“I was about to observe, my dear Gordon, that I attach no suspicion to you, because you have unusually long arms for your height. But this man, on the usual calculations, would be about your height, or a little smaller. Now, I wonder if he poked about in the other shelves at all? Most people, when they are looking for a book, take out one or two of the other books in mere inadvertent curiosity. Extraordinary the fascination that books have. I am told that Whitewell, at Oxford, loses twenty pounds’ worth of books a year by theft, as the result of letting people prowl round his shop at their pleasure. Ah! Reeves, your room is an excellent subject for the detective.” “Why mine, particularly?” “Because you are a man of such tidy habits.” “Tidy!” protested Gordon. “Look at those letters on the table.” “Pernickety would perhaps have been the just word. You are the sort of man who cannot leave a thing lying on the floor, he must pick it up. Consequently, you are the kind of man who always keeps his books on a dead level: some people do, some don’t. Now, if this Shakespeare had been protruding like that yesterday, you would have noticed it and pushed it in.” “I suppose I should.” “Your visitor has not the same type of mind. He pushed in the two volumes on each side when he took it out, and then he put it back without driving it home, so to speak. Now, let’s see if we can find which part he was reading. Ordinarily, as you doubtless know, if you open a book at random it will open at the page where it was last shut—that is, if it has been held open some little time . . . If that principle applies here, our unknown friend has been reading _Hamlet_—‘To be or not to be’ comes on this page.” “A rather banal taste,” suggested Gordon. “You can’t get much out of that.” “It suggests at least that he was a seriously minded person, and not all our fellow-residents are that. By the way, I suppose there is no chance that the secret passage is still being used?” “Hardly. You see, it made me nervous, so I put that settee in front of it.” “One could push that out,” suggested Gordon. “But not put it back in position again once you were inside the passage. No, I think it must be a member of the club (just possibly a servant) we are looking for, who stands about five foot four and has sombre tastes in literature. Has he left any other traces? The fireplace is the only hope. Ah! He seems to me to treat you rather familiarly, Reeves—he has borrowed a pipe-cleaner and used it.” And Carmichael, stooping, picked one out of the fireplace. “Did you have a fire yesterday?” “No, life was too hurried. But I had one the day before.”