015) p. 165.

21 Pearson and Weismantel (2010).
22 Thomas (1983).

23 Latour (1993), Mitchell (2002), Schrepfer and Scranton (2003), Agamben (2002),

Lorimer (2009).
8 A. Woods et al.

humans (notably women, the mentally ill and certain ethnic groups)
were invested with animal characteristics, and certain animals (notably
horses, dogs and primates) were awarded privileged, quasi-human sta-
tus, it reveals that human–animal boundaries are not fixed in nature but
shaped by human society and culture. Therefore animals and animality
are not distinct from, but constitutive of the human, in ways that change
over time and place.24
If the human–animal boundary is blurred, then where does this leave
assertions that without cognition or conscious thought, animals cannot
be active historical subjects? Scholars have tackled this question by con-
sidering whether the ability to act on history can exist separately from
the intention to do so, and whether animals can be historical subjects
without necessarily possessing subjectivity. They suggest that while ani-
mals do not understand or care about human knowledge, politics and
cultures, nevertheless they can make a difference to them. Therefore, in
principle, animals do possess agency—where agency constitutes the abil-
ity to act.25 For animal historians, the nature of that agency is an empiri-
cal question. It is not a natural, permanent attribute; rather, it emerges
and is performed through social relationships, which vary by time, space
and species.26
In locating animal agency within human–non-human encounters,
many scholars draw on ideas associated with Actor Network Theory
(ANT). Developed within the field of science studies by Bruno Latour,
Michel Callon and John Law in the 1980s, ANT sought to remove dis-
tinctions between nature and society. It represented a critical response
to prevailing understandings of scientific knowledge and technical inno-
vation as either realist or sociological.27 It has since been adopted and
developed by scholars in many other disciplines. ANT has many variants
but it essentially proposes a relational way of understanding the world. In
widening the traditional analytical lens to incorporate interacting human
and non-human entities, it opens up a space for animals as historical
actors. ANT presents agency, and actors, as products of the unstable web

24 Ritvo (1995), Fudge (2002), Ritvo (2007), Hochadel (2010), Bourke (2011), Davis

(2014).
25 Fudge (2006), Law and Mol (2008), McFarland and Hediger (2009).

26 Philo and Wilbert (2000), Eitler (2014), Pooley-Ebert (2015).

27 Callon and Law (1986), Latour (1988, 2005).

 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 9

of relations (or networks) in which all are embedded. The configuration

of these networks affects how the capacity to act is distributed among
and deployed by its members. Their actions reshape ideas and practices,
bodies and materials, experiences and social relations, and, by extension,
the network itself. In this formulation, it is not only the animal’s capacity
to effect historical change but also the animal itself which is constantly
being reconfigured through its embeddedness in multiple interactive,
ever-changing relationships.28
Animal studies scholars frequently cite ANT when reflecting on the
agency of animals. However, their recognition that pre-existing power
differentials, social contexts and species differences have an important
bearing on network formation, the relationships of its participants, and
consequently on the animal’s ability to act, seems to support criticisms
of ANT’s ‘flat ontology’—its refusal to acknowledge any differences
between actors other than those created through networks.29 While we
agree with such criticisms, we, too, find ANT to be a useful heuristic
device because of the significance it awards to relationships. It suggests
that through scrutinizing ‘the entire lived experience of quotidian and
extraordinary interactions—embodied and imaginary, material and sym-
bolic—that occur within space and in particular locations, and involve
humans and animals in multiple forms of engagement and exchange’,30
we can work out how animals have changed medicine and have, in turn,
been changed by it.31 Moreover, by privileging relationships, as ANT
exhorts us to, we are able to identify the interconnections between mul-
tiple species.32
Thinking about animals in history has also been profoundly influenced
by Donna Haraway’s writing. While acknowledging the uneven distribu-
tion of pain and suffering between human and animals, she perceives
their relationships to be characterized by mutual adaptation rather than
exploitation, and seeks to determine how, in historically and culturally
specific circumstances, humans and animals come together in ‘material-
semiotic nodes or knots in which diverse bodies and meanings coshape

28 Pearson (2013) pp. 128–45, Eitler (2014).

29 Barron (2003), McLean and Hassard (2004).
30 Pearson and Weismantel (2010).

31 Kean (2012).

32 Pettit et al. (2015).

10 A. Woods et al.

one another’.33 As Law and Mol point out, this does not mean that ani-
mals have the capacity to control history, just that by entering into rela-
tionships with human and other non-human actors they are able to make
a difference to it. Their analysis of Cumbrian sheep during the British
2001 foot-and-mouth disease epidemic offers some concrete examples.
The variable bodily responses of sheep to encounters with the foot-and-
mouth disease virus affected whether the vets that inspected them were
able to detect and respond to it. The hill sheep’s ability to know its place
or ‘heft’ on the hills fashioned the landscape in ways that were valued by
humans, and which led ultimately to their exemption from the govern-
ment’s contiguous culling policy. These outcomes were not necessarily
predictable: they resulted from the unstable, indeterminate webs of prac-
tices that drew together and were created by sheep and their co-actors.
Law and Mol conclude that the important question is not whether but
how animals act.34
We will address this question by analysing the roles that animals have
performed within medical research and practice. Some of these roles will
be familiar to medical historians. In laboratories, animals were fashioned
into experimental subjects and manipulated to cast light on health and
disease. Animals that fell sick performed roles as disease victims, and
were sometimes transformed into patients. Alternatively, or addition-
ally, they were regarded as hosts and potential transmitters of infection.
Animals have also performed other, less well-documented roles in medi-
cine: as pathological specimens, points of comparison with other species,
commercial products, shapers and victims of food systems and natural
environments, and vehicles for personal and professional advancement.
They have often performed several roles simultaneously or sequen-
tially throughout their lives and afterlives. Roles have reshaped animals,
physically and conceptually, and therefore impacted on their histo-
­
ries. Roles also had their own histories that were influenced partly by
human–animal relationships and their disruption by disease, and also by
prevailing ideas of disease and the tools available to conceptualize, inves-
tigate and manage it. While it was humans who awarded roles to ani-
mals, animals were not passive recipients. Their bodies, behaviours and
relationships with humans have invited the awarding of particular roles

33 Haraway (2008) p. 4.
34 Law and Mol (2008) p. 74.
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 11

and influenced their performance within them. Different roles have pro-
vided animals with different opportunities to shape medicine, with rami-
fications for the health of both humans and animals. The concept of the
animal role therefore offers a useful tool for illuminating the historical
co-constitution of humans, animals and medicine.

