pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of
the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work
which will cut deep at the very foundation of revealed religion. With my
enfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able to complete
it, now that my assistant has been taken from me. Dear me! Mr. Holmes,
why, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself."

Holmes smiled.

"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the
box--his fourth--and lighting it from the stub of that which he had
finished. "I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination,
Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the
crime, and could know nothing about it. I would only ask this: What
do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: 'The
professor--it was she'?"

The professor shook his head.

"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incredible
stupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured some
incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this
meaningless message."

"I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?"

"Possibly an accident, possibly--I only breathe it among ourselves--a
suicide. Young men have their hidden troubles--some affair of the heart,
perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable supposition
than murder."

"But the eyeglasses?"

"Ah! I am only a student--a man of dreams. I cannot explain the
practical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that
love-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette.
It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove,
glasses--who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured
when a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps
in the grass, but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point.
As to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as
he fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that
Willoughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand."

Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to
walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette
after cigarette.

"Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in that cupboard
in the bureau?"

"Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poor
wife, diplomas of univ