sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don’t

know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me

expound.”


 “Pray do so.”


“Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young

McCarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they

impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his

father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!’ before seeing

him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several

words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. Now

from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by

presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.”


“What of this ‘Cooee!’ then?”


“Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as

far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot.

The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was

that he had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly

Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong

presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool

was someone who had been in Australia.”


“What of the rat, then?”


Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the

table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I

wired to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the

map. “What do you read?”


“ARAT,” I read.


“And now?” He raised his hand.


“BALLARAT.”


“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only

caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer.

So and so, of Ballarat.”


“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.


“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down

considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which,