1.3  Animals in Medical History

Inspired by Haraway’s thinking, in 2011, Kirk and Worboys called for
the history of medicine to be rewritten as a history of interspecies inter-
actions.35 However, to date, few scholars have adopted this approach.
There are only a handful of key works that foreground the relationships
between humans and animals, and these focus narrowly on experimental
settings.36 Studies of the co-constitution of animals and medicine are also
few in number and derive more from the history of the life sciences than
medical history.37 For the most part, animals fade into the background
of medical history writing.38 Scholars influenced by the ‘animal turn’
have not been drawn to study the history of medicine, while historians of
medicine have remained largely unaware of the ‘animal turn’.
This situation has not arisen because animals were unimportant to
medicine. On the contrary, as this volume and its extended bibliogra-
phy demonstrate, they have been integral to its history. Medical scien-
tists employed animals to develop new knowledge of bodies, minds and
diseases; to generate biological products, and to test the safety and effi-
cacy of drugs. Animals supplied nutrition to humans and transmitted
diseases to them. The state of animal health powerfully influenced—and
was influenced by—their environments. Animals were treated as patients,
fashioned into pathological specimens, and their diseases compared across
species. So far, however, these animal roles have been studied from a
largely human perspective. Their capacity to shape medicine has attracted
little attention, and they have been rarely studied as medical subjects ‘in
their own right and for their own sakes’—not even within the field of

35 Kirk and Worboys (2011).

36 Rupke (1990), Todes (1997), Dror (1999), Guerrini (2003), Schlich and Schlünder
(2009), Kirk (2014).
37 Clarke and Fujimura (1992), Clause (1993), Kohler (1994), Rader (2007).

38 Woods (2017b).
12 A. Woods et al.

veterinary history, which is ostensibly focused on the health of animals as

a problem in its own right.39
We can offer only tentative explanations for why animal histories of
medicine have yet to be written. It may be because of the dominance of
cultural studies’ perspectives within animal and human–animal history,
which have tended to foreground animals’ cultural and symbolic roles in
society rather than delving into the content and material practices of ani-
mal science and medicine. It may also result from a preference for writing
the histories of individual animals that are visible in today’s society and
with which humans develop empathetic bonds: pet animals, zoo animals
and charismatic wildlife species. Farm animals, which have wielded con-
siderable influence over human health, are comparatively neglected. Such
explanations do not apply to historians of medicine. The field’s long-
lasting engagement with ANT,40 its preoccupation with the histories of
bodies and material practices, the scientific training of many of its schol-
ars, and their expertise—generated through writing patient histories—in
thinking about medical history ‘from below’, means that the tools for
writing animal-centred histories of medicine are already in circulation.41
The failure to apply them may be due to the anthropocentrism that char-
acterized most fields of history writing until relatively recently. However,
we believe that disciplinary traditions may also be to blame.
It is now more than 20 years since the late Roy Porter asserted that,
‘in the academic world, it is automatically assumed that a “historian of
medicine” is a person who works on the history of human medicine’.42
He attributed this assumption to modernist notions of human differ-
ence from, and primacy over, animals. While in the intervening years
these notions have come increasingly under attack, scholars have not sig-
nificantly revised their perceptions of what constitutes medical history.
There remains an implicit assumption that human health and medicine
lie at the heart of this field. Sick animals whose health had no direct con-
sequence for humans are relegated to the small subfield of veterinary

39 Benson (2011) p. 5. Susan Jones is one of the few veterinary historians to foreground

animals and their relationships with humans. A good example is Jones (1997). See also
Degeling (2009).
40 Latour (1988).
41 Porter (1985), Beier (1987), Warner (1999), Gillis (2006), Cooter (2010), Crozier
(2010), Hurren (2012).
42 Porter (1993) p. 19.
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 13

history, while other aspects of animal life are studied by historians of

biology. We hold that this compartmentalization is artificial and unhelp-
ful. It does not reflect the historical positioning of animals within these
fields, and it produces a narrowly anthropocentric framing of ‘medicine’
which is frequently at odds with its historical identity.
This volume challenges such conceptions by revealing that mod-
ern medicine, as developed in the West over the last two centuries,
was a more-than-human endeavour, whose boundaries with veteri-
nary medicine and biology were porous and in a constant state of flux.
In certain historical contexts, animals contributed to the compartmen-
talization of these domains. In others, they helped to break down the
barriers between them, particularly through their investigation within
boundary-crossing fields such as parasitology, zoology, comparative
medicine, nutrition and agriculture.43 Animals contributed to the forma-
tion of these fields, and were, in turn, formed by them. By elucidating
these processes, this volume not only sheds light on the history of ani-
mals. In identifying the ideas, methods, problems, places and people who
engaged with their health, it also develops a new perspective on medicine
itself—and therefore on what constitutes the field of medical history.
In developing this animal-centred medical history, we have had to
engage with the tricky issue of how to write the histories of non-ver-
bal creatures when the only records that survive of them were created
by humans. Some scholars have attempted to overcome this problem
by using modern scientific understandings of animals to retrospec-
tively interpret their behaviours and experiences.44 As historians of sci-
ence and medicine, we find this approach deeply problematic, because
in granting a timeless universality to scientific interpretations that are in
fact products of specific historical circumstances, it reifies the nature–
culture divide.45 Other scholars have argued that the problem cannot
be overcome; that it is impossible to truly ‘know’ the authentic histori-
cal animal because surviving records are mere cultural representations
of them.46 Swart has challenged this view. Questioning the very notion
of authenticity, she points out that the ‘facts’ about animals are always

43 Woods (2017c).
44 For example: Pearson (2013), Foote and Gunnels (2015), Pooley-Ebert (2015).
45 Latour (1993).

46 Fudge (2002) p. 6.
14 A. Woods et al.

human interpretations, not ‘real’ accounts of them.47 Benson goes fur-

ther by arguing that because animals have informed the human produc-
tion of records of them, such records—or traces—are more than cultural
representations; they comprise ‘material-semiotic remnants’ of animals, a
nexus of language and materiality that offer ‘unintentional indexes of a
now-absent presence’.48
Inspired by Benson’s thinking around animal traces, we approach
medical historical records of animals as evidence of their interactions with
humans, whose analysis reveals how animals made a difference to, and
were changed by, medicine. We perceive multiple layers of animal traces
which gained meaning in reference to each other. There are the imme-
diate material remains of diseased animal bodies such as taxidermy and
museum specimens. Then there are the narratives, statistics and images
that humans have created from these materials and from other long-dead
animals whose remains were not preserved. Finally, there are the knowl-
edge-practices and social relationships that were fashioned by and from
these creations. In studying these traces, we ask not only what they reveal
about the health of animals in history and the roles that animals played
in medicine. By reflecting on why this ‘animal archive’ was created in
the first place, we also learn about the animal’s capacity to attract human
attention, and the relationships that bound them.49

1.4  One Health and its Histories

One of the inspirations and intended audiences for this work is the con-
temporary movement for OH, whose features and early twenty-first-cen-
tury emergence are explored in Chapter 6. OH is underpinned by the
belief that some of the most important health threats faced today are not
species specific, and consequently can only be tackled by interdisciplinary
working across the domains of human medicine, veterinary medicine and
the life sciences. Its integrated approach to human and animal health
implies that medicine cannot achieve its goals through a purely anthro-
pocentric approach. Just as other contemporary agendas have prompted
historians to study animal pasts, so has the push for OH drawn our
attention to the roles played by animals in the history of medicine.

