But this occupation
did not prevent me from keeping an eye on Thorndyke's movements, and
presently I suspended my labours to watch him as, with his
pocket-knife, he scraped together some objects that he had found on the
pillow.
"What do you make of this?" he asked, as I stepped over to his side. He
pointed with the blade to a tiny heap of what looked like silver sand,
and, as I looked more closely, I saw that similar particles were
sprinkled on other parts of the pillow.
"Silver sand!" I exclaimed. "I don't understand at all how it can have
got there. Do you?"
Thorndyke shook his head. "We will consider the explanation later," was
his reply. He had produced from his pocket a small metal box which he
always carried, and which contained such requisites as cover-slips,
capillary tubes, moulding wax, and other "diagnostic materials." He now
took from it a seed-envelope, into which he neatly shovelled the little
pinch of sand with his knife. He had closed the envelope, and was
writing a pencilled description on the outside, when we were startled by
a cry from Hart.
"Good God, sir! Look at this! It was done by a woman!"
He had drawn back the bedclothes, and was staring aghast at the dead
girl's left hand.
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