Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequentoccasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table.

I stood upon the hearth-rugand picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before.

It was a fine, thickpiece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer." Just under thehead was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friendsof the C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just such a stick as the oldfashioned family practitioner used to carry-dignified, solid, and reassuring."Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation."How did you know what I was doing?

I believe you have eyes in the back of your head.""I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of me," said he. "But, tell me,Watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick?

Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss himand have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance.

Let me hear youreconstruct the man by an examination of it.""I think," said I, following as far as I could...