before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which
you have placed before us no suggestive detail which might help us?
There is one thing, said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat
pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he
laid it out upon the table. I have some remembrance, said he, that
on the day when my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small,
unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular
colour. I found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am
inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps,
fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped
destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us
much. I think myself that it is a page from some private diary. The
writing is undoubtedly my uncle s.
Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which
showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It
was headed, March, 1869, and beneath were the following enigmatical
notices:
4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.
7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain of St.
Augustine.
9th. McCauley cleared.
10th. John Swain cleared.
12th. Visited Paramore. All well.
Thank you! said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our
visitor. And now you must on no account lose another instant. We
cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must get
home instantly and act.
What shall I do?
There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must put
this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which
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