Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of information.  “I can follow the other points,” said he, “but really, in this matter of the length——­”

Holmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space of clear wood after them.

“You see?”

“No, I fear that even now——­”

“Watson, I have always done you an injustice.  There are others.  What could this NN be?  It is at the end of a word.  You are aware that Johann Faber is the most common maker’s name.  Is it not clear that there is just as much of the pencil left as usually follows the Johann?” He held the small table sideways to the electric light.  “I was hoping that if the paper on which he wrote was thin, some trace of it might come through upon this polished surface.  No, I see nothing.  I don’t think there is anything more to be learned here.  Now for the central table.  This small pellet is, I presume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of.  Roughly pyramidal in shape and hollowed out, I perceive.  As you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it.  Dear me, this is very interesting.  And the cut—­a positive tear, I see.  It began with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole.  I am much indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, Mr. Soames.  Where does that door lead to?”

“To my bedroom.”

“Have you been in it since your adventure?”

“No, I came straight away for you.”

“I should like to have a glance round.  What a charming, old-fashioned room!  Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute, until I have examined the floor.  No, I see nothing.  What about this curtain?  You hang your clothes behind it.  If anyone were forced to conceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe too shallow.  No one there, I suppose?”

As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little rigidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency.  As a matter of fact, the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of pegs.  Holmes turned away, and stooped suddenly to the floor.

“Halloa!  What’s this?” said he.

It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like the one upon the table of the study.  Holmes held it out on his open palm in the glare of the electric light.

“Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as in your sitting-room, Mr. Soames.”

“What could he have wanted there?”

“I think it is clear enough.  You came back by an unexpected way, and so he had no warning until you were at the very door.  What could he do?  He caught up everything which would betray him, and he rushed into your bedroom to conceal himself.”

“Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that, all the time I was talking to Bannister in this room, we had the man prisoner if we had only known it?”