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and refer to the boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man wanted to return to New York.”

      “What about this man, Stangerson?”

      “I sent advertisements to all the newspapers, sir,” said Gregson. “And one of my men went to the American Exchange.”

      “What about Cleveland?”

      “We telegraphed this morning.”

      “What were your inquiries?”

      “We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we were glad to receive any information which could help us.”

      Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself. Suddenly Lestrade reappeared.

      “Mr. Gregson,” he said, “I made a discovery of the highest importance! I carefully examined the walls. Come here. Now, stand there!”

      He struck a match on his boot.

      “Look at that!” he said, triumphantly.

      In the corner of the room, across the wall there was in blood-red letters a single word – RACHE.

      “What do you think of that?” cried the detective. “The murderer wrote it with his or her own blood. Why that corner? I will tell you. See that candle on the mantelpiece. It was the brightest corner of the room.”

      “And what does it mean?” asked Gregson.

      “Mean? It means that the writer was going to write the female name Rachel. But he or she had no time to finish. You can laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best here!”

      “I really beg your pardon!” said my companion. “You are certainly the best. I had no time to examine this room, but with your permission I shall do so now.”

      And he whipped a tape measure[31] and a large round magnifying glass[32] from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room. Sometimes he stopped, occasionally knelt. For twenty minutes or more he continued his researches. In one place he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his magnifying glass the word upon the wall. After that he was satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.

      Gregson and Lestrade watched the manoeuvres of Sherlock Holmes with considerable curiosity and some contempt.

      “What do you think of it, sir?” they both asked.

      “You are doing so well now,” remarked my friend. “that I can’t interfere.” There was sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. “If you let me know how your investigations go,” he continued, “I shall be happy to give you any help I can. But I want to speak to the constable who found the body. Can you give me his name and address?”

      “John Rance,” said Lestrade. “You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate.”

      “Come along, Doctor,” said Holmes; “we shall go to him. I’ll tell you one thing which may help you in the case,” he turned to the two detectives. “It was a murder, and the murderer was a man. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life[33], had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots[34] and smoked a cigar. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg[35]. The murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These indications may assist you.”

      Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile.

      “How was this man murdered?” asked they.

      “Poison,” said Sherlock Holmes curtly. “One other thing, Lestrade,” he added: “‘Rache,’ is the German for ‘revenge;’ so don’t look for Miss Rachel.”

      Chapter IV

      What John Rance Had to Tell

      It was one o’clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to the address which Lestrade gave us.

      “You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “How do you know all those particulars of the case?”

      “Look,” he answered. “the first thing: a cab made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we had no rain. So those wheels – which left such a deep impression – were there during the night. There were the marks of the horse’s hoofs, too, the outline of one hoof was very clear. This was a new shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morning, it was there during the night, and, therefore, it brought those two men to the house.”

      “But how did you know the man’s height?” said I.

      “The height of a man is connected to the length of his stride. It is a simple calculation. I had this fellow’s stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within. Moreover: when a man writes on a wall, he usually writes about the level of his own eyes. That writing was just over six feet from the ground.”

      “And his age?” I asked.

      “Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet without the effort, he is strong enough. That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he jumped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life some deduction. Is there anything else that puzzles you?”

      “The finger nails and the cigar,” I suggested.

      “The writing on the wall was done with a man’s forefinger dipped in blood. The plaster was

      scratched. This is impossible if the man’s nail is trimmed. I gathered up some ash from the floor.

      It was dark in colour and flakey-a cigar, for sure. I made a special study of cigar ashes-in fact, I wrote a monograph upon the subject.”

      “And the florid face?” I asked.

      “Ah, please don’t ask about it now, though I have no doubt that I was right.”

      “But, Holmes,” I remarked; “why did these two men-if there were two men-come into an empty house? How did the victim take poison? Where did the blood come from? What was the object of the murderer? What about the woman’s ring there? Why did the second man write the German word RACHE?”

      My companion smiled approvingly.

      “My dear Watson,” Holmes said, “many things are still obscure. About Lestrade’s discovery. Not a German man wrote it. The letter A, if you noticed, was printed after the German fashion[36]. But a real German invariably prints in the Latin character[37]. So we may say that a clumsy imitator wrote that. I’ll tell you more. Both men came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together. When they got inside they walked up and down the room. I could read all that in the dust. Then the tragedy occurred.”

      Our cab was going through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly stopped.

      “That’s Audley Court in there,” he said. “You’ll find me here when you come back.”

      We came to Number 46, and saw a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved. The constable appeared.

      “I made my report at the office,” he said.

      Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket.

      “We want to hear it all from your own lips,” he said.

      “I shall be

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