boxofhoneydewtobaccoanddoesnothelpusinanyway.Themedicalstudenttheorystillappearstometobethemostfeasible,butifyoushouldhaveafewhourstospareIshouldbeveryhappytoseeyououthere.Ishallbeeitheratthehouseorinthepolice-stationallday.’Whatsayyou,Watson?CanyourisesuperiortotheheatandrundowntoCroydonwithmeontheoffchanceofacaseforyourannals?”
“Iwaslongingforsomethingtodo.”
“Youshallhaveitthen.Ringforourbootsandtellthemtoorderacab.I’llbebackinamomentwhenIhavechangedmydressing-gownandfilledmycigar-case.”
Ashowerofrainfellwhilewewereinthetrain,andtheheatwasfarlessoppressiveinCroydonthanintown.Holmeshadsentonawire,sothatLestrade,aswiry,asdapper,andasferret-likeasever,waswaitingforusatthestation.AwalkoffiveminutestookustoCrossStreet,whereMissCushingresided.
Itwasaverylongstreetoftwo-storybrickhouses,neatandprim,withwhitenedstonestepsandlittlegroupsofapronedwomengossipingatthedoors.Halfwaydown,Lestradestoppedandtappedatadoor,whichwasopenedbyasmallservantgirl.MissCushingwassittinginthefrontroom,intowhichwewereushered.Shewasaplacid-facedwoman,withlarge,gentleeyes,andgrizzledhaircurvingdownoverhertemplesoneachside.Aworkedantimacassarlayuponherlapandabasketofcolouredsilksstooduponastoolbesideher.
“Theyareintheouthouse,thosedreadfulthings,”saidsheasLestradeentered.“Iwishthatyouwouldtakethemawayaltogether.”
“SoIshall,MissCushing.Ionlykeptthemhereuntilmyfriend,Mr.Holmes,shouldhaveseentheminyourpresence.”
“Whyinmypresence,sir?”
“Incasehewishedtoaskanyquestions.”
“WhatistheuseofaskingmequestionswhenItellyouIknownothingwhateveraboutit?”
“Quiteso,madam,”saidHolmesinhissoothingway.“Ihavenodoubtthatyouhavebeenannoyedmorethanenoughalreadyoverthisbusiness.”
“Indeed,Ihave,sir.Iamaquietwomanandlivearetiredlife.Itissomethingnewformetoseemynameinthepapersandtofindthepoliceinmyhouse.Iwon’thavethosethingsinhere,Mr.Lestrade.Ifyouwishtoseethemyoumustgototheouthouse.”
Itwasasmallshedinthenarrowgardenwhichranbehindthehouse.Lestradewentinandbroughtoutayellowcardboardbox,withapieceofbrownpaperandsomestring.Therewasabenchattheendofthepath,andweallsatdownwhileHolmesexamined,onebyone,thearticleswhichLestradehadhandedtohim.
“Thestringisexceedinglyinteresting,”heremarked,holdingituptothelightandsniffingatit.“Whatdoyoumakeofthisstring,Lestrade?”
“Ithasbeentarred.”
“Precisely.Itisapieceoftarredtwine.Youhavealso,nodoubt,remarkedthatMissCushinghascutthecordwithascissors,ascanbeseenbythedoublefrayoneachside.Thisisofimportance.”
“Icannotseetheimportance,”saidLestrade.
“Theimportanceliesinthefactthattheknotisleftintact,andthatthisknotisofapeculiarcharacter.”
“Itisveryneatlytied.Ihadalreadymadeanotetothateffect,”saidLestradecomplacently.
“Somuchforthestring,then,”saidHolmes,smiling,“nowfortheboxwrapper.Brownpaper,withadistinctsmellofcoffee.What,didyounotobserveit?Ithinktherecanbenodoubtofit.Addressprintedinratherstragglingcharacters:‘MissS.Cushing,CrossStreet,Croydon.’Donewithabroad-pointedpen,probablyaJ,andwithveryinferiorink.Theword‘Croydon’hasbeenoriginallyspelledwithan‘i,’whichhasbeenchangedto‘y.’Theparcelwasdirected,then,byaman—theprintingisdistinctlymasculine—oflimitededucationandunacquaintedwiththetownofCroydon.Sofar,sogood!Theboxisayellowhalf-poundhoneydewbox,withnothingdistinctivesavetwothumbmarksattheleftbottomcorner.Itisfilledwithroughsaltofthequalityusedforpreservinghidesandotherofthecoarsercommercialpurposes.Andembeddedinitaretheseverysingularenclosures.”
Hetookoutthetwoearsashespoke,andlayingaboardacrosshiskneeheexaminedthemminutely,whileLestradeandI,bendingforwardoneachsideofhim,glancedalternatelyatthesedreadfulrelicsandatthethoughtful,eagerfaceofourcompanion.Finallyhereturnedthemtotheboxoncemoreandsatforawhileindeepmeditation.
“Youhaveobserved,ofcourse,”saidheatlast,“thattheearsarenotapair.”
“Yes