ed here. Let us go down."

"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly,
when we had regained the lower room once more.

"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a touch
of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be
instructive to compare results."

"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered.

"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way. "I
think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look."
He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room
on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose
only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and
deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his
movements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent,
that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made
had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of
exerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to
himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.

"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little
trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the
creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here
at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked,
You see, and the stuff has leaked out."

"What then?" I asked.

"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that would
follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed
herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow so
pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three.
The answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the accredited
representatives of the law."

Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and
the hall door shut with a loud crash.

"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this poor
fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"

"The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding
the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, this
Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers called it,
what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?"

"Death from some powerful vegeta