letters a single word—

 

RACHE.

 

“What do you think of that?” cried the detective, with the air of a showman

exhibiting his show. “This was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner

of the room, and no one thought of looking there. The murderer has written it

with his or her own blood. See this smear where it has trickled down the wall!

That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write

it on? I will tell you. See that candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the

time, and if it was lit this corner would be the brightest instead of the

darkest portion of the wall.”

 

“And what does it mean now that you _have_ found it?” asked Gregson in a

depreciatory voice.

 

“Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name Rachel,

but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, when

this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named Rachel has

something to do with it. It’s all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock

Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when

all is said and done.”

 

“I really beg your pardon!” said my companion, who had ruffled the little man’s

temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. “You certainly have the credit