“Hum! It was a very remarkable performance—very remarkable.
Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. Thisgarden door is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitorhad nothing to do but to walk in. The idea of murder was notin her mind, or she would have provided herself with some sortof weapon, instead of having to pick this knife off the writingtable.
She advanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon thecocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study. How longwas 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 longbefore—about a quarter of an hour, she says.”
“Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room, and whatdoes she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Notfor anything in the drawers. If there had been anything worthher taking, it would surely have been locked up. No, it was forsomething in that wooden bureau. Halloa! what is that scratchupon the face of it? Just hold a match, Watson. Why did you nottell me of this, Hopkins?”
The mark which he was examining began upon the brass-workon the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about fourinches, where it had scratched the varnish from the surface.
“I noticed it, Mr. Holmes, but you’ll always find scratches roundkeyhole.”
“This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines whereis 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 oneach side of a furrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?”
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 1021
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 awaythese 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 littleprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, andeither opens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged, youngWilloughby Smith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw thekey, 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 isa fatal one. He falls and she escapes, either with or without theobject for which she has come. Is Susan, the maid, there? Couldanyone have got away through that door after the time that youheard the cry, Susan?”
“No sir, it is impossible. Before I got down the stair, I’d haveseen anyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, or Iwould have heard it.”
“That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the wayshe came. I understand that this other passage leads only to theprofessor’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. Theprofessor’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’tinsist upon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to besuggestive. Come with me and introduce me.”
We passed down the passage, which was of the same length asthat which led to the garden. At the end was a short flight of stepsending in a door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into theprofessor’s bedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes,which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in thecorners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. Thebed was in the centre of the room, and in it, propped up withpillows, was the owner of the house. I have seldom seen a moreremarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt, aquiline face which wasturned towards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep1022 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hair and beardwere white, save that the latter was curiously stained with yellowaround his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of whitehair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco smoke.
As he held out his hand to Holmes, I perceived that it was alsostained with yellow nicotine.
“A smoker, Mr. Holmes?” said he, speaking in well-chosenEnglish, with a curious little mincing accent. “Pray take a cigarette.
And you, sir? I can recommend them, for I have them especiallyprepared by Ionides, of Alexandria. He sends me a thousandat a time, and I grieve to say that I have to arrange for a freshsupply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has fewpleasures. Tobacco and my work—that is all that is left to me.”
Holmes had lit a cigarette and was shooting little darting glancesall over the room.
“Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco,” the old manexclaimed. “Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could haveforeseen such a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! Iassure you that, after a few months’ training, he was an admirableassistant. 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 lightwhere all is so dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid likemyself such a blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty ofthought. But you are a man of action—you are a man of affairs. Itpart of the everyday routine of your life. You can preserve yourbalance in every emergency. We are fortunate, indeed, in havingyou at our side.”
Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilstthe old professor was talking. I observed that he was smokingwith extraordinary rapidity. It was evident that he shared ourhost’s liking for the fresh Alexandrian cigarettes.
