LITMIR.BIZ

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      "It is very remarkable," I said, poring over the cards to verify Thorndyke's statements. "I don't quite know what to make of it. If the circumstances admitted of the idea of forgery, one would suspect the genuineness of some of the signatures. But they don't—at any rate, in the case of the later will, to say nothing of Mr. Britton's opinion on the signatures."

      "Still," said Thorndyke, "there must be some explanation of the change in the character of the signatures, and that explanation cannot be the failing eyesight of the writer; for that is a gradually progressive and continuous condition, whereas the change in the writing is abrupt and intermittent."

      I considered Thorndyke's remark for a few moments; and then a light—though not a very brilliant one—seemed to break on me.

      "I think I see what you are driving at," said I. "You mean that the change in the writing must be associated with some new condition affecting the writer, and that that condition existed intermittently?"

      Thorndyke nodded approvingly, and I continued:

      "The only intermittent condition that we know of is the effect of opium. So that we might consider the clearer signatures to have been made when Jeffrey was in his normal state, and the less distinct ones after a bout of opium-smoking."

      "That is perfectly sound reasoning," said Thorndyke. "What further conclusion does it lead to?"

      "It suggests that the opium habit had been only recently acquired, since the change was noticed only about the time he went to live at New Inn; and, since the change in the writing is at first intermittent and then continuous, we may infer that the opium-smoking was at first occasional and later became a a confirmed habit."

      "Quite a reasonable conclusion and very clearly stated," said Thorndyke. "I don't say that I entirely agree with you, or that you have exhausted the information that these signatures offer. But you have started in the right direction."

      "I may be on the right road," I said gloomily; "but I am stuck fast in one place and I see no chance of getting any farther."

      "But you have a quantity of data," said Thorndyke. "You have all the facts that I had to start with, from which I constructed the hypothesis that I am now busily engaged in verifying. I have a few more data now, for 'as money makes money' so knowledge begets knowledge, and I put my original capital out to interest. Shall we tabulate the facts that are in our joint possession and see what they suggest?"

      I grasped eagerly at the offer, though I had conned over my notes again and again.

      Thorndyke produced a slip of paper from a drawer, and, uncapping his fountain-pen, proceeded to write down the leading facts, reading each aloud as soon as it was written.

      "1. The second will was unnecessary since it contained no new matter, expressed no new intentions and met no new conditions, and the first will was quite clear and efficient.

      "2. The evident intention of the testator was to leave the bulk of his property to Stephen Blackmore.

      "3. The second will did not, under existing circumstances, give effect to this intention, whereas the first will did.

      "4. The signature of the second will differs slightly from that of the first, and also from what had hitherto been the testator's ordinary signature.

      "And now we come to a very curious group of dates, which I will advise you to consider with great attention.

      "5. Mrs. Wilson made her will at the beginning of September last year, without acquainting Jeffrey Blackmore, who seems to have been unaware of the existence of this will.

      "6. His own second will was dated the twelfth of November of last year.

      "7. Mrs. Wilson died of cancer on the twelfth of March this present year.

      "8. Jeffrey Blackmore was last seen alive on the fourteenth of March.

      "9. His body was discovered on the fifteenth of March.

      "10. The change in the character of his signature began about September last year and became permanent after the middle of October.

      "You will find that collection of facts repay careful study, Jervis, especially when considered in relation to the further data:

      "11. That we found in Blackmore's chambers a framed inscription of large size, hung upside down, together with what appeared to be the remains of a watch-glass and a box of stearine candles and some other objects."

      He passed the paper to me and I pored over it intently, focusing my attention on the various items with all the power of my will. But, struggle as I would, no general conclusion could be made to emerge from the mass of apparently disconnected facts.

      "Well?" Thorndyke said presently, after watching with grave interest my unavailing efforts; "what do you make of it?"

      "Nothing!" I exclaimed desperately, slapping the paper down on the table. "Of course, I can see that there are some queer coincidences. But how do they bear on the case? I understand that you want to upset this will; which we know to have been signed without compulsion or even suggestion in the presence of two respectable men, who have sworn to the identity of the document. That is your object, I believe?"

      "Certainly it is."

      "Then I am hanged if I see how you are going to do it. Not, I should say, by offering a group of vague coincidences that would muddle any brain but your own."

      Thorndyke chuckled softly but pursued the subject no farther.

      "Put that paper in your file with your other notes," he said, "and think it over at your leisure. And now I want a little help from you. Have you a good memory for faces?"

      "Fairly good, I think. Why?"

      "Because I have a photograph of a man whom I think you may have met. Just look at it and tell me if you remember the face."

      He drew a cabinet size photograph from an envelope that had come by the morning's post and handed it to me.

      "I have certainly seen this face somewhere," said I, taking the portrait over to the window to examine it more thoroughly, "but I can't, at the moment, remember where."

      "Try," said Thorndyke. "If you have seen the face before, you should be able to recall the person."

      I looked intently at the photograph, and the more I looked, the more familiar did the face appear. Suddenly the identity of the man flashed into my mind and I exclaimed in astonishment:

      "It can't be that poor creature at Kennington, Mr. Graves?"

      "I think it can," replied Thorndyke, "and I think it is. But could you swear to the identity in a court of law?"

      "It is my firm conviction that the photograph is that of Mr. Graves. I would swear to that."

      "No man ought to swear to more," said Thorndyke. "Identification is always a matter of opinion or belief. The man who will swear unconditionally to identity from memory only is a man whose evidence should be discredited. I think your sworn testimony would be sufficient."

      It is needless to say that the production of this photograph filled me with amazement and curiosity as to how Thorndyke had obtained it. But, as he replaced it impassively in its envelope without volunteering any explanation, I felt that I could not question him directly. Nevertheless, I ventured to approach the subject in an indirect manner.

      "Did you get any information from those Darmstadt people?" I asked.

      "Schnitzler? Yes. I learned, through the medium of an official acquaintance, that Dr. H. Weiss was a stranger to them; that they knew nothing about him excepting that he had ordered from them, and been supplied with, a hundred grammes of pure hydrochlorate of morphine."

      "All at once?"

      "No. In separate parcels of twenty-five grammes each."

      "Is that all you know about Weiss?"

      "It is all

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