47 Swart (2015).
48 Benson (2011) p. 3.
49 Tortorici (2015).
 1 INTRODUCTION: CENTRING ANIMALS WITHIN MEDICAL HISTORY 15

While the term OH is new, the concept is not. This is well recog-
nized by OH advocates, who use historical observations of human–ani-
mal health connections in attempts to legitimize their agenda, and win
momentum and funding for it.50 They locate the roots of OH in an
earlier agenda known as One Medicine (OM), which developed in the
1960s and 1970s with the aim of bringing human and veterinary medi-
cine into closer alignment.51 OM was, in turn, presaged by work dat-
ing back to the nineteenth century in the fields of comparative medicine
and veterinary public health, where human and animal health prob-
lems were considered in tandem.52 OH advocates offer a single, highly
selective interpretation of this history. They highlight the work of key
high-profile figures whose work crossed the human–animal divide and
had a lasting impact on medicine: Louis Pasteur, Robert Koch, William
Osler, Theobald Smith, John McFadyean and Rudolph Virchow (who
is frequently quoted, in the absence of any identifiable source material,
as stating that ‘between human and animal medicine there is no divid-
ing line’).53 Extracting these individuals from their historical contexts,
OH advocates present them as far-sighted geniuses who recognized the
merits of a OH approach. There is little understanding of what, within
the context of the time, these men thought they were doing and why;
whether their work was typical or unusual; and how animals might have
shaped, or been shaped, by it.
One of the goals of this volume is to develop a more critical, evidence-
based, animal-centred history of OH by documenting and explaining
the circumstances in which animals and their diseases became important
to human medical agendas. By identifying what motivated their investi-
gation by a range of lesser-known individuals, how these investigations
were pursued in policy and practice, and with what implications for
human and animal health, the book will illuminate precedents to OH
today, and draw insights of relevance to its future operation. It will also
offer an explanation for the emergence of OH as a self-conscious twenty-
first-century agenda and unpack the place of animals within it.

50 Woods and Bresalier (2014).

51 Schwabe (1984), Zinsstag et al. (2011).
52 Bresalier et al. (2015).

53 Schwabe (1984), Michell (2000) pp. 101–6, Day (2008) pp. 151–3.
16 A. Woods et al.

We do not attempt a complete account of the history of animals in

medicine: the subject is too vast and too neglected.54 Instead, we aim to
set a new research agenda and to illustrate where it might lead through a
series of case studies that are drawn from the authors’ individual research
programmes. These studies explore animal histories of medicine, and
histories of animals in medicine, on scales ranging from the local to
the global, from the 1830s to the present day. They are designed to be
read separately as standalone examples of the contexts in which animals
became important to medicine and the difference they made to it. Read
collectively, they illuminate the diverse species, spaces, methods, peo-
ple, problems and contexts of enquiry that were involved in construct-
ing animal health as a medical problem. In tracing how that construction
changed over time, they also trace the shifting place of animals within
medicine, and how animals moulded its relationships with veterinary
medicine and the life sciences.
Cross-cutting questions include: What circumstances attracted human
attention to animals and their diseases, and what networks developed
around them? How can we account for the attention paid to animals by
members of the medical profession, which is generally assumed to be
exclusively concerned with the health of humans? How and where were
investigations and interventions performed on animals, and what roles
did animals play within them? While our human protagonists’ affec-
tive relationships with animals are generally impossible to discern, the
concept of the animal role permits analysis of the multiple values that
humans assigned to animals. We also ask: What difference did animals
make to medicine—to its ideas, practices, the health of its human and
animal subjects, and its interpersonal and interdisciplinary relationships?
What difference did medicine make to animals—to their bodies and
experiences in life, the manner and timing of their deaths, and to their
afterlives?
In selecting which aspects of the history of animals in medicine to
study, we made a deliberate decision not to focus on the laboratory-
based subjects of experimental medicine. This is partly because these
animals, notably rodents and dogs, already feature in the handful of
existing animal-centred accounts of medical history. It is also because

