“Behold!” he said, “_I_ have my hat and _you_ have your cab. It is to Chelsea you take me? Yes?” From the lining of the flat-topped hat he took out his cylindrical scent spray and played its contents upon his high, bald crown. “Verbena,” he rumbled. “My guinea-pigs, they detest it, but I find it so refreshing.” He replaced the spray in the hat, the hat on his crown. “I have recently bought a fine pair of armadillos,” he explained, “and they have an odour peculiar which, to me, is objectionable.” He regarded William, who was glancing suspiciously up and down the narrow alley. “William,” he admonished, “cease to dwell upon the youth with red hair. He becomes with you an obsession. Give the sheldrake some fresh seaweed, and if the hedgehogs continue to refuse apples, they may have each a small piece of raw steak.” He approached the waiting taxi cab, and on the step he paused. “Mr. Searles, I shall buy no more hedgehogs. They are not only delicate in captivity but one was in my bed last night.” We all entered the cab; and: “Now, Mr. Grimsby,” Moris Klaw continued, “tell me all about this poor fellow who is murdered. I am expecting you. I see it is not simple. I say, ‘The old fool from Wapping is wanted here.’” III “You are squeamish, Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, wagging a long finger at me. “You squeam. You are not yet recovered from the blue face of the murdered. Ah, well! it is horrible.” The body had been removed and we had been to view it. Now we stood in the studio where the crime had taken place, and although some time had elapsed since we had left the mortuary, I confess that I was not entirely myself. Dusk was come and we had turned up the studio lights. A faint mist hung in the place, for the fog had grown denser. I looked about me at half-completed pictures: groups; studies for magazine jackets; portraits of children and of women--and the ghastly face seemed to rise up before me, the distorted face of the man whose hand would never touch again the brushes of his craft. “It isn’t the first time I’ve seen a strangling case,” said Grimsby, “but it’s the first time I’ve seen marks like that.” “Ah! really!” Moris Klaw rumbled, turning to him. “Never before, eh, like that? You interest me, my friend; you begin to notice. Your intellect it expands like a sunflower in the sun. What is it that you see different in those marks?” Grimsby stared hard, painfully uncertain whether to regard the words as a compliment or a joke, but finally: “The pressure was greater,” he replied. “The murderer must have had amazing strength.” “Ah, yes!” Moris Klaw removed his hat and stared reflectively into the crown thereof. “Amazing strength? And the surgeon, what does he think?” “He thinks the same.” “Ah! but no more, eh? Amazing strength only?” Grimsby figuratively pricked up his ears. “I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Klaw,” he said. “Did you notice something else?” Moris Klaw placed his hat upon a little table.