“It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points
which seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for
yourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the
house, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the
back door, from which there is direct access to the study. Any other way
would have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also been
made along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one was
blocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to
the Professor's bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once
to the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would
certainly show any footmarks.
“My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious and expert
criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There could be no
question, however, that someone had passed along the grass border which
lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a
track. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression,
but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. It
could only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone
else had been there that morning and the rain had only begun during the
night.”
“One moment,” said Holmes. “Where does this path lead to?”
“To the road.”
“How long is it?”
“A hundred yards or so.”
“At the point where the path passes through the gate you could surely
pick up the tracks?”
“Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point.”
“Well, on the road itself?”
“No; it was all trodden into mire.”
“Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming or
going?”
“It was impossible to say. There was never any outline.”
“A large foot or a small?”
“You could not distinguish.”
Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.
“It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since,” said
he. “It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it
can't be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain
that you had made certain of nothing?”
“I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew that someone
had entered the house cautiously from without. I next examined the
corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken no
impression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is a
scantily-furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with
a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers
with a central small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, the
cupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing
of value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in the
cupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and
the Professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that no
robbery has been committed.
“I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near the bureau,
and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was
on the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, so that it is
almost impossible that it could have been self-inflicted.”
“Unless he fell upon the knife,” said Holmes.
“Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feet
away from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there are
the man's own dying words. And, finally, there was this very important
piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand.”
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. He unfolded
it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black
silk cord dangling from the end of it. “Willoughby Smith had excellent
sight,” he added. “There can be no question that this was snatched from
the face or the person of the assassin.”
Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined them with
the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured
to read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with
them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and
finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few
lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.
“That's the best I can do for you,” said he. “It may prove to be of some
use.”