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The Lauriston Garden Mystery
SherlockHolmeschuckledtohimself,andappearedtobeabouttomakesomeremark,whenLestrade,whohadbeeninthefrontroomwhilewewereholdingthisconversationinthehall,reappeareduponthescene,rubbinghishandsinapompousandself-satisfiedmanner.
“Mr.Gregson,”hesaid,“Ihavejustmadeadiscoveryofthehighestimportance,andonewhichwouldhavebeenoverlookedhadInotmadeacarefulexaminationofthewalls.”
Thelittleman’seyessparkledashespoke,andhewasevidentlyinastateofsuppressedexultationathavingscoredapointagainsthiscolleague.
“Comehere,”hesaid,bustlingbackintotheroom,theatmosphereofwhichfeltclearersincetheremovalofitsghastlyinmate. “Now,standthere!”
Hestruckamatchonhisbootandhelditupagainstthewall.
“Lookatthat!”hesaid,triumphantly.
Ihaveremarkedthatthepaperhadfallenawayinparts. Inthisparticularcorneroftheroomalargepiecehadpeeledoff,leavingayellowsquareofcoarseplastering. Acrossthisbarespacetherewasscrawledinblood-redlettersasingleword—
RACHE.
“Whatdoyouthinkofthat?”criedthedetective,withtheairofashowmanexhibitinghisshow. “Thiswasoverlookedbecauseitwasinthedarkestcorneroftheroom,andnoonethoughtoflookingthere. Themurdererhaswrittenitwithhisorherownblood. Seethissmearwhereithastrickleddownthewall! Thatdisposesoftheideaofsuicideanyhow. Whywasthatcornerchosentowriteiton? Iwilltellyou.