54 For a chronological overview, see Bresalier et al. (2015).

Another random document with
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 “I suppose you merely wish to have a general look round?” he
asked. “Do just as you like. I'll go round with you and answer any
questions that I can for you.”
Miss Fordingbridge attached herself to the party, and they went
from room to room. Sir Clinton and the inspector examined the
window-catches without finding anything amiss. At last Miss
Fordingbridge noticed something out of the common.
“We left a few silver knick-knacks lying about. I don't see any of
them.”
Inspector Armadale made a note in his pocketbook.
“Could you give me a list of them?” he asked.
Miss Fordingbridge seemed taken aback.
“No, I couldn't. How could you expect me to remember all the
trifles we left about? I daresay I could remember some of them.
There was a silver rose-bowl; but it was very thin, and I'm sure it
wasn't worth much. And a couple of little hollow statuettes, and some
other things. They weren't of any value.”
“What room is this?” Sir Clinton inquired, cutting her eloquence
short, as they paused before a fresh door.
“The drawing-room.”
She went in before the others and cast a glance round the room.
“What's that?” she demanded, as though her companions were
personally responsible for a sack which stood near one of the
windows.
Armadale went swiftly across the room, opened the mouth of the
sack and glanced inside.
“It looks like the missing loot,” he remarked. “I can see something
like a rose-bowl amongst it, and the head of one of your statuettes.
You might look for yourself, Miss Fordingbridge.”
He stood aside to let her inspect the contents of the sack.
“Yes, these are some of the things,” she confirmed at once.
Sir Clinton and Wendover in turn examined the find. The chief
constable tested the weight of the sack and its contents.
“Not much of a haul,” he said, letting it settle to the floor again.
“Taking pure silver at eight shillings an ounce, and allowing for alloy,
there's less than twenty pounds' worth there—much less.”
 “I suppose this means that the thieves must have been disturbed,
and left their swag behind them,” Paul Fordingbridge suggested.
Sir Clinton seemed intent on an examination of the window-
fastenings; but Inspector Armadale curtly agreed with Paul
Fordingbridge's hypothesis.
“It looks like it.”
The chief constable led the way to a fresh room.
“What's this?” he asked.
Miss Fordingbridge seemed suddenly to take a keener interest in
the search.
“This is my nephew's room. I do hope they haven't disturbed
anything in it. I've been so careful to keep it exactly as it used to be.
And it would be such a pity if it were disturbed just at the very
moment when he's come back.”
Sir Clinton's eye caught an expression of vexation on Paul
Fordingbridge's face as his sister spoke of her nephew.
“He's been away, then?” he asked.
It required very little to start Miss Fordingbridge on the subject;
and in a few minutes of eager explanation she had laid before them
the whole matter of her missing relation. As her narrative proceeded,
Sir Clinton could see the expression of annoyance deepening on her
brother's features.
“And so you understand, Sir Clinton, I kept everything in his room
just as it used to be; so that when he comes back again he'll find
nothing strange. It'll just be as if he'd only left us for a week-end.”
Wendover noticed something pathetic in her attitude. For a
moment the normal angularity and fussiness seemed to have left her
manner.
“Poor soul!” he reflected. “Another case of unsatisfied maternity, I
suppose. She seems to have adored this nephew of hers.”
Paul Fordingbridge seemed to think that enough time had been
spent on the family's private affairs.
“Is there anything more that you'd care to see?” he asked Sir
Clinton, in an indifferent tone.
The chief constable seemed to have been interested in Miss
Fordingbridge's tale.
 “Just a moment,” he said half-apologetically to Paul
Fordingbridge. “I'd like to be sure about one or two points.”
He crossed the room and examined the window-catches with
some care.
“Now, Miss Fordingbridge,” he said, as he turned back after
finding the fastenings intact like the others, “this is a room which
you're sure to remember accurately, since you say you looked after it
yourself. Can you see anything missing from it?”
Miss Fordingbridge gazed from point to point, checking the
various objects from her mental inventory.
“Yes,” she said suddenly, “there's a small silver inkstand missing
from his desk.”
“I saw an inkstand in the sack,” Armadale confirmed.
Sir Clinton nodded approvingly.
“Anything else, Miss Fordingbridge?”
For a time her eyes ranged over the room without detecting the
absence of anything. Then she gave a cry in which surprise and
disappointment seemed to be mingled. Her finger pointed to a
bookshelf on which a number of books were neatly arranged.
“Why,” she said, “there's surely something missing from that! It
doesn't look quite as full as I remember it.”
She hurried across the room, knelt down, and scanned the
shelves closely. When she spoke again, it was evident that she was
cut to the heart.
“Yes, it's gone! Oh, I'd have given almost anything rather than
have this happen! Do you know what it is, Paul? It's Derek's diary—
all the volumes. You know how carefully he kept it all the time he was
here. And now it's lost. And he'll be back here in a few days, and I'm
sure he'll want it.”
Still kneeling before the bookshelves, she turned round to the
chief constable.
“Sir Clinton, you must get that back for me. I don't care what else
they've taken.”
The chief constable refrained from making any promise. He
glanced at Paul Fordingbridge, and was puzzled by what he read on
his features. Commiseration for his sister seemed to be mingled with
some other emotion which baffled Sir Clinton. Acute vexation,
repressed only with difficulty, seemed to have its part; but there was
something also which suggested more than a little trepidation.
“It's a rather important set of documents,” Paul Fordingbridge
said, after a pause. “If you can lay your hands on them, Sir Clinton,
my sister will be very much indebted to you. They would certainly
never have been left here if it had not been for her notions. I wish
you'd taken my advice, Jay,” he added irritably, turning to his sister.
“You know perfectly well that I wanted to keep them in my own
possession; but you made such a fuss about it that I let you have
your way. And now the damned things are missing!”
Miss Fordingbridge made no reply. Sir Clinton interposed tactfully
to relieve the obvious strain of the situation.
“We shall do our best, Miss Fordingbridge. I never care to
promise more than that, you understand. Now, can you see anything
else that's gone a-missing from here?”
Miss Fordingbridge pulled herself together with an effort. Clearly
the loss of the diary had been a severe blow to her sentiment about
her nephew's study. She glanced round the room, her eyes halting
here and there at times when she seemed in doubt. At last she
completed her survey.
“I don't miss anything else,” she said. “And I don't think there's
anything gone that I wouldn't miss if it had been taken away.”
Sir Clinton nodded reflectively, and led the way in an examination
of the rest of the house. Nothing else of any note was discovered. All
the window-fastenings seemed to be intact; and there was no sign of
any means whereby thieves could have entered the premises. An
inspection of the contents of the sack in the drawing-room yielded no
striking results. It was filled with a collection of silver knick-knacks
evidently picked up merely because they were silver. Neither Paul
