“Oh, no. There’s more to come. You finished your cigarette and threw away the stub. You tried to fling it over the cliff-edge on your right side, if you remember.”
“I think so. One does these things without thinking about them.”
“That’s just why I attached importance to them in this case. Now think. It was a fairly long distance to throw a cigarette, wasn’t it. You just failed to send yours over the edge. So you had to pitch it to the best of your ability. If you’d been left-handed you’d have used your left hand, swinging it across your body. What you actually did was to use your right hand in an awkward attitude. Evidently your right hand, even used awkwardly, was better than your left used in a natural gesture. Obvious conclusion—you were right-handed.”
“That was rather neat, wasn’t it, Douglas?”
“Oh, Conway always had the name of a smart lad, even among the great brains like myself. Don’t let’s interrupt him. I can see he’s still bursting with news.”
“How do you strike a match on a box, Douglas?” demanded Westenhanger, suddenly.
“How should I know? This way, of course.”
Douglas fished a match-box from his pocket, took out a vesta and struck it.
“That’s what you did, Miss Cressage. You held the match in your right hand and the box in your left, just as Douglas is holding them now. A left-hander reverses the positions and strikes the match with his left hand. I remember noticing that once.”
“Anything more, Mr. Westenhanger?”