eyes. Now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. It was child’s

play.”

 

“And his age?” I asked.

 

“Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the smallest effort, he

can’t be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of a puddle on the

garden walk which he had evidently walked across.

 

Patent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over.

 

There is no mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few

of those precepts of observation and deduction which I advocated in that

article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?”

 

“The finger nails and the Trichinopoly,” I suggested.

 

“The writing on the wall was done with a man’s forefinger dipped in blood. My

glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it,

which would not have been the case if the man’s nail had been trimmed. I

gathered up some scattered ash from the floor.

 

It was dark in colour and flakey—such an ash as is only made by a Trichinopoly.

I have made a special study of cigar ashes—in fact, I have written a monograph

upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of