Fordingbridge nor his sister could recall anything of real intrinsic
value which might have been stolen.
“Twenty pounds' worth at the most. And they didn't even get
away with it,” Sir Clinton said absent-mindedly, as he watched the
inspector, in his rubber gloves, replacing the articles in the sack in
preparation for transporting them to the car.
“Is that all we can do for you?” Paul Fordingbridge asked, with a
certain restraint in his manner, when the Inspector had finished his
task.
Sir Clinton answered with an affirmative nod. His thoughts
seemed elsewhere, and he had the air of being recalled to the
present by Paul Fordingbridge's voice.
“Then, in that case, we can go, Jay. I'm sure Sir Clinton would
prefer things left untouched at present, so you mustn't come about
here again, shifting anything, until he gives permission. Care to keep
the keys?” he added, turning to the chief constable.
“Inspector Armadale had better have them,” Sir Clinton
answered.
Paul Fordingbridge handed over the bunch of keys, made a faint
gesture of farewell, and followed his sister to the car. Sir Clinton
moved across to the window and watched them start down the
avenue before he opened his mouth. When they had disappeared
round a bend in the road, he turned to his two companions again.
Wendover could see that he looked more serious even than at Peter
Hay's cottage.
“I may as well say at once, inspector, that I do not propose to
extend my bus-driver's holiday to the extent of making a trip to
Australia.”
Armadale evidently failed to follow this line of thought.
“Australia, sir? I never said anything about Australia.”
Sir Clinton seemed to recover his good spirits.
“True, now I come to think of it. Shows how little there is in all this
talk about telepathy. I'd made certain I'd read your thoughts correctly;
and now it turns out that you weren't thinking at all. A mental blank,
what? Tut! Tut! It's a warning against rushing to conclusions,
inspector.”
“I don't see myself rushing to Australia, anyhow, sir.”
“H'm! Perhaps we'll get along without that, if we're lucky. But think
of the platypus, inspector. Wouldn't you like to see it at home?”
The inspector gritted his teeth in an effort to restrain his temper.
He glanced at Wendover, with evident annoyance at his presence.
“It's going to be a pretty problem, evidently,” Sir Clinton continued
in a more thoughtful tone. “Now, what about the evidence? We'd
better pool it while it's fresh in our minds. Civilians first. What did you
see in it all, squire?”
 Wendover decided to be concise.
“No signs of entry into the house. Bag of silver odds and ends in
drawing-room, as if ready for removal. Set of volumes of diary
removed from nephew's study. Strange story of missing nephew
turning up. That's all I can think of just now.”
“Masterly survey, squire,” said Sir Clinton cordially. “Except that
you've left out most of the points of importance.”
He nodded to Armadale.
“See anything else, inspector? The credit of the force is at stake,
remember.”
“Mr. Fordingbridge didn't seem overmuch cut up by Peter Hay's
death, sir.”
“There's something in that. Either he's a reserved person by
nature, or else he'd something of more importance to himself on his
mind, if one can judge from what we saw. Anything more?”
“Mr. Fordingbridge and Miss Fordingbridge seemed a bit at cross-
purposes over this nephew.”
“That was more than obvious, I admit. Anything else?”
“Whoever packed up that silver must have come in with a key.”
“I think that goes down to Mr. Wendover's score, inspector. It
follows directly from the fact that the house wasn't broken into in any
way.”
“The silver here and the silver at Peter Hay's link up the two
affairs.”
“Probably correct. Anything further?”
“No more evidence, sir.”
Sir Clinton reflected for a moment.
“I'll give you something. I was watching Mr. Fordingbridge's face
when the loss of the diary was discovered. He was more than
usually annoyed when that turned up. You weren't looking at him just
then, so I mention it.”
“Thanks,” Armadale responded, with some interest showing in his
voice.
“That missing diary would be a useful weapon,” Sir Clinton
continued. “You could check statements by it; or you could produce
false statements from it, if you were a swindling claimant.”
“That's self-evident,” Wendover interjected.
 “So it is,” Sir Clinton admitted blandly. “I suppose that's why you
didn't mention it yourself, squire. To continue. There's one point
which strikes me as interesting. Supposing that Miss Fordingbridge
hadn't come up here to-day, do you think we'd have discovered that
the diary was missing at all?”
“No, unless Mr. Fordingbridge had noticed the loss.”
“Naturally. Now I'll give you a plain hint. What is there behind Mr.
Fordingbridge's evident annoyance? That seems to me a fruitful line
for speculation, if you're thinking of thinking, as it were.”
Wendover reflected for a moment.
“You mean that the diary would be invaluable to a claimant, and
hence Fordingbridge may have been angry at its loss. Or else you
mean that Fordingbridge was mad because the loss had been
discovered. Is that what you're after, Clinton?”
Sir Clinton's gesture in reply seemed to deprecate any haste.
“I'm not after anything in particular, squire,” he assured
Wendover. “I simply don't see my way through the business yet. I
merely recommend the subject for you to browse over. As they say
about Shakespeare, new perspectives open up before one's eyes
every time one examines the subject afresh. And, by the way,
hypophosphites are said to be sustaining during a long spell of
intense cogitation. I think we'll call at the druggist's on the way home
and buy up his stock. There's more in this affair than meets the eye.”
The inspector picked up the sack. Then, apparently struck by an
after-thought, he laid it on the floor again and took out his note-book.
“Would you mind giving me any orders you want carried out
immediately, sir?” he asked. “Anything in the way of information you
need from the village?”
Sir Clinton looked at him in mock surprise, and answered with a
parody of the “Needy Knifegrinder”:
“Orders! God bless you! I have none to give, sir. This is your
case, inspector, not mine.”
Armadale succeeded in finding a form of words to turn the flank
of his superior's line:
“Well, sir, suppose you were in my place, what would you think it
useful to find out?”
 “A deuce of a lot of things, inspector. Who killed Peter Hay, for
one. Who stole the diary, for another. When I'm likely to get any
lunch, for a third. And so on. There's heaps more of them, if you'll
think them up. But, if I were in your shoes, I'd make a beginning by
interviewing young Colby, who found the body; then I'd investigate
the sweet-shop, and find out who bought pear-drops there lately; I'd
make sure there are no fingerprints on any of the silver; I'd get the P.
M. done as quickly as possible, since amyl nitrite is volatile, and
might disappear if the body's left too long; and I think I'd make some
very cautious inquiries about this long-lost nephew, if he's anywhere
in the vicinity. And, of course, I'd try to find out all I could about Peter
Hay's last movements yesterday, so far as one can discover them
from witnesses.”
Inspector Armadale had been jotting the chief constable's advice
down in shorthand; and, when Sir Clinton finished speaking, he shut
his note-book and put it back in his pocket.
“Peter Hay puzzles me,” Wendover said thoughtfully, as they
made their way to the car.
“Perhaps Peter Hay knew too much for his own safety,” Sir
Clinton answered, as he closed the door of Foxhills behind them.
A fresh line of thought occurred to Wendover.
“This missing nephew came from Australia, Clinton. I'm playing
golf to-morrow morning with that Australian man who's staying at the
