title: The Footsteps That Stopped: A Chief Inspector Pointer Mystery
author: A. E. Fielding
description: The identity of the author is as much a mystery as the plots of the novels. Two dozen novels were published from 1924 to 1944 as by Archibald Fielding, A. E. Fielding, or Archibald E. Fielding, yet the only clue as to the real author is a comment by the American publishers, H.C. Kinsey Co. that A. E. Fielding was in reality a middle-aged English woman by the name of Dorothy Feilding whose peacetime address is Sheffield Terrace, Kensington, London, and who enjoys gardening. Research on the part of John Herrington has uncovered a person by that name living at 2 Sheffield Terrace from 1932-1936. She appears to have moved to Islington in 1937 after which she disappears. To complicate things, some have attributed the authorship to Lady Dorothy Mary Evelyn Moore nee Feilding (1889-1935), however, a grandson of Lady Dorothy denied any family knowledge of such authorship. The archivist at Collins, the British publisher, reports that any records of A. Fielding were presumably lost during WWII. Birthdates have been given variously as 1884, 1889, and 1900. Unless new information comes to light, it would appear that the real authorship must remain a mystery. Greg Fowlkes
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  These Shoes Are Killing Me  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  # These Shoes Are Killing Me
  
  
  ### Leroy Yerxa
  
  
  This page formatted 2007 Blackmask Online.
  
  http://www.blackmask.com  
    
  
  
  Etext from pulpgen.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mammoth Detective. May 1943
  
  
  Footprints all around the corpse; but they were all prints of the left foot!
  
  
  INSPECTOR JAMES HALL was, like his office, a classical example of unadorned
  simplicity. Hall didn't like puzzles and he didn't like details. Puzzles
  troubled his solid head, and right now, as he slammed down the phone, the
  toughest problem he'd faced in months sent three thick fingers scratching over
  his bald head. He sat very still for a few minutes, shaking his head back and
  forth like an angry bull. Then his thick fist crashed down on the desk top in
  sudden decision. When he picked up the phone once more there was a suggestion
  of a twinkle in the dark, deep set eyes.
  
  “Hello! Sergeant? Listen! Send in Robert Case. Yes, the little wonder boy of
  the de