“It’s all right, Watson,” said he.  “We have got our case—­one of the most remarkable in our collection.  But, dear me, how slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime!  Now, I think that, with a few missing links, my chain is almost complete.”

“You have got your men?”

“Man, Watson, man.  Only one, but a very formidable person.  Strong as a lion—­witness the blow that bent that poker!  Six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction.  Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual.  And yet, in that bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt.”

“Where was the clue?”

“Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you expect it to break?  Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire.  Why should it break three inches from the top, as this one has done?”

“Because it is frayed there?”

“Exactly.  This end, which we can examine, is frayed.  He was cunning enough to do that with his knife.  But the other end is not frayed.  You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever.  You can reconstruct what occurred.  The man needed the rope.  He would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell.  What did he do?  He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket—­you will see the impression in the dust—­and so got his knife to bear upon the cord.  I could not reach the place by at least three inches—­from which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair!  What is it?”

“Blood.”

“Undoubtedly it is blood.  This alone puts the lady’s story out of court.  If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes that mark?  No, no, she was placed in the chair after the death of her husband.  I’ll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this.  We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in victory.  I should like now to have a few words with the nurse, Theresa.  We must be wary for a while, if we are to get the information which we want.”

She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse—­taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes’s pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding amiability.  She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer.