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I paid particular attention to the state of her clothing. She was wearing a petticoat and an over-something—another frilly white garment covering the upper part of her body. I am not very expert in the names of women’s garments.”
    “Nor am I,” I said. “I assume the remainder of her clothing was somewhere about?”
    “It was in the bedroom.”
    We entered the parlor. The shades were drawn, keeping out even the weak light from the overcast sky. Holmes struck a match and lit an oil-lamp which was sitting on a nearby table. The flickering light cast grotesque shadows about the room, creating a nebulous sense of oppression and doom. Or perhaps it was just the knowledge of what had recently transpired here that gave the room its evil character. “There,” Holmes said, pointing to a large irregularly-shaped bloodstain on the floor by the front door. “There is where she lay. She came from the bedroom, as the rest of her clothing was there, and was attacked in the parlor.”
    “Curious,” I said.
    “Really?” Holmes replied. “How so?”
    The question was not destined to be answered, at least not then. At that moment the front door banged open and a police sergeant of immense girth, a round, red face, and a majestic handlebar mustache stomped down the hall and into the room. “Here now,” he boomed. “What are you gentlemen doing in here, if I might ask?”
    “Sergeant Meeks,” Holmes said. “You’ve returned to the scene of the crime. Perhaps you are going to take my suggestion after all.”
    Meeks looked at Holmes with an air of benevolent curiosity. “And what suggestion might that be, young man?”
    “I mentioned to you that it might be a good idea to post a constable here to keep the curiosity-seekers from wandering about. It was when you were escorting Professor Maples into the carriage to take him away.”
    “Why so it was, Mr., ah,—”
    “Holmes. And this is Mr. Moriarty.”
    Meeks gave me a perfunctory nod, and turned his attention back to Holmes. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. So it was, and so you did. We of the regular constabulary are always grateful for any hints or suggestions as we might get from young gentlemen such as yourself. You also said something about preserving the foot-marks along the lane out back, as I remember.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well I went to look at them foot-marks of yours, Mr. Holmes, lifting up a couple of them boards you put down and peering under. They was just what you said they was—foot-marks; and I thanks you kindly.”
    “From your attitude I can see that you don’t attach much importance to the imprints,” Holmes commented, not allowing himself to be annoyed by the sergeant’s words or his sneering tone.
    “We always try to plot a straight and true course when we’re investigating a case,” the sergeant explained. “There are always facts and circumstances around that don’t seem to fit in. And that’s because, if you’ll excuse my saying so, they have nothing to do with the case.”
    “But perhaps there are times when some of these facts that you ignore actually present a clearer explanation of what really happened,” Holmes suggested. “For example, Sergeant, I’m sure you noticed that the footsteps were all made by a woman. Not a single imprint of a man’s foot on that path.”
    “If you say so, Mr. Holmes. I can’t say that I examined them all that closely.”
    Holmes nodded. “If what I say is true,” he said, “doesn’t that suggest anything to you?”
    Sergeant Meeks sighed a patient sigh. “It would indicate that the accused did not walk on the path. Perhaps he went by the road. Perhaps he flew. It don’t really matter how he got to the cottage, it only matters what he did after he arrived.”
    “Did you notice the imprint of the walking stick next to the woman’s footsteps?” Holmes asked. “Does that tell you nothing?”
    “Nothing,” the sergeant agreed. “She may have had another walking stick, or perhaps the branch