“As to identification?  Under the present circumstances, I think not.  If there were a man missing who had lost that finger it would, of course, be an important fact.  But I have not heard of any such man.  Or, again, if there were any evidence that the finger had been removed before death, it would be highly important.  But there is no such evidence.  It may have been cut off after death, and there is where the real significance of its absence lies.”

“I don’t quite see what you mean,” said Jervis.

“I mean that, if there is no report of any missing man who had lost that particular finger, the probability is that the finger was removed after death.  And then arises the interesting question of motive.  Why should it have been removed?  It could hardly have become detached accidentally.  What do you suggest?”

“Well,” said Jervis, “it might have been a peculiar finger; a finger, for instance, with some characteristic deformity, such as an ankylosed joint, which would be easy to identify.”

“Yes; but that explanation introduces the same difficulty.  No person with a deformed or ankylosed finger has been reported as missing.”

Jervis puckered up his brows and looked at me.

“I’m hanged if I see any other explanation,” he said.  “Do you, Berkeley?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t forget which finger it is that is missing,” said Thorndyke.  “The third finger on the left hand.”

“Oh, I see!” said Jervis.  “The ring-finger.  You mean it may have been removed for the sake of a ring that wouldn’t come off.”

“Yes.  It would not be the first instance of the kind.  Fingers have been severed from dead hands—­and even from living ones—­for the sake of rings that were too tight to be drawn off.  And the fact that it is the left hand supports this suggestion; for a ring that was inconveniently tight would be worn by preference on the left hand, as that is usually slightly smaller than the right.  What is the matter, Berkeley?”

A sudden light had burst upon me, and I suppose my countenance betrayed the fact.

“I am a confounded fool!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t say that,” said Jervis.  “Give your friends a chance.”

“I ought to have seen this long ago and told you about it.  John Bellingham did wear a ring, and it was so tight that, when once he had got it on, he could never get it off again.”

“Do you happen to know on which hand he wore it?” Thorndyke asked.

“Yes.  It was the left hand; because Miss Bellingham, who told me about it, said that he would never have been able to get the ring on at all but for the fact that his left hand was slightly smaller than his right.”

“There it is, then,” said Thorndyke.  “With this new fact in our possession, the absence of this finger furnishes the starting-point of some very curious speculations.”

“As, for instance?” said Jervis.