hotel. He isn't the missing heir by any chance, is he?”
“I shouldn't think so, from Miss Fordingbridge's story. This
claimant was pretty badly disfigured, whereas Cargill's rather a nice-
looking chap. Also, she's sure to have come across Cargill in the
hotel; he's been here for a week at least; but the claimant-man only
presented himself to her last night, if you remember.”
 Chapter VI.
The Beach Tragedy
Wakened abruptly by the trilling of a bell beside his bed, Sir
Clinton bitterly regretted the striving of the Lynden Sands Hotel
towards up-to-dateness, as represented by a room telephone
system. He leaned over and picked up the receiver.
“Sir Clinton Driffield speaking.”
“I'm Armadale, sir,” came the reply. “Can I see you? It's important,
sir, and I can't very well talk about it over the 'phone.”
Sir Clinton's face betrayed a natural annoyance.
“This is an ungodly hour to be ringing anyone up in his bed,
inspector. It's barely dawn. However, since you're here, you may as
well come up. My room's No. 89.”
He laid down the receiver, got out of bed, and put on his
dressing-gown. As he moved across the room and mechanically
began to brush his hair, a glance through the window showed him
that the rain of the previous night had blown over and the sky was
blue. The sun had not yet risen, and a pale full moon was low on the
western horizon, A murmur of the incoming tide rose from the
beaches; and the white crests of the waves showed faintly in the
half-light.
“Well, inspector, what is it?” Sir Clinton demanded testily. “You'd
better be brief, be businesslike, and be gone, as they say. I want to
get back to bed.”
“There's been another murder, sir.”
Sir Clinton made no effort to conceal his surprise.
“Another murder! In a place this size? They must be making a
hobby of it.”
The inspector observed with satisfaction that his superior had
given up any thoughts of bed, for he was beginning to dress himself.
 “This is what happened, sir,” Armadale continued. “Shortly after
midnight a man appeared at the house of the local constable—
Sapcote, you remember—and hammered on the door till Sapcote
came down. He began some confused yarn to the constable, but
Sapcote very wisely put on his clothes and brought the fellow round
to me. I've got a room in a house near by, where I'm staying till this
Hay affair is cleared up.”
Sir Clinton nodded, to show that he was paying attention, but
went on swiftly with his dressing.
“I examined the man,” Armadale continued. “His name's James
Billingford. He's a visitor here—he's rented old Flatt's cottage, on the
point between here and Lynden Sands village. It seems he
sometimes suffers from sleeplessness; and last night he went out
rather late, hoping that a walk would do him some good. He strolled
along the beach in this direction, not paying very much attention to
anything. Then he heard the sound of shooting farther along the
beach.”
“Does that mean one shot or several?” Sir Clinton demanded,
turning from the mirror in front of which he was fastening his tie.
“He was a bit doubtful there,” Armadale explained. “I pressed him
on the point, and he finally said he thought he heard two. But he
wasn't certain. He seems to have been mooning along, not paying
attention to anything, when he heard something. It wasn't for some
seconds that he identified the sound for what it was; and by that time
he was quite muddled up as to what he had really heard. He doesn't
seem very bright,” the inspector added contemptuously.
“Well, what happened after the Wild West broke loose on the
beach?” Sir Clinton demanded, hunting for his shoes.
“It appears,” pursued Armadale, “that he ran along the beach
close to the water's edge. His story is that he couldn't see anything
on the beach; but when he came level with that big rock they call
Neptune's Seat he saw a dead man lying on it.”
“Sure he was dead?”
“Billingford was quite sure about it. He says he was in the
R.A.M.C. in the war and knows a dead 'un when he sees one.”
“Well, what next?”
 “I didn't question him much; just left him in charge of Sapcote till I
came back. Then I hunted up a couple of fishermen from the village
and went off myself along with them to Neptune's Seat. I made them
stick to the road; and when I got within a couple of hundred yards of
the rock, I left them and went down to the very edge of the water—
below Billingford's marks, as the tide was still falling—and kept along
there. There was enough moonlight to save me from trampling over
anyone's footmarks and I took care to keep clear of anything of that
sort.”
Sir Clinton gave a nod of approval, but did not interrupt the story
by any verbal comment.
“The body was there all right,” Armadale continued. “He'd been
shot through the heart—probably with a small-calibre bullet, I should
think. Dead as a doornail, anyhow. There was nothing to be done for
him, so I left him as he was. My main idea was to avoid muddling up
any footprints there might be on the sand.”
Again Sir Clinton mutely showed his approval of the inspector's
methods. Armadale continued his narrative:
“It was too dim a light to make sure of things just then, a bit
cloudy. So the best thing seemed to be to put the men I had with me
to patrol the road and warn anyone off the sands. Not that anyone
was likely to be about at that hour of the morning. I didn't think it
worth while to knock you up, sir, until it got a bit brighter; but as soon
as there seemed any chance of getting to work, I came up here. You
understand, sir, the tide's coming in; and it'll wash out any tracks as it
rises. It's a case of now or never if you want to see them. That's why
I couldn't delay any longer. We've got to make the best of the time
we have between dawn and high tide.”
Armadale paused, and looked at Sir Clinton doubtfully.
“I understand, inspector.” The chief constable answered his
unspoken query. “There's no room for fooling at present. This is a
case where we're up against time. Come along!”
As he stood aside to let the inspector leave the room in front of
him, Sir Clinton was struck by a fresh idea.
“Just knock up Mr. Wendover, inspector. He's next door—No. 90.
Tell him to dress and follow on after us. I'll get my car out, and that
will save us a minute or two in getting to the place.”
 Armadale hesitated most obviously before turning to obey.
“Don't you see, inspector? All these tracks will be washed out in
an hour or two. We'll be none the worse of having an extra witness to
anything we find; and your fishermen pals would never understand
what was important and what wasn't. Mr. Wendover will make a
useful witness if we ever need him. Hurry, now!”
The inspector saw the point, and obediently went to wake up
Wendover, whilst Sir Clinton made his way to the garage of the hotel.
In a few minutes the inspector joined him.
“I waked up Mr. Wendover, sir. I didn't wait to explain the thing to
him; but I told him enough to make him hurry with his dressing. He
says he'll follow in less than five minutes.”
“Good! Get in.”
Armadale jumped into the car, and, as he slammed the door, Sir
Clinton let in the clutch.
“That tide's coming in fast,” he said anxiously. “The Blowhole up
there is beginning to spout already.”
Armadale followed in the direction of the chief constable's glance,
and saw a cloud of white spray hurtling up into the air from the top of
a headland beside the hotel.
“What's that?” he asked, as the menacing fountain choked and
fell.
“Sort of thing they call a souffleur on the French coast,” Sir
Clinton answered. “Sea-cave gets filled with compressed air owing to
the rise of the tide, and some water's blown off through a landward
vent. That's what makes the intermittent jet.”
