For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there wassomething noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelledour respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table andwent her way, with a promise to come again whenever she mightbe summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertipsstill pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, andhis gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took downfrom the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as acounsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with thethick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look ofinfinite languor in his face.
“Quite an interesting study, that maiden,” he observed. “I foundher more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way,is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult myindex, in Andover in ’77, and there was something of the sort atThe Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were oneor two details which were new to me. But the maiden herself wasmost instructive.”
“You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quiteinvisible to me,” I remarked.
“Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know whereto look, and so you missed all that was important. I can neverbring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestivenessof thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a bootlace.
Now, what did you gather from that woman’s appearance?
Describe it.”
“Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, witha feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beadssewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dresswas brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purpleplush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and wereworn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn’t observe.
She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air ofbeing fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way.”
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together andchuckled.
“ ’Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. Youhave really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missedeverything of importance, but you have hit upon the method,and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to generalimpressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. Myfirst glance is always at a woman’s sleeve. In a man it is perhapsbetter first to take the knee of the trouser. As you observe, thiswoman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful materialfor showing traces. The double line a little above the wrist, wherethe typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined.
The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark,but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from thethumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was.
I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nezat either side of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sightand typewriting, which seemed to surprise her.”
“It surprised me.”
“But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised andinterested on glancing down to observe that, though the bootswhich she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were reallyodd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and theother a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttonsout of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, whenyou see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come awayfrom home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deductionto say that she came away in a hurry.”
“And what else?” I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, bymy friend’s incisive reasoning.
“I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leavinghome but after being fully dressed. You observed that her rightglove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently seethat both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She hadwritten in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have beenthis morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.
All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go backto business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertiseddescription of Mr. Hosmer Angel?”
I held the little printed slip to the light.
“Missing [it said] on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentlemannamed Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; stronglybuilt, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre,bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slightinfirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coatfaced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harristweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Knownto have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybodybringing——”
“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he continued,glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely noclue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. Thereis one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”
“They are typewritten,” I remarked.
“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at theneat little ‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see,but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rathervague. The point about the signature is very suggestive—in fact,we may call it conclusive.”
“Of what?”
“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly itbears upon the case?”
“I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be ableto deny his signature if an action for breach of promise wereinstituted.”
“No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, theother is to the young lady’s stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking himwhether he could meet us here at six o’clock to-morrow evening.