leave a track on the path, and on the other an even clearer
one on the soft bed?"
"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."
I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face.
"You say that she must have come back this way?"
"Yes, sir; there is no other."
"On this strip of grass?"
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"Hum! It was a very remarkable performance -- very
remarkable. Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let
us go farther. This garden door is usually kept open, I
suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do but to walk
in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would
have provided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of
having to pick this knife off the writing-table. She
advanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon the
cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study.
How long was she there? We have no means of judging."
"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you
that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying
not very long before -- about a quarter of an hour, she
says."
"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and
what does she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What
for? Not for anything in the drawers. If there had been
anything worth her taking it would surely have been locked
up. No; it was for something in that wooden bureau.
Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold
a match, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?"
The mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on
the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about
four inches, where it had scratched the varnish from the
surface.
"I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But you'll always find scratches
round a keyhole."
"This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines
where it is cut. An old scratch would be the same colour as
the surface. Look at it through my lens. There's the
varnish, too, like earth on each side of a furrow. Is Mrs.
Marker there?"
A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room.
"Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you notice this scratch?"
"No, sir, I did not."
"I am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away
these shreds of varnish. Who has the key of this bureau?"
"The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain."
"Is it a simple key?"
"No, sir; it is a Chubb's key."
"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a
little progress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the
bureau, and either opens it or tries to do so. While she is
thus engaged young Willoughby Smith enters the room. In her
hurry to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon the
door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest
object, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in
order to make him let go his hold. The blow is a fatal one.
He falls and she escapes, either with or without the object
for which she has come. Is Susan the maid there? Could
anyone have got away through that door after the time that
you heard the cry, Susan?"
"No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the stair I'd
have seen anyone in the passage. Besides, the door never
opened, for I would have heard it."
"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out
the way she came. I understand that this other passage
leads only to the Professor's room. There is no exit that
way?"
"No, sir."
"We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the
Professor. Halloa, Hopkins! this is very important, very
important indeed. The Professor's corridor is also lined
with cocoanut matting."
"Well, sir, what of that?"
"Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well, I
don't insist upon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it
seems to me to be suggestive. Come with me and introduce
me."
We passed down the passage, which was of the same length as
that which led to the garden. At the end was a short flight
of steps ending in a door. Our guide knocked, and then
ushered us into the Professor's bedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes,
which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in
the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the
cases. The bed was in the centre of the room, and in it,
propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. I have
seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a
gaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with
piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under
overhung and tufted brows. His hair and beard were white,
save that the latter was curiously stained with yellow
around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of
white hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale
tobacco-smoke. As he held out his hand to Holmes I
perceived that it also was stained yellow with nicotine.
"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen
English with a curious little mincing accent. "Pray take a
cigarette. And you, sir? I can recommend them, for I have
them especially prepared by Ionides of Alexandria. He sends
me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that I have to
arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very
bad, but an old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work
-- that is all that is left to me."
Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting
glances all over the room.
"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old man
exclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could
have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a
young man! I assure you that after a few months' training
he was an admirable assistant. What do you think of the
matter, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have not yet made up my mind."
"I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light
where all is so dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid
like myself such a blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost
the faculty of thought. But you are a man of action -- you
are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine of
your life. You can preserve your balance in every
emergency. We are fortunate indeed in having you at our
side."
Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst
the old Professor was talking. I observed that he was
smoking with extraordinary rapidity. It was evident that he
shared our host's liking for the fresh Alexandrian
cigarettes.
"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "That
is my _magnum opus_ -- the pile of papers on the side table
yonder. It i
s my analysis of the documents found in the
Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work which will cut
deep at the very foundations of revealed religion. With my
enfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able
to complete it now that my assistant has been taken from me.
Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why, you are even a quicker smoker than
I am myself."
Holmes smiled.
"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from
the box -- his fourth -- and lighting it from the stub of
that which he had finished. "I will not trouble you with
any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram, since I
gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime and
could know nothing about it. I would only ask this. What
do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last
words: 'The Professor -- it was she'?"
The Professor shook his head.
"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the
incredible stupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor
fellow murmured some incoherent delirious words, and that
she twisted them into this meaningless message."
"I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?"
"Possibly an accident; possibly -- I only breathe it among
ourselves -- a suicide. Young men have their hidden
troubles -- some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have
never known. It is a more probable supposition than
murder."
"But the eye-glasses?"
"Ah! I am only a student -- a man of dreams. I cannot
explain the practical things of life. But still, we are
aware, my friend, that love-gages may take strange shapes.
