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