About a mile from the hotel the inspector motioned to Sir Clinton
to stop at a point where the road ran close to the beach, under some
sand-dunes on the inland side. A man in a jersey hastened towards
them as the car pulled up.
“Nobody's come along, I suppose?” the inspector demanded
when the new-comer reached them. Then, turning to Sir Clinton, he
added: “This is one of the men who were watching the place for me.”
Sir Clinton looked up with a smile at the introduction.
“Very good of you to give us your help, Mr.——?”
“Wark's my name, sir.”
 “. . . Mr. Wark. By the way, you're a fisherman, aren't you? Then
you'll be able to tell me when high tide's due this morning.”
“About half-past seven by God's time, sir.”
Sir Clinton was puzzled for a moment, then he repressed a smile
slightly different from his earlier one.
“Half-past eight by summer time then?” he queried.
He glanced at his wrist-watch, and then consulted a pocket diary.
“Sunrise is due in about a quarter of an hour. You gauged it
neatly in waking me up, inspector. Well, we've a good deal less than
two hours in hand. It may keep us pretty busy, if we're to dig up all
the available data before the tracks are obliterated by the tide
coming in.”
He reflected for a moment, and then turned to the fisherman.
“Would you mind going into Lynden Sands village for me?
Thanks. I want some candles—anything up to a couple of dozen of
them. And a plumber's blow-lamp, if you can lay your hands on one.”
The fisherman seemed taken aback by this unexpected demand.
“Candles, sir?” he inquired, gazing eastward to where the golden
bar of the dawn hung on the horizon.
“Yes, candles—any kind you like, so long as you bring plenty.
And the blow-lamp, of course.”
“The ironmonger has one, sir.”
“Knock him up, then, and quote me for the price—Sir Clinton
Driffield—if he makes any difficulty. Can you hurry?”
“I've got a bicycle here, sir.”
“Splendid! I know you won't waste time, Mr. Wark.”
The fisherman hurried off in search of his cycle; and in a very
short time they saw him mount and ride away in the direction of the
village. The inspector was obviously almost as puzzled as Wark had
been, but he apparently thought it best to restrain his curiosity about
the candles and blow-lamp.
“I think we'll leave your second patrol to watch the road,
inspector, while we go down on to the beach. I suppose that's the
rock you were speaking about?”
“Yes, sir. You can't see the body from here. The rock's shaped
rather like a low chesterfield, with its back to this side, and the body's
lying on what would be the seat.”
 Sir Clinton glanced towards the bar of gold in the east which
marked the position of the sun below the horizon.
“I don't want to go blundering on to the sands at random,
inspector. What about a general survey first of all? If we climb this
dune at the back of the road, we ought to get some rough notion of
how to walk without muddling up the tracks. Come along!”
A few seconds took them to the top of the low mound. By this
time the dawn-twilight had brightened, and it was possible to see
clearly at a fair distance. Sir Clinton examined the beach for a short
time without making any comment.
“That must be my own track, coming along the beach from the
village, sir. The one nearest the water. I kept as close to the waves
as I could, since the tide was falling and I knew I was sticking to
ground that must have been covered when Billingford came along.”
“What about the fishermen?” Sir Clinton asked.
“I made them keep to the road, so as to leave no tracks.”
Sir Clinton approved with a gesture, and continued his inspection
of the stretch of sand below.
“H'm!” he said at last. “If clues are what you want, inspector, there
seem to be plenty of them about. I can make out four separate sets
of footprints down there, excluding yours; and quite possibly there
may be others that we can't see from here. It's lucky they aren't all
muddled up together. There's just enough crossing to give us some
notion of the order in which they were made—in three cases at least.
You'd better make a sketch of them from here, now that there's light
enough to see clearly. A rough diagram's all you'll have time for.”
The inspector nodded in compliance, and set about his task. Sir
Clinton's eye turned to the road leading from the hotel.
“Here's Mr. Wendover coming,” he announced. “We'll wait till he
arrives, since you're busy, inspector.”
In a few moments Wendover clambered up the dune.
“Did you turn back to the hotel for anything?” he inquired, as he
came up to them.
“No, squire. Why?”
“I noticed a second track of motor-wheels on the road at one
point as I came along. It faded out as I got nearer here, so I thought
you might have gone back for something or other.”
 “That would have made three tracks, and not two; one out, one
back, and a final one out again.”
“So it would,” Wendover admitted, evidently vexed at having
made a mistake.
“We'll have a look at that track later on,” Sir Clinton promised. “I
took care not to put my own tracks on top of it as we came along.”
“Oh, you saw it, did you?” said Wendover disappointedly.
“Confound you, Clinton, you seem to notice everything.”
“Easy enough to see the track of new non-skids on a wet road,
especially as I didn't see my own track while I was making it. We'll
have no trouble in disentangling them, even if they do cross here
and there, for my tyres are plain ones, and a bit worn at that. I think I
ought to mention that our patrols report no traffic on the road since
they came on to it; and, as I remember that there was no rain in the
early evening, that gives us some chance of guessing the time when
that car made its tracks in the mud.”
“The rain came down about half-past eleven,” the inspector
volunteered as he finished his sketch. “I heard it dashing on my
window just after I'd gone to bed, and I went up stairs about twenty
past eleven.”
Sir Clinton held out his hand for the inspector's note-book,
compared the diagram with the view before him, and passed the
book to Wendover, who also made a comparison.
“Better initial it, squire,” the chief constable suggested. “We may
need you to swear to its accuracy later on, since we'll have no visible
evidence left after this tide's come in.”
Wendover obeyed, and then returned the note-book to the
inspector as they began to descend from the dune towards the road.
Halfway down, Sir Clinton halted.
“There's another set of tracks which we couldn't see from the
place we were,” he said, pointing. “Behind that groyne running down
towards the rock. The groyne was in the line of sight up above, but
we've moved to the left a bit and you can just see one or two
footprints. Over yonder, inspector. You'd better fill them in when we
get to the road and have a clear sight of them.”
The inspector completed his diagram, and handed it to his
companions in turn for verification.
 A diagram of various sets of footmarks. At the bottom of the
diagram is a road, labeled “To Lynden Sands” on the right.
Centered at the top of the diagram is an oval shape labeled
“Neptune’s Seat,” to which are connected five different sets
of tracks. One set, labeled “Billingford,” arrives at Neptune’s
Seat from the right, and then continues downwards towards
the road. Two other sets lead from the road to Neptune’s
Seat and then back again. One is labeled “Woman’s Light
Shoes,” and the other is labeled “Woman’s Golf Shoes.”
The latter set connects with the road at the same points as
a set of motorcar tracks. A fourth set of footmarks, labeled
“Murdered Man,” leads from the road to Neptune’s Seat but
not back. Along the left edge of the diagram is a heavy line
labeled “Groyne,” and a fifth set of tracks, labeled “Man’s
Shoes,” comes from the road alongside the groyne and
then back again.

