The Adventure of the Cardboard Box | Page 6

my presence, sir?"
"In case he wished to ask any questions."
"What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothing whatever about
it?"
"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubt that you have
been annoyed more than enough already over this business."
"Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me
to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won't have those things
I here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse."
It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestrade went in
and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string.
There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one
by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.
"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to the light and
sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?"
"It has been tarred."
"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss
Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side.
This is of importance."
"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.
"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a

peculiar character."
"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect," said Lestrade
complacently.
"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box wrapper. Brown
paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be
no doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross
Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink.
The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 'y'.
The parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited
education and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a
yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the
left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and
other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular
enclosures."
He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined
them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced
alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion.
Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.
"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a pair."
"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some students from the
dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair."
"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."
"You are sure of it?"
"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with
preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been
cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it.
Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest
themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical
joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime."
A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words and saw the stern
gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth
some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his
head like a man who is only half convinced.
"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there are much stronger
reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable
life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home
for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of
his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as
little of the matter as we do?"
"That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and for my part