Once more we searched amongst the rubbish and succeeded, eventually, in
recovering some seven or eight small fragments of the broken
spectacle-glasses, which Thorndyke laid on the mantelshelf beside the
little sticks.

"By the way, Thorndyke," I said, taking up the latter to examine them
afresh, "what are these things? Can you make anything of them?"

He looked at them thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied:

"I don't think I will tell you what they are. You should find that out
for yourself, and it will be well worth your while to do so. They are
rather suggestive objects under the circumstances. But notice their
peculiarities carefully. Both are portions of some smooth, stout reed.
There is a long, thin stick--about six inches long--and a thicker piece
only three inches in length. The longer piece has a little scrap of red
paper stuck on at the end; apparently a portion of a label of some kind
with an ornamental border. The other end of the stick has been broken
off. The shorter, stouter stick has had its central cavity artificially
enlarged so that it fits over the other to form a cap or sheath. Make a
careful note of those facts and try to think what they probably mean;
what would be the most likely use for an object of this kind. When you
have ascertained that, you will have learned something new about this
case. And now, to resume our investigations. Here is a very suggestive
thing." He picked up a small, wide-mouthed bottle and, holding it up for
my inspection, continued: "Observe the fly sticking to the inside, and
the name on the label, 'Fox, Russell Street, Covent Garden.'"

"I don't know Mr. Fox."