The door opened with a scroop, and Mr. Peters realized at last the darling wish of his heart, and stood in the very room in which the murder had been committed. Gus looked round, went to the window, opened the shutters to the widest extent, and the afternoon sunshine streamed full into the room, lighting every crevice, revealing every speck of dust on the moth-eaten damask bed-curtains—every crack and stain on the worm-eaten flooring.
To see Mr. Darley look round the room, and to see Mr. Peters look round it, is to see two things as utterly wide apart as it is possible for one look to be from another. The young surgeon's eyes wander here and there, fix themselves nowhere, and rest two or three times upon the same object before they seem to take in the full meaning of that object. The eyes of Mr. Peters, on the contrary, take the circuit of the apartment with equal precision and rapidity—go from number one to number two, from number two to number three; and having given a careful inspection to every article of furniture in the room, fix at last in a gaze of concentrated intensity on the tout ensemble of the chamber.
"Can you make out anything?" at last asks Mr. Darley.
Mr. Peters nods his head, and in reply to this question drops on one knee, and falls to examining the flooring.
"Do you see anything in that?" asks Gus.
"Yes," replies Mr. Peters on his fingers; "look at this."
Gus does look at this. This is the flooring, which is in a very rotten and dilapidated state, by the bedside. "Well, what then?" he asks.
"What then?" said Mr. Peters, on his fingers, with an expression of considerable contempt pervading his features; "what then? You're a very talented young gent, Mr. Darley, and if I wanted a prescription for the bile, which I'm troubled with sometimes, or a tip for the Derby, which I don't, not being a sporting man, you're the gent I'd come to; but for all that you ain't no police-officer, or you'd never ask that question. What then? Do you remember as one of the facts so hard agen Mr. Marwood was the blood-stains on his sleeve? You see these here cracks and crevices in this here floorin'? Very well, then; Mr. Marwood slept in the room under this. He was tired, I've heard him say, and he threw himself down on the bed in his coat. What more natural, then, than that there should be blood upon his sleeve, and what more easy to guess than the way it came there?"
"You think it dropped through, then?" asked Gus.
"I think it dropped through," said Mr. Peters, on his fingers, with biting irony; "I know it dropped through. His counsel was a nice un, not to bring this into court," he added, pointing to the boards on which he knelt. "If I'd only seen this place
