“The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliant fellow when he chooses to work—one of the brightest intellects of the university; but he is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. He was nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first year. He has been idling all this term, and he must look forward with dread to the examination.”
“Then it is he whom you suspect?”
“I dare not go so far as that. But, of the three, he is perhaps the least unlikely.”
“Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your servant, Bannister.”
He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fellow of fifty. He was still suffering from this sudden disturbance of the quiet routine of his life. His plump face was twitching with his nervousness, and his fingers could not keep still.
“We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister,” said his master.
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand,” said Holmes, “that you left your key in the door?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the very day when there were these papers inside?”
“It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occasionally done the same thing at other times.”