“It is obvious. And now， you see， I had narrowed the field downconsiderably. The possession of a grey garment was a third pointwhich， granting the son’s statement to be correct， was a certainty.
We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definiteconception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.”
“Certainly.”
“And one who was at home in the district， for the pool can onlybe approached by the farm or by the estate， where strangers couldhardly wander.”
“Quite so.”
“Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of theground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecileLestrade， as to the personality of the criminal.”
“But how did you gain them？”
“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation oftrifles.”
“His height I know that you might roughly judge from thelength of his stride. His boots， too， might be told from theirtraces.”
“Yes， they were peculiar boots.”
“But his lameness？”
“The impression of his right foot was always less distinct thanhis left. He put less weight upon it. Why？ Because he limped—hewas lame.”
“But his left-handedness.”
“You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury asrecorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck fromimmediately behind， and yet was upon the left side. Now， how canthat be unless it were by a left-handed man？ He had stood behindthat tree during the interview between the father and son. He hadeven smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar， which my specialknowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indiancigar. I have， as you know， devoted some attention to this， andwritten a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varietiesof pipe， cigar， and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash， I thenlooked round and discovered the stump among the moss where hehad tossed it. It was an Indian cigar， of the variety which are rolledin Rotterdam.”
“And the cigar-holder？”
“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Thereforehe used a holder. The tip had been cut off， not bitten off， but thecut was not a clean one， so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.”
“Holmes，” I said， “you have drawn a net round this man fromwhich he cannot escape， and you have saved an innocent humanlife as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. Isee the direction in which all this points. The culprit is——”
“Mr. John Turner，” cried the hotel waiter， opening the door ofour sitting-room， and ushering in a visitor.
The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. Hisslow， limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance ofdecrepitude， and yet his hard， deep-lined， craggy features， and hisenormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strengthof body and of character. His tangled beard， grizzled hair， andoutstanding， drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignityand power to his appearance， but his face was of an ashen white，while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with ashade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the gripof some deadly and chronic disease.
“Pray sit down on the sofa，” said Holmes gently. “You had mynote？”
“Yes， the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wishedto see me here to avoid scandal.”
“I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.”
“And why did you wish to see me？” He looked across at mycompanion with despair in his weary eyes， as though his questionwas already answered.
“Yes，” said Holmes， answering the look rather than the words. “Itis so. I know all about McCarthy.”
The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me！” he cried.
“But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give youmy word that I would have spoken out if it went against him atthe Assizes.”
“I am glad to hear you say so，” said Holmes gravely.
“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. Itwould break her heart—it will break her heart when she hears thatI am arrested.”
“It may not come to that，” said Holmes.
“What？”
“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughterwho required my presence here， and I am acting in her interests.
Young McCarthy must be got off， however.”
“I am a dying man，” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes foryears. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month.
Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.”
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his handand a bundle of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth，” hesaid. “I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it， and Watson herecan witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the lastextremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall notuse it unless it is absolutely needed.”
“It’s as well，” said the old man； “it’s a question whether I shalllive to the Assizes， so it matters little to me， but I should wish tospare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you；it has been a long time in the acting， but will not take me long totell.
“You didn’t know this dead man， McCarthy. He was a devilincarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of sucha man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years， and hehas blasted my life. I’ll tell you first how I came to be in his power.
“It was in the early ’60’s at the diggings. I was a young chapthen， hot-blooded and reckless， ready to turn my hand atanything； I got among bad companions， took to drink， had no luckwith my claim， took to the bush， and in a word became what youwould call over here a highway robber. There were six of us， andwe had a wild， free life of it， sticking up a station from time totime， or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. BlackJack of Ballarat was the name I went under， and our party is stillremembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.