"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the box -- his fourth -- and lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished."I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime and could know nothing about it.
I would only ask this.What do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: `The Professor -- it was she'?"The Professor shook his head.
"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incredible stupidity of that class.I fancy that the poor fellow murmured some incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this meaningless message.""I see.You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?""Possibly an accident; possibly -- I only breathe it among ourselves -- a suicide.Young men have their hidden troubles --some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known.
It is a more probable supposition than murder.""But the eye-glasses?"
"Ah! I am only a student -- a man of dreams.I cannot explain the practical things of life.But still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gages may take strange shapes.By all means take another cigarette.It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so.A fan, a glove, glasses -- who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point.As to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell.
It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand."Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette after cigarette.