Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path
for some time in silence.

"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.

"It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he. "It is
possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me."

"My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth----"

"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no harm done. Of
course, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take
a short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let us
enjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her."

I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly
ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms
of confidence with them. In half the time which he had named he had
captured the housekeeper's goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he
had known her for years.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke something
terrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I've seen that room of
a morning--well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog. Poor young
Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor. His
health--well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking."

"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite."

"Well, I don't know about that, sir."

"I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?"

"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him."

"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't face his lunch
after all the cigarettes I saw him consume."

"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable big
breakfast this morning. I don't know when I've known him make a
better one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'm
surprised myself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw
young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor I couldn't bear to look at
food. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the Professor hasn't
let it take his appetite away."

We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gone
down to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had
been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning. As
to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had
never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the
news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children and that
they had un