“We may as well start with this track,” Sir Clinton suggested. “It's
a fairly short one, and seems isolated from all the others by the
groyne.”
He stepped down on to the sand, taking care to keep well away
from the footmarks; and his companions followed his track. They
walked on a line parallel to the footprints, which ran close under the
groyne. At first the marks were hardly defined; but suddenly they
grew sharp.
“This is where he hit the sand wetted by the tide, obviously,” said
Wendover. “But the trail looks a bit curious—not quite like a normal
man's walk.”
“Suppose he'd been crouching under the groyne as he went
along,” Sir Clinton suggested. “Wouldn't that account for it? Look!”
He moved on to a piece of untouched sand, bent almost double,
and began to move cautiously along. Wendover and the inspector
had to admit that his tracks were very like those of the trail beside
the groyne.
“Somebody spying on the people on the rock?” Wendover
hazarded. “If you can get hold of him, Clinton, he ought to be a
useful witness.”
 The inspector stooped over the footprints and scanned them
closely.
“It's a clear impression. A man's shoe with a pointed toe, it seems
to be,” he announced. “Of course, if he was creeping along behind
the groyne we can't get his ordinary length of step, so we haven't
any notion of his height.”
Sir Clinton had moved on to the end of the trail.
“He evidently crouched down here for quite a while,” he pointed
out. “See the depth of these impressions and the number of times he
must have shifted the position of his feet to ease his muscles. Then
he turned back again and went back to the road, still crouching.”
He swung slowly round, looking about him. The beach was
empty. Farther along it, towards the hotel, a group of bathing-boxes
had been erected for the use of hotel visitors. Less than ten yards
from the turning-point of the footprints, on the other side of the
groyne, Neptune's Seat jutted up from the surrounding sand. It was,
as the inspector had said, like a huge stone settee standing with its
back to the land; and on the flat part of it lay the body of a man. Sir
Clinton bent down and scrutinised the surface of the sand around the
turning-point of the track for some minutes, but he made no
comment as he completed his survey. When he rose to his full height
again, he saw on the road the figure of the fisherman, Wark; and he
made a gesture forbidding the man to come down on the sand.
“Just go up and see if he's got the candles and the blow-lamp,
inspector, please. We may as well finish off here if he has.”
Armadale soon returned with the articles.
“Good fellow, that,” Sir Clinton commented. “He hasn't wasted
time!”
He turned and gazed across at the advancing tide.
“We'll have to hurry up. Time's getting short. Another half-hour
and the water will be up near that rock. We'll need to take the
seaward tracks first of all. Hold the blow-lamp, will you, inspector,
while I get a candle out.”
Wendover's face showed that even yet he had not grasped the
chief constable's object. Sir Clinton extracted a candle and lit the
blow-lamp.
 “Plaster of Paris gives a rotten result if you try to take casts of
sand-impressions with it,” he explained. “The classics pass rather
lightly over the point, but it is so. Therefore we turn to melted wax or
tallow, and by dropping it on very carefully in a thin layer at first, we
get something that will serve our purpose. Hence the candles and
the blow-lamp. See?”
He suited the action to the word, making casts of the right and left
footprints in the sand from the sharpest impressions he could pick
out.
“Now we'll take Mr. Billingford's track next,” he said, as he
removed the two blocks of wax from their beds. “His footmarks will
be the first to be swamped by the tide, so we must get on to them in
a hurry.”
He led his companions back to the road and turned round the
landward end of the groyne.
“This is where he landed on the road, evidently. Now step in my
tracks and don't wander off the line. We mustn't cut up the ground.”
He moved along the trail, and soon reached the tidal mark, after
which the footprints grew sharper. A little farther on, he reached a
point where Billingford's marks crossed an earlier track—the prints of
a woman's nail-studded shoes.
“Golfing-shoes, by the look of them,” he pointed out to his
companions. “We can leave them alone just now. The tide won't
reach here for long enough yet, so we've plenty of time to come
back. Billingford's the important thing at present.”
Billingford's track ran down to Neptune's Seat, where it was lost
on the hard surface of the rock. Sir Clinton, without halting, directed
his companions' attention to a second trail of male footprints running
up towards the rock from the road, and crossed just at the landward
side of Neptune's Seat by the traces of Billingford.
“There's no return track for these, so far as I can see,” he pointed
out, “so it looks as if the murdered man made them.”
Without a glance at the body, he stepped up on to the rock,
picked up the farther trail of Billingford, and began to follow it as it led
along the beach towards Lynden Sands village. The footprints ran
along the top of a series of slight whale-backs of sand, behind which
lay a flatter zone running up towards the high-tide mark. Nearer the
sea, a track showed the inspector's line of advance during the night.
After following the trail for nearly a quarter of a mile, Sir Clinton
pointed to a change in its character.
“This is where he began to run. See how the pace shortens
beyond this.”
Rather to the surprise of his companions, he continued to follow
the trail.
“Is it really necessary to go as far as this?” Wendover demanded
after a time. “You've come the best part of three-quarters of a mile
from the rock. What are you trying to do?”
“I'm trying to find out the earliest moment when Billingford could
have reached the rock, of course,” sir Clinton explained, with a trace
of irritation.
A few yards farther on, Billingford's track was neatly interrupted.
For twenty feet or so there were no tracks on the sand; then the
footprints reappeared, sharply defined as before. At the sight of the
gap Sir Clinton's face brightened.
“I want something solid here,” he said. “Stakes would be best, but
we haven't any. A couple of cairns will have to do. Bring the biggest
stones you can lift; there are lots up yonder above the tide-mark.”
He set them an example, and soon they had collected a fair
number of heavy stones. Sir Clinton, with an anxious eye on the tide,
built up a strong cairn alongside the last of Billingford's footprints
which was visible.
“Now the same thing on the other side of the gap,” the chief
constable directed.
Wendover suppressed his curiosity until the work in hand was
over; but as soon as the second cairn had been erected at the point
where Billingford's footprints reappeared on the sand he demanded
an explanation.
“I'm trying to estimate when Billingford passed that point last
night,” Sir Clinton answered. “No, I haven't time to explain all about it
just now, squire. We're too busy. Ask me again in twelve hours or so,
and I'll tell you the answer to the sum. It may be of importance or it
mayn't; I don't know yet.”
He turned and glanced at the rising tide.
 “Jove! We'll need to look slippy. The tide's getting near that rock.
Look here, inspector. Get hold of one of these fishermen and ask
them to pounce on the nearest boat and bring it round to the rock.
Then we can leave everything on the rock to the last moment and
spend our time on the sands, which haven't got permanent traces
and must be cleared up first of all. If we get cut off by the tide, we
can always get the body away on a boat, if we have one handy.”
The inspector hurried off, waving to attract the attention of the
fishermen. In a few moments he was back again.
“They say, sir, that the nearest boat is at Flatt's cottage, just on
the point yonder. They're off to bring it round. By the way, they
warned me against going near that old wreck there, farther along the
bay. It seems there's a patch of bad quick-sand just to the seaward
side of it—very dangerous.”
“All right, inspector. We're not going any farther along in this
direction for the present. Let's get back to the rock where the body
is. We've still got the other trails of footmarks to examine.”
They hurried off towards Neptune's Seat, and at the edge of the
rock Sir Clinton halted.
“Here's a set of prints—a neatly-shod woman, by the look of
them,” he pointed out. “She's come down to the rock and gone back
again almost on the same line. Take a cast of good ones, inspector,
both left and right feet. Be careful with your first drippings of the
wax.”
Wendover inspected the line of prints with care.
“They don't tell us much,” he pointed out. “Billingford's tracks
don't cross them, so there's no saying when they were made. It
might have been a visitor coming down to the beach yesterday
afternoon.”
“Hardly,” interrupted Sir Clinton. “High tide was at half-past eight;
and obviously they must have been made a good while after that or
else this part of the sands would have been covered. But it was a
moonlight night, and it's quite possible someone came down here to
look at the sea late in the evening.”
“It's a small shoe,” Wendover pursued, without answering the
criticism.