“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
forward, 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.”
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:
“Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has a
remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either
side of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression,
and probably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she
has had recourse to an optician at least twice during the last
few months. As her glasses are of remarkable strength, and as
opticians are not very numerous, there should be no difficulty in
tracing her.”
Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have
been reflected upon my features. “Surely my deductions are
simplicity itself,” said he. “It would be difficult to name any
articles which afford a finer field for inference than a pair of
glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. That they
belong to a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also, of
course, from the last words of the dying man. As to her being a
person of refinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive,
handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable that
anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in other
respects. You will find that the clips are too wide for your
nose, showing that the lady’s nose was very broad at the base.
This sort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there is
a sufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being
dogmatic or from insisting upon this point in my description. My
own face is a narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my
eyes into the centre, nor near the centre, of these glasses.
Therefore, the lady’s eyes are set very near to the sides of the
nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave and
of unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremely
contracted all her life is sure to have the physical
characteristics of such vision, which are seen in the forehead,
the eyelids, and the shoulders.”
“Yes,” I said, “I can follow each of your arguments. I confess,
however, that I am unable to understand how you arrive at the
double visit to the optician.”
Holmes took the glasses in his hand.
“You will perceive,” he said, “that the clips are lined with tiny
bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these
is discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is
new. Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I should
judge that the older of them has not been there more than a few
months. They exactly correspond, so I gather that the lady went
back to the same establishment for the second.”
“By George, it’s marvellous!” cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy of
admiration. “To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and
never knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the
London opticians.”
“Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell
us about the case?”
“Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do
now—probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger
seen on the country roads or at the railway station. We have
heard of none. What beats me is the utter want of all object in
the crime. Not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest.”
“Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you
want us to come out to-morrow?”
“If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There’s a train from
Charing Cross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be
at Yoxley Old Place between eight and nine.”
“Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of
great interest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well,
it’s nearly one, and we had best get a few hours’ sleep. I
daresay you can manage all right on the sofa in front of the
fire. I’ll light my spirit lamp, and give you a cup of coffee
before we start.”
The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter
morning when we started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter
sun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and the long,
sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever associate with
our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the earlier days of our
career. After a long and weary journey, we alighted at a small
station some miles from Chatham. While a horse was being put into
a trap at the local inn, we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so
we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at Yoxley
Old Place. A constable met us at the garden gate.
“Well, Wilson, any news?”
“No, sir—nothing.”
“No reports of any stranger seen?”
“No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger
either came or went yesterday.”
“Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?”
“Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for.”
“Well, it’s only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay
there or take a train without being observed. This is the garden
path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I’ll pledge my word there was
no mark on it yesterday.”
“On which side were the marks on the grass?”
“This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and
the flower-bed. I can’t see the traces now, but they were clear
to me then.”
“Yes, yes: someone has passed along,” said Holmes, stooping over
the grass border. “Our lady must have picked her steps carefully,
must she not, since on the one side she would 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.”