from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a bigconstable had opened the door and let us in. The room into whichwe were shown was that in which the crime had been committed,but no trace of it now remained save an ugly, irregular stainupon the carpet. This carpet was a small square drugget in thecentre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful,old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks, highly polished.
Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one ofwhich had been used on that tragic night. In the window was asumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the apartment, thepictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to a taste whichwas luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
“Seen the Paris news?” asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
“Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time.
No doubt it’s just as they say. She knocked at the door—surprisevisit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments—helet her in, couldn’t keep her in the street. She told him how shehad traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, andthen with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn’t alldone in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept overyonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold heroff with it. We’ve got it all clear as if we had seen it.”
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
“And yet you have sent for me?”
“Ah, yes, that’s another matter—a mere trifle, but the sort ofthing you take an interest in—queer, you know, and what youmight call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact—can’thave, on the face of it.”
“What is it, then?”
“Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful tokeep things in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officer incharge here day and night. This morning, as the man was buriedand the investigation over—so far as this room is concerned—wethought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You see, it is notfastened down, only just laid there. We had occasion to raise it.
We found——”
“Yes? You found——”
Holmes’s face grew tense with anxiety.
“Well, I’m sure you would never guess in a hundred years whatwe did find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great dealmust have soaked through, must it not?”
“Undoubtedly it must.”
“Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on thewhite woodwork to correspond.”
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“No stain! But there must——”
“Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there isn’t.”
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning itover, he showed that it was indeed as he said.
“But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have left amark.”
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famousexpert.
“Now, I’ll show you the explanation. There IS a second stain,but it does not correspond with the other. See for yourself.” As hespoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sureenough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing ofthe old-fashioned floor. “What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?”
“Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, butthe carpet has been turned round. As it was square and unfastenedit was easily done.”
“The official police don’t need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell themthat the carpet must have been turned round. That’s clear enough,for the stains lie above each other—if you lay it over this way. Butwhat I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?”
I could see from Holmes’s rigid face that he was vibrating withinward excitement.
“Look here, Lestrade,” said he, “has that constable in thepassage been in charge of the place all the time?”
“Yes, he has.”
“Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don’t do it beforeus. Well wait here. You take him into the back room. You’ll bemore likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how hedared to admit people and leave them alone in this room. Don’task him if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell him you knowsomeone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a full confessionis his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly what I tell you!”
“By George, if he knows I’ll have it out of him!” cried Lestrade.
He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voicesounded from the back room.
“Now, Watson, now!” cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness.
All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listlessmanner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the druggetfrom the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and kneesclawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. One turnedsideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged back likethe lid of a box. A small black cavity opened beneath it. Holmesplunged his eager hand into it and drew it out with a bitter snarlof anger and disappointment. It was empty.
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“Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!” The wooden lidwas replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straightwhen Lestrade’s voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmesleaning languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient,endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes, I can see that you arebored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, allright. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear ofyour most inexcusable conduct.”
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.
“I meant no harm, sir, I’m sure. The young woman came to thedoor last evening—mistook the house, she did. And then we gottalking. It’s lonesome, when you’re on duty here all day.”
“Well, what happened then?”
“She wanted to see where the crime was done—had read aboutin the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spokenyoung woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep.
