“I am a connoisseur,” said he, taking another cigarette fromthe box—his fourth—and lighting it from the stub of that whichhe had finished. “I will not trouble you with any lengthy crossexamination,Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bedat the time of the crime, and could know nothing about it. I wouldonly ask this: What do you imagine that this poor fellow meant byhis last words: ‘The professor—it was she’ ?”
The professor shook his head.
“Susan is a country girl,” said he, “and you know the incrediblestupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmuredsome incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them intothis meaningless message.”
“I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?”
“Possibly an accident, possibly—I only breathe it amongourselves—a suicide. Young men have their hidden troubles—some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. Itis a more probable supposition than murder.”
“But the eyeglasses?”
“Ah! I am only a student—a man of dreams. I cannot explainthe practical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, thatlove-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take anothercigarette. It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan,a glove, glasses—who knows what article may be carried as a tokenor treasured when a man puts an end to his life? This gentlemanspeaks of footsteps in the grass, but, after all, it is easy to bemistaken on such a point. As to the knife, it might well be thrownfar from the unfortunate man as he fell. It is possible that I speakas a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith has met hisfate by his own hand.”
Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and hecontinued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought andconsuming cigarette after cigarette.
“Tell me, Professor Coram,” he said, at last, “what is in thatcupboard in the bureau?”
“Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from mypoor wife, diplomas of universities which have done me honour.
Here is the key. You can look for yourself.”
Holmes picked up the key, and looked at it for an instant, thenhe handed it back.
“No, I hardly think that it would help me,” said he. “I shouldprefer to go quietly down to your garden, and turn the whole matterover in my head. There is something to be said for the theory ofsuicide which you have put forward. We must apologize for havingintruded upon you, Professor Coram, and I promise that we won’tdisturb you until after lunch. At two o’clock we will come again, andreport to you anything which may have happened in the interval.”
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down thegarden path for some time in silence.
“Have you a clue?” I asked, at last.
“It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked,” said he. “It ispossible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.”
“My dear Holmes,” I exclaimed, “how on earth——”
“Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there’s no harm done.
Of course, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but Itake a short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker!
Let us enjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her.”
I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, apeculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readilyestablished terms of confidence with them. In half the time whichhe had named, he had captured the housekeeper’s goodwill andwas chatting with her as if he had known her for years.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke somethingterrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I’ve seen that roomof a morning—well, sir, you’d have thought it was a London fog.
Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as theprofessor. His health—well, I don’t know that it’s better nor worsefor the smoking.”
“Ah!” said Holmes, “but it kills the appetite.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, sir.”
“I suppose the professor eats hardly anything?”
“Well, he is variable. I’ll say that for him.”
“I’ll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won’t face hislunch after all the cigarettes I saw him consume.”
“Well, you’re out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkablebig breakfast this morning. I don’t know when I’ve known himmake a better one, and he’s ordered a good dish of cutlets forhis lunch. I’m surprised myself, for since I came into that roomyesterday and saw young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor, Icouldn’t bear to look at food. Well, it takes all sorts to make aworld, and the professor hasn’t let it take his appetite away.”
We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkinshad gone down to the village to look into some rumours of astrange woman who had been seen by some children on theChatham Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all hisusual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had never knownhim handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the newsbrought back by Hopkins that he had found the children, and thatthey had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding withHolmes’s description, and wearing either spectacles or eyeglasses,failed to rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentivewhen Susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered theinformation that she believed Mr. Smith had been out for a walkyesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hourbefore the tragedy occurred. I could not myself see the bearingof this incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes was weavingit into the general scheme which he had formed in his brain.
Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. “Twoo’clock, gentlemen,” said he. “We must go up and have it out withour friend, the professor.”
