He whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried aboutthe room on his knees， measuring， comparing， examining， withhis long thin nose only a few inches from the planks， and hisbeady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift，silent， and furtive were his movements， like those of a trainedbloodhound picking out a scent， that I could not but think what aterrible criminal he would have made had he turned his energy andsagacity against the law instead of exerting them in its defense.
As he hunted about， he kept muttering to himself， and finally hebroke out into a loud crow of delight.
“We are certainly in luck，” said he. “We ought to have very littletrouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in thecreosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot hereat 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 cana specially trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this？ Itsounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer should give usthe—But hallo！ here are the accredited representatives of the law.”
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible frombelow， and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
“Before they come，” said Holmes， “just put your hand here onthis 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， farexceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion ofthe face， this Hippocratic smile， or ‘risus sardonicus，’ as the oldwriters 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 thedrawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at oncelooked for the means by which the poison had entered the system.
As you saw， I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shotwith no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part struckwas that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling ifthe 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 waslong， sharp， and black， with a glazed look near the point as thoughsome gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had beentrimmed 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 justinference. But here are the regulars， so the auxiliary forces maybeat a retreat.”
As he spoke， the steps which had been coming nearer soundedloudly on the passage， and a very stout， portly man in a graysuit strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced， burly， andplethoric， with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which lookedkeenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He wasclosely followed by an inspector in uniform and by the stillpalpitating 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 houseseems to be as full as a rabbit-warren！”
“I think you must recollect me， Mr. Athelney Jones，” saidHolmes quietly.
“Why， of course I do！” he wheezed. “It’s Mr. Sherlock Holmes，the theorist. Remember you！ I’ll never forget how you lecturedus all on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewelcase. It’s true you set us on the right track； but you’ll own nowthat 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 whatis all this？ Bad business！ Bad business！ Stern facts here—no roomfor theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwoodover 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 headsometimes. Dear me！ Door locked， I understand. Jewels worthhalf 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 todo with the matter. That’s common sense. Man might have diedin a fit； but then the jewels are missing. Ha！ I have a theory. Theseflashes come upon me at times. —Just step outside， sergeant， andyou， Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain. —What do you think ofthis， Holmes？ Sholto was， on his own confession， with his brotherlast night. The brother died in a fit， on which Sholto walked offwith the treasure？ How’s that？”
“On which the dead man very considerately got up and lockedthe door on the inside.”
“Hum！ There’s a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to thematter. This Thaddeus Sholto WAS with his brother； there WAS aquarrel： so much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels aregone. So much also we know. No one saw the brother from thetime Thaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeusis evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearanceis—well， not attractive. You see that I am weaving my web roundThaddeus. 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 bepoisoned， was in the man’s scalp where you still see the mark； thiscard， inscribed as you see it， was on the table， and beside it lay thisrather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit intoyour theory？”
“Confirms it in every respect，” said the fat detective pompously.