“If the launch is above water they will find her,” said Holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. “They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear everyone. I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith.”
“Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed, Holmes?”
“No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique.”
“That other man again!”
“I have no wish to make a mystery of him—to you, anyway. But you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make of all this?”
“A savage!” I exclaimed. “Perhaps one of those Indians who were the associates of Jonathan Small.”
“Hardly that,” said he. “When first I saw signs of strange weapons I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian