“Why, his claws are like razors!”

Doctor Winchester had come close to us and was bending over looking at the cat’s claws; as I spoke he said in a quick, sharp way: 

“Eh!” I could hear the quick intake of his breath.  Whilst I was stroking the now quiescent cat, the Doctor went to the table and tore off a piece of blotting-paper from the writing-pad and came back.  He laid the paper on his palm and, with a simple “pardon me!” to Miss Trelawny, placed the cat’s paw on it and pressed it down with his other hand.  The haughty cat seemed to resent somewhat the familiarity, and tried to draw its foot away.  This was plainly what the Doctor wanted, for in the act the cat opened the sheaths of its claws and and made several reefs in the soft paper.  Then Miss Trelawny took her pet away.  She returned in a couple of minutes; as she came in she said: 

“It is most odd about that mummy!  When Silvio came into the room first—­indeed I took him in as a kitten to show to Father—­he went on just the same way.  He jumped up on the table, and tried to scratch and bite the mummy.  That was what made Father so angry, and brought the decree of banishment on poor Silvio.  Only his parole, given through me, kept him in the house.”

Whilst she had been gone, Doctor Winchester had taken the bandage from her father’s wrist.  The wound was now quite clear, as the separate cuts showed out in fierce red lines.  The Doctor folded the blotting-paper across the line of punctures made by the cat’s claws, and held it down close to the wound.  As he did so, he looked up triumphantly and beckoned us over to him.

The cuts in the paper corresponded with the wounds in the wrist!  No explanation was needed, as he said;

“It would have been better if master Silvio had not broken his parole!”

We were all silent for a little while.  Suddenly Miss Trelawny said: 

“But Silvio was not in here last night!”

“Are you sure?  Could you prove that if necessary?” She hesitated before replying: 

“I am certain of it; but I fear it would be difficult to prove.  Silvio sleeps in a basket in my room.  I certainly put him to bed last night; I remember distinctly laying his little blanket over him, and tucking him in.  This morning I took him out of the basket myself.  I certainly never noticed him in here; though, of course, that would not mean much, for I was too concerned about poor father, and too much occupied with him, to notice even Silvio.”

The Doctor shook his head as he said with a certain sadness: 

“Well, at any rate it is no use trying to prove anything now.  Any cat in the world would have cleaned blood-marks—­did any exist—­from his paws in a hundredth part of the time that has elapsed.”

Again we were all silent; and again the silence was broken by Miss Trelawny: