"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an
hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I
have told you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side
of over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be
something deeper underlying it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical
professor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner
there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now to
work! In the first place, how did these folk come, and how did
they go? The door has not been opened since last night. How of
the window?" He carried the lamp across to it, muttering his
observations aloud the while, but addressing them to himself
rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on the inner side.
Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No
water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has mounted
by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the print
of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy
mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table.
See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."

I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a
footmark," said I.

"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression
of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a
heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark
of the timber-toe."

"It is the wooden-legged man."

"Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and
efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"

I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly
on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the
round, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as
much as a crevice in the brick-work.

"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.

"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who
lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner,
securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I
think, if you were an active man, You might swarm up, wooden leg
and all. You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and
your ally would draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut
the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way that
he originally came. As a minor point it may be noted," he
continued, fingering the rope, "that our wooden-legged friend,
though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands
were far from horny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark,
especially towards the end of the rope, from which I gather that
he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his
hand."

"This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more
unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How
came he into the room?"

"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are features
of interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions
of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground
in the annals of crime in this country,--though parallel cases
suggest themselves from India, and, if my memory serves me, from
Senegambia."

"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, the
window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"

"The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already
considered that possibility."

"How then?" I persisted.

"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How
often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the
impossible whatever remains, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must be the
truth? We know that he did not come through the door, the
window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been
concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible.
Whence, then, did he come?"

"He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.

"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the
kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our
researches to the room above,--the secret room in which the
treasure was found."

He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he
swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he
reached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.

The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one
way and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with
thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step
from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently
the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no
furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay
thick upon the floor.

"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand
against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out
on to the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof
itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by
which Number One entered. Let us see if we can find any other
traces of his individuality."

He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for
the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over
his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold
under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints
of a naked foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but
scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.

"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid
thing."

He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was
staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite
natural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able to
foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here. Let us
go down."

"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked,
eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more.

"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a
touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it
will be instructive to compare results."

"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I
answered.

"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand
way. "I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but
I will look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and
hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing,
examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the
planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a
bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like
those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent, that I could
not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he
turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of
exerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept
muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow
of delight.

"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very
little trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread
in the creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his
small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The
carboy has been cracked, You see, and the stuff has leaked out."

"What then?" I asked.

"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that
would follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track
a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained
hound follow so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in
the rule of three. The answer should give us the--But halloo!
here are the accredited representatives of the law."

Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from
below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.

"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this
poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"

"The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far
exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion
of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as
the old writers called it, what conclusion would it suggest to
your mind?"

"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered,--"some
strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus."

"That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the
drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once
looked for the means by which the poison had entered the system.
As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot
with no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part
struck was that which would be turned towards the hole in the
ceiling if the man were erect in his chair. Now examine the
thorn."

I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern.
It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point
as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end
had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.

"Is that an English thorn?" he asked.

"No, it certainly is not."

"With all these data you should be able to draw some just
inference. But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces
may beat a retreat."

As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded
loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray
suit strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and
plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked
keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely
followed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating
Thaddeus Sholto.

"Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice.
"Here's a pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the
house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!"

"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes,
quietly.

"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured
us all on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate
jewel case. It's true you set us on the right track; but you'll
own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance."

"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."

"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is
all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no
room for theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at
Norwood over another case! I was at the station when the message
arrived. What d'you think the man died of?"

"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes,
dryly.

"No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head
sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth
half a million missing. How was the window?"

"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."

"Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to
do with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in
a fit; but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory.
These flashes come upon me at times.--Just step outside,
sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do
you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession,
with his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on which
Sholto walked off with the treasure. How's that?"

"On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the
door on the inside."

"Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the
matter. This Thaddeus Sholto WAS with his brother; there WAS a
quarrel; so much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are
gone. So much also we know. No one saw the brother from the
time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus
is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearance
is--well, not attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round
Thaddeus. The net begins to close upon him."

"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes.
"This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to
be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark;
this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside
it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all
that fit into your theory?"

"Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective,
pompously. "House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus
brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may
as well have made murderous use of it as any other man. The card
is some hocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. The only question
is, how did he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the
roof." With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up
the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and immediately
afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had
found the trap-door.

"He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders. "He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a
pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!"

"You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again.
"Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the
case is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the
roof, and it is partly open."

"It was I who opened it."

"Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a little
crestfallen at the discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it
shows how our gentleman got away. Inspector!"

"Yes, sir," from the passage.

"Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to
inform you that anything which you may say will be used against
you. I arrest you in the queen's name as being concerned in the
death of your brother."

"There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man,
throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us.

"Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "I
think that I can engage to clear you of the charge."

"Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise too much!"
snapped the detective. "You may find it a harder matter than you
think."

"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free
present of the name and description of one of the two people who
were in this room last night. His name, I have every reason to
believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small,
active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which
is worn away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse,
square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel. He is a
middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. These
few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with
the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm
of his hand. The other man--"

"Ah! the other man--?" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice,
but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the
precision of the other's manner.

"Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon
his heel. "I hope before very long to be able to introduce you
to the pair of them.--A word with you, Watson."

He led me out to the head of the stair. "This unexpected
occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the
original purpose of our journey."

"I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right
that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house."

"No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil
Forrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will
wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you
are too tired?"

"By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of
this fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side
of life, but I give you my word that this quick succession of
strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I
should like, however, to see the matter through with you, now
that I have got so far."

"Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "We
shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow
Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to
construct. When you have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go
on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth.
The third house on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's:
Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel holding a young
rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with
my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby
back in the cab with you."

"A dog, I suppose."

"Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I
would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective
force of London."

"I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to
be back before three, if I can get a fresh horse."

"And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs.
Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell
me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great
Jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms.
'Wir sind gewohnt das die Menschen verhoehnen was sie nicht
verstehen.' Goethe is always pithy."