litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the
appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than
one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to
obtain the characteristic reaction." As he spoke, he threw into the
vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a
transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany
colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the
glass jar.
"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a
child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"
"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked.
"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and
uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles.
The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this
appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test
been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who
would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes."
"Indeed!" I murmured.
"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is
suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His
linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon
them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit
stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many
an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have
the Sherlock Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any
difficulty."
His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his
heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his
imagination.
"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at
his enthusiasm.
"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would
certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there
was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of
Montpellier, and Samson of new Orleans. I could name a score of cases
in which it would have been decisive."
"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford with a
laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police
News of the Past.'"
"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Sherlock
Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his
finger. "I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a
smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal." He held out his hand
as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar
pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids.
"We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on a high
three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his
foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were
complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I
thought that I had better bring you together."
Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms
with me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which
would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong
tobacco, I hope?"
"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered.
"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and
occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"
"By no means."
"Let me see--what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at
times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I
am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right.
What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to
know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."
I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said,
"and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at
all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another
set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at
present."
"Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" he asked,
anxiously.
"It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a
treat for the gods--a badly-played one--"
"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may
consider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to
you."
"When shall we see them?"
"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle
everything," he answered.
"All right--noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand.
We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together
towards my hotel.
"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford,
"how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?"
My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his little
peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he
finds things out."
"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is very
piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. 'The
proper study of mankind is man,' you know."
"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye.
"You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns more
about you than you about him. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably
interested in my new acquaintance.