Short Stories
As you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it. Dear me,
this is very interesting. And the cut—a positive tear, I see. It be-
gan with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I am much
indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, Mr.
Soames. Where does that door lead to?"
"To my bedroom."
"Have you been in it since your adventure?"
"No, I came straight away for you."
"I should like to have a glance round. What a charming, old-
fashioned room! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute, until I
have examined the floor. No, I see nothing. What about this cur-
tain? You hang your clothes behind it. If anyone were forced to
conceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed is
too low and the wardrobe too shallow. No one there, I suppose?"
As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little ri-
gidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an
emergency. As a matter of fact, the drawn curtain disclosed
nothing but three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of
pegs. Holmes turned away, and stooped suddenly to the floor.
"Halloa! What's this?" said he.
It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like
the one upon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his
open palm in the glare of the electric light.
"Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as
well as in your sitting-room, Mr. Soames."
"What could he have wanted there?"
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