Етюд у багряних тонах
What John Rance had to tell.
Ihadthisfellow’sstridebothontheclayoutsideandonthedustwithin. ThenIhadawayofcheckingmycalculation. Whenamanwritesonawall,hisinstinctleadshimtowriteaboutthelevelofhisowneyes. Nowthatwritingwasjustoversixfeetfromtheground. Itwaschild’splay.”
“Andhisage?”Iasked.
“Well,ifamancanstridefouranda-halffeetwithoutthesmallesteffort,hecan’tbequiteinthesereandyellow. Thatwasthebreadthofapuddleonthegardenwalkwhichhehadevidentlywalkedacross. Patent-leatherbootshadgoneround,andSquare-toeshadhoppedover. Thereisnomysteryaboutitatall. IamsimplyapplyingtoordinarylifeafewofthosepreceptsofobservationanddeductionwhichIadvocatedinthatarticle. Isthereanythingelsethatpuzzlesyou?”
“ThefingernailsandtheTrichinopoly,”Isuggested.
“Thewritingonthewallwasdonewithaman’sforefingerdippedinblood. Myglassallowedmetoobservethattheplasterwasslightlyscratchedindoingit,whichwouldnothavebeenthecaseiftheman’snailhadbeentrimmed. Igatheredupsomescatteredashfromthefloor.Itwasdarkincolourandflakey—suchanashasisonlymadebyaTrichinopoly. Ihavemadeaspecialstudyofcigarashes—infact,Ihavewrittenamonographuponthesubject. IflattermyselfthatIcandistinguishataglancetheashofanyknownbrand,eitherofcigaroroftobacco. ItisjustinsuchdetailsthattheskilleddetectivediffersfromtheGregsonandLestradetype.”
“Andthefloridface?”Iasked.
