lished surface of the table he subjected to a careful
examination, borrowing the inspector's magnifying-glass for the
purpose. On hands and knees he crawled round the table, still using
the magnifying-glass upon the linoleum, with which the floor was
covered. From time to time he would pick up some apparently minute
object and transfer it to another small box. At length he rose to
his feet as if satisfied.

"The professor did not smoke?" he queried.

"No; but the murderer did," was the rather brusque reply. Inspector
Carfon was finding the role of audience trying, alike to his nerves
and to his temper.

"Obviously," was Malcolm Sage's dry retort. "He also left his pipe
behind and had to return for it. It was rather a foul pipe, too," he
added.

"Left his pipe behind!" cried the inspector, his irritation dropping
from him like a garment. "How on earth----!" In his surprise he left
the sentence unfinished.

"Here," Malcolm Sage indicated a dark stain on the highly-polished
table, "and here," he pointed to a few flecks of ash some four or
five inches distant, "are indications that a pipe has remained for
some considerable time, long enough for the nicotine to drain
through the stem; it was a very foul pipe, Carfon."

"But mightn't that have trickled out in a few minutes, or while the
man was here?" objected Inspector Carfon.

"With a wet smoker the saliva might have drained back," said Malcolm
Sage, his eyes upon the stain, "but this is nicotine from higher up
the stem, which would take time to flow out. As to leaving it on the
table, what inveterate smoker would allow a pipe to lie on a table
for any length of time unless he left it behind him? The man smoked
like a chimney; look at the tobacco ash in the fireplace."

The inspector stared at Malcolm Sage, chagrin in his look.

"Now that photograph, Carfon," said Malcolm Sage.

Taking a letter-case from his breast-pocket, Inspector Carfon drew
out a photograph folded in half. This he handed to Malcolm Sage, who,
after a keen glance at the grim and gruesome picture, put it in his
pocket.

"I thought so," he murmured.

"Thought what, Mr. Sage?" enquired the inspector eagerly.

"Left-handed." When keenly interested Malcolm Sage was more than
usually economical in words.

"Clean through the left side of the occipital bone," Malcolm Sage
continued. "No right-handed man could have delivered such a blow.
That confirms the poker."

The inspector stared.

"Th