t was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house.
Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece
of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the
path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles
which Lestrade had handed to him.

"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to
the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string,
Lestrade?"

"It has been tarred."

"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt,
remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be
seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance."

"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.

"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that
this knot is of a peculiar character."

"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect,"
said Lestrade complacently.

"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box
wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you
not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed
in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street,
Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very
inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an
'i', which has been changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by
a man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited education and
unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a
yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two
thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of
the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser
commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular
enclosures."

He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his
knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward
on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and
at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned
them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.

"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not
a pair."

"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some
students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to
send two odd ears as a pair