rrived at Yoxley
Old Place. A constable met us at the garden gate.

"Well, Wilson, any news?"

"No, sir--nothing."

"No reports of any stranger seen?"

"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger either
came or went yesterday."

"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?"

"Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for."

"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay there
or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path of
which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was no mark on it
yesterday."

"On which side were the marks on the grass?"

"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and the
flower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then."

"Yes, yes: someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping over the
grass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must she
not, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on
the other an even clearer one on the soft bed?"

"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."

I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face.

"You say that she must have come back this way?"

"Yes, sir, there is no other."

"On this strip of grass?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."

"Hum! It was a very remarkable performance--very remarkable. Well, I
think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This garden door is
usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do but
to walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would have
provided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick
this knife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor,
leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in
this study. How long was she there? We have no means of judging."

"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs.
Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long
before--about a quarter of an hour, she says."

"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room, and what does
she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything
in the drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking, it would
surely have been locked up. No, it was for something in that wooden
bureau. Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a
match, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?"

The mark which he was examining be