in and drank soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were
taken down. They were both very quiet, respectable people; one of
them paid the bill and went out; the other, who seemed a slower
coach altogether, was some minutes longer getting his things
together. But he went at last. Only, the instant before he
stepped into the street he deliberately picked up his cup, which
he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the wall. I
was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could
only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop
empty. It don't do any particular damage, but it was confounded
cheek; and I tried to catch the men in the street. They were too
far off though; I only noticed they went round the next corner
into Carstairs Street."

The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand.
He had already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind
he could only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this
finger was odd enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass
doors behind him, he was soon swinging round into the other
street.

It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was
cool and quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere
flash; yet he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular
greengrocer and fruiterer's, an array of goods set out in the open
air and plainly ticketed with their names and prices. In the two
most prominent compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts
respectively. On the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on
which was written in bold, blue chalk, "Best tangerine oranges,
two a penny." On the oranges was the equally clear and exact