By all means take another cigarette. It is a pleasure to
see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove, glasses --
who knows what article may be carried as a token or
treasured when a man puts an end to his life? This
gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all,
it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife,
it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he
fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it
seems that Willoughby Smith has met his fate by his own
hand."
Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he
continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought
and consuming cigarette after cigarette.
"Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in
that cupboard in the bureau?"
"Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters
from my poor wife, diplomas of Universities which have done
me honour. Here is the key. You can look for yourself."
Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant;
then he handed it back.
"No; I hardly think that it would help me," said he. "I
should prefer to go quietly down to your garden and turn the
whole matter over in my head. There is something to be said
for the theory of suicide which you have put forward. We
must apologize for having intruded upon you, Professor
Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb you until after
lunch. At two o'clock we will come again and report to you
anything which may have happened in the interval."
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the
garden path for some time in silence.
"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.
"It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he.
"It is possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes
will show me."
"My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth ----"
"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no
harm done. Of course, we always have the optician clue to
fall back upon, but I take a short cut when I can get it.
Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes
of instructive conversation with her."
I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a
peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very
readily established terms of confidence with them. In half
the time which he had named he had captured the
housekeeper's goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he
had known her for years.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke
something terrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir.
I've seen that room of a morning -- well, sir, you'd have
thought it was a London fog. Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a
smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor. His health --
well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the
smoking."
"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite."
"Well, I don't know about that, sir."
"I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?"
"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him."
"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't
face his lunch after all the cigarettes I saw him consume."
"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a
remarkable big breakfast this morning. I don't know when
I've known him make a better one, and he's ordered a good
dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'm surprised myself, for
since I came into that room yesterday and saw young Mr.
Smith lying there on the floor I couldn't bear to look at
food. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the
Professor hasn't let it take his appetite away."
We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins
had gone down to the village to look into some rumours of a
strange woman who had been seen by some children on the
Chatham Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all his
usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had never known
him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the
news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children
and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly
corresponding with Holmes's description, and wearing either
spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any sign of keen
interest. He was more attentive when Susan, who waited upon
us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed
Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and
that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedy
occurred. I could not myself see the bearing of this
incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes was weaving it
into the general scheme which he had formed in his brain.
Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch.
"Two o'clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up and have
it out with our friend the Professor."
The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his
empty dish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his
housekeeper had credited him. He was, indeed, a weird
figure as he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes
towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth.
He had been dressed and was seated in an ar
m-chair by the
fire.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?" He
shoved the large tin of cigarettes which stood on a table
beside him towards my companion. Holmes stretched out his
hand at the same moment, and between them they tipped the
box over the edge. For a minute or two we were all on our
knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places.
When we rose again I observed that Holmes's eyes were
shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. Only at a crisis
have I seen those battle-signals flying.
"Yes," said he, "I have solved it."
Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a
sneer quivered over the gaunt features of the old Professor.
"Indeed! In the garden?"
"No, here."
"Here! When?"
"This instant."
"You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You compel me
to tell you that this is too serious a matter to be treated
in such a fashion."
"I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor
Coram, and I am sure that it is sound. What your motives
are or what exact part you play in this strange business I
am not yet able to say. In a few minutes I shall probably
hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will reconstruct
what is past for your benefit, so that you may know the
information which I still require.
"A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the
intention of possessing herself of certain documents which
were in your bureau. She had a key of her own. I have had
an opportunity of examining yours, and I do not find that
slight discoloration which the scratch made upon the varnish
would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore,
and she came, so far as I can read the evidence, without
your knowledge to rob you."
The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This is most
interesting and instructive," said he. "Have you no more to
add? Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also
say what has become of her."
"I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was
seized by your secretary, and stabbed him in order to
escape. This catastrophe I am inclined to regard as an
unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the lady had no
intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin
does not come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done she
rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy.
Unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in the
scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she was
really helpless without them. She ran down a corridor,
which she imagined to be that by which she had come -- both
were lined with cocoanut matting -- and it was only when it
was too late that she understood that she had taken the
wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behind her.
What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not
remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She
mounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in
your room."
The old man sat with his mouth open staring wildly at
Holmes. Amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressive
features. Now, with an effort, he shrugged his shoulders
and burst into insincere laughter.
"All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there is one
little flaw in your splendid theory. I was myself in my
room, and I never left it during the day."
"I am aware of that, Professor Coram."
"And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not
be aware that a woman had entered my room?"
"I never said so. You _were_ aware of it. You spoke with her.
You recognised her. You aided her to escape."
Again the Professor burst into high-keyed laughter.
He had risen to his feet and his eyes glowed like embers.
"You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking insanely.
I helped her to escape? Where is she now?"