"Blood?" suggested the analyst, grinning.
"Well, no—sorry to disappoint you. More like paint, I fancy."
Sir James looked closely at the deposit with a powerful lens.
"Yes; some sort of brown varnish. Might be off a floor or a piece of furniture. Do you want an analysis?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all. I think we'll get Saunders to do it; he has made rather a specialty of this kind of thing. Saunders, would you scrape this off carefully and see what it is? Get a slide of it, and make an analysis of the rest, if you can. How soon is it wanted?"
"Well, I'd like it as soon as possible. I don't mean within the next five minutes."
"Well, stay and have a spot of tea with us, and I dare say we can get something ready for you by then. It doesn't look anything out of the way. Knowing your tastes, I'm still surprised it isn't blood. Have you no blood in prospect?"
"Not that I know of. I'll stay to tea with pleasure, if you're certain I'm not being a bore."
"Never that. Besides, while you're here, you might give me your opinion on those old medical books of mine. I don't suppose they're particularly valuable, but they're quaint. Come along."