times natural, once by accident. I've heard say he smells damp and cold,
like a grave. And he--"

"'Sh! Watch him! There--he's got his thumb on the bump on the near
corner of his forehead, and his forefinger on the off one. His
think-works is just a-grinding now, you bet your other shirt."

"That's so. And now he's gazing up toward heaven and stroking his
mustache slow, and--"

"Now he has rose up standing, and is putting his clues together on his
left fingers with his right finger. See? he touches the forefinger--now
middle finger--now ring-finger--"

"Stuck!"

"Look at him scowl! He can't seem to make out that clue. So he--"

"See him smile!--like a tiger--and tally off the other fingers like
nothing! He's got it, boys; he's got it sure!"

"Well, I should say! I'd hate to be in that man's place that he's
after."

Mr. Holmes drew a table to the window, sat down with his back to the
spies, and proceeded to write. The spies withdrew their eyes from the
peep-holes, lit their pipes, and settled themselves for a comfortable
smoke and talk. Ferguson said, with conviction:

"Boys, it's no use talking, he's a wonder! He's got the signs of it all