“This ought to give us a hint,” said he.  “It will probably have belonged either to Weiss or Graves, as Mrs. Schallibaum apparently did not wear glasses.  Let us see if we can find the remainder.”

We both groped carefully with our sticks amongst the rubbish, spreading it out on the hearth and removing the numerous pieces of crumpled paper.  Our search was rewarded by the discovery of the second eye-picce of the spectacles, of which the glass was badly cracked but less shattered than the other.  I also picked up two tiny sticks at which Thorndyke looked with deep interest before laying them on the mantelshelf.

“We will consider them presently,” said he.  “Let us finish with the spectacles first.  You see that the left eye-glass is a concave cylindrical lens of some sort.  We can make out that much from the fragments that remain, and we can measure the curvature when we get them home, although that will be easier if we can collect some more fragments and stick them together.  The right eye is plain glass; that is quite evident.  Then these will have belonged to your patient, Jervis.  You said that the tremulous iris was in the right eye, I think?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “These will be his spectacles, without doubt.”

“They are peculiar frames,” he continued.  “If they were made in this country, we might be able to discover the maker.  But we must collect as many fragments of glass as we can.”

Once more we searched amongst the rubbish and succeeded, eventually, in recovering some seven or eight small fragments of the broken spectacle-glasses, which Thorndyke laid on the mantelshelf beside the little sticks.

“By the way, Thorndyke,” I said, taking up the latter to examine them afresh, “what are these things?  Can you make anything of them?”

He looked at them thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied: 

“I don’t think I will tell you what they are.  You should find that out for yourself, and it will be well worth your while to do so.  They are rather suggestive objects under the circumstances.  But notice their peculiarities carefully.  Both are portions of some smooth, stout reed.  There is a long, thin stick—­about six inches long—­and a thicker piece only three inches in length.  The longer piece has a little scrap of red paper stuck on at the end; apparently a portion of a label of some kind with an ornamental border.  The other end of the stick has been broken off.  The shorter, stouter stick has had its central cavity artificially enlarged so that it fits over the other to form a cap or sheath.  Make a careful note of those facts and try to think what they probably mean; what would be the most likely use for an object of this kind.  When you have ascertained that, you will have learned something new about this case.  And now, to resume our investigations.  Here is a very suggestive thing.”  He picked up a small, wide-mouthed bottle and, holding it up for my inspection, continued:  “Observe the fly sticking to the inside, and the name on the label, ‘Fox, Russell Street, Covent Garden.’”