forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were

stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too

deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon

the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back

to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of

Mr. Hosmer Angel?”


I held the little printed slip to the light. “Missing,” it said,

“on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About

five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a

little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted

glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black

frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris

tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been

employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing,” &c,

&c.


“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he

continued, glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely no

clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one

remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”


“They are typewritten,” I remarked.


“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little

‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no

superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point about

the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it

conclusive.”


“Of what?”


“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon

the case?”


“I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny

his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.”


“No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which