"Come here," he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere ofwhich felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. "Now, standthere!"
He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall.
"Look at that!" he said, triumphantly.
I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In thisparticular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving ayellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there wasscrawled in blood-red letters a single word--
RACHE.
"What do you think of that?" cried the detective, with the air of ashowman exhibiting his show. "This was overlooked because it was in thedarkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking ther
e. Themurderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear whereit has trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicideanyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. Seethat candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it waslit this corner would be the brightest instead of the darkest portion ofthe wall."
"And what does it mean now that you _have_ found it?" asked Gregson in adepreciatory voice.
"Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female nameRachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You markmy words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that awoman named Rachel has something to do with it. It's all very well foryou to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, butthe old hound is the best, when all is said and done."
"I really beg your pardon!" said my companion, who had ruffled thelittle man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. "Youcertainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out,and, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the otherparticipant in last night's mystery. I have not had time to examine thisroom yet, but with your permission I shall do so now."
As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifyingglass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselesslyabout the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and oncelying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation thathe appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away tohimself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fireof exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive ofencouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly remindedof a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards andforwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comesacross the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued hisresearches, measuring with the most exact care the distance betweenmarks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying histape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one placehe gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor,and packed it away in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his glassthe word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the mostminute exactness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for hereplaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.
"They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," heremarked with a smile. "It's a very bad definition, but it does apply todetective work."
Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres [9] of their amateurcompanion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. They evidentlyfailed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun to realize, thatSherlock Holmes' smallest actions were all directed towards somedefinite and practical end.
"What do you think of it, sir?" they both asked.
"It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presumeto help you," remarked my friend. "You are doing so well now that itwould be a pity for anyone to interfere." There was a world ofsarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "If you will let me know how yourinvestigations go," he continued, "I shall be happy to give you any helpI can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who foundthe body. Can you give me his name and address?"
Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Rance," he said. "He is offduty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate."
Holmes took a note of the address.
"Come along, Doctor," he said; "we shall go and look him up. I'll tellyou one thing which may help you in the case," he continued, turning tothe two detectives. "There has been murder done, and the murderer was aman. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, hadsmall feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked aTrichinopoly 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 hisoff fore leg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and thefinger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only afew indications, but they may assist you."
Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile.
"If this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked the former.
"Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. "One other thing,Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door: "'Rache,' is the Germanfor 'revenge;' so don't lose your time looking for Miss Rachel."
With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivalsopen-mouthed behind him.
CHAPTER IV. WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL.
IT was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. SherlockHolmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched along telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take usto the address given us by Lestrade.
"There is nothing like first hand evidence," he remarked; "as a matterof fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may aswell learn all that is to be learned."
"You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as sure as youpretend to be of all those particulars which you gave."
"There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very first thingwhich I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts withits wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rainfor a week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression musthave been there during the night. There were the marks of the horse'shoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut thanthat of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cabwas there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during themorning--I have Gregson's word for that--it follows that it must havebeen there during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those twoindividuals to the house."
"That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the other man'sheight?"
"Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told fromthe length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, thoughthere is no use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow's strideboth on the clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way ofchecking my calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leadshim to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was justover six feet from the ground. It was child's play."
"And his age?" I asked.