"Mr. Wigan does not mean that, dear," said Zena.
The professor shook his head doubtfully.
"Crime as crime does not interest me. It is only when I am impelled to study a case, against my will sometimes, that I become keen; and, whenever this happens, the solution of the mystery is likely to be unusual. My methods are not those of a detective. You argue from facts; I am more inclined to form a theory, and then look for facts to fit it. Not a scientific way, you may say, but a great many scientists do it, although they would strenuously deny the fact. I can show you how the facts support my theory, but I cannot always produce the actual proof. In many cases I should be a hindrance rather than a help to you."
"It is courteous of you to say so," I returned, wishing to be pleasant.
"It is quite true, not a compliment," said the girl.
"First, the dead man," Quarles went on. "Quite a healthy man was the medical opinion—but his eyes. Did you particularly notice his eyes? You look into the brain through the eyes, see into it with great penetration if you have accustomed yourself to such scrutiny as I have done. Mr. Ratcliffe had not been dead long enough for his eyes to lose that last impression received from the brain. They were still looking at something, as it were, and they still had terror in them. Now he was a traveler, one who must have faced danger scores of times; it would take something very unusual to frighten him."
I acquiesced with a nod.
"We may take it, I think, that such a man would not be terrified by burglars."
I admitted this assumption.
"He was looking at the curtains which were drawn across the window—that is a point to remember," said the professor, marking off this fact by holding up a finger. "Then the little boxes; did you count them?"