op as

this one has done?"

"because it is frayed there?"

"exactly. this end, which we can examine, is frayed. he was

cunning enough to do that with his knife. but the other end is

not frayed. you could not observe that from here, but if you were

on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without

any mark of fraying whatever. you can reconstruct what occurred.

the man needed the rope. he would not tear it down for fear of

giving the alarm by ringing the bell. what did he do? he sprang

up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on

the bracket -- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so

got his knife to bear upon the cord. i could not reach the place

by at least three inches, from which i infer that he is at least

three inches a bigger man than i. look at that mark upon the seat

of the oaken chair! what is it?"

"blood."

"undoubtedly it is blood. this alone puts the lady's story out of

court. if she were seated on the chair when the crime was done,

how comes that mark? no, no; she was placed in the chair _after_

the death of her husband. i'll wager that the black dress shows a

corresponding mark to this. we have not yet met our waterloo,

watson, but this is our marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends

in victory. i should like now to have a few words with the nurse

theresa. we must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the

information which we want."

she was an interesting person, this stern australian nurse.

taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before

holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said

thawed her into a corresponding amiability. she did not attempt

to conceal her hatred for her late employer.

"yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. i heard

him call my mistress a name, and i told him that he would not dare

to speak so if her brother had been there. then it was that he

threw it at me. he might have thrown a dozen if he had but left

my bonny bird alone. he was for ever illtreating her, and she too

proud to complain. she will not even tell me all that he has done

to her. she never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw

this morning, but i know very well that they come from a stab with

a hat-pin. the sly fiend -- heaven forgive me that i should speak

of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one

walked the earth. he was all honey when first we met him, only

eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen

years. she had only just arrived in london. yes, it was her

first voyage -- she had never been from home before. he won her

with his title and his money and his false london ways. if she

made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. what

month did we meet him? well, i tell you it was just after we

arrived. we arrived in june, and it was july. they were married

in january of last year. yes, she is down in the morning-room

again, and i have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask

too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood

will stand."

lady brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked

brighter than before. the maid had entered with us, and began

once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.

"i hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine

me again?"

"no," holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "i will not cause

you any unnecessary trouble, lady brackenstall, and my whole

desire is to make things easy for you, for i am convinced that you

are a much-tried woman. if you will treat me as a friend and

trust me you may find that i will justify your trust."

"what do you want me to do?"

"to tell me the truth."

"mr. holmes!"

"no, no, lady brackenstall, it is no use. you may have heard of

any little reputation which i possess. i will stake it all on the

fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."

mistress and maid were both staring at holmes with pale faces and

frightened eyes.

"you are an impudent fellow!" cried theresa. "do you mean to say

that my mistress has told a lie?"

holmes rose from his chair.

"have you nothing to tell me?"

"i have told you everything."

"think once more, lady brackenstall. would it not be better to be

frank?"

for an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. then

some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.

"i have told you all i know."

holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "i am sorry," he

said, and without another word we left the room and the house.

there was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way.

it was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience

of a solitary swan. holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the

lodge gate. there he scribbled a short note for stanley hopkin