“Yes,” said Smith, “I made it in my off-time. Keeps the place tidy and looks more ship-shape than letting the pipes lay about anywhere.”
“Some one seems to have neglected his pipe,” said Thorndyke, pointing to one at the end of the rack which was coated with green mildew.
“Yes; that’s Parsons, my mate. He must have left it when he went off near a month ago. Pipes do go mouldy in the damp air out here.”
“How soon does a pipe go mouldy if it is left untouched?” Thorndyke asked.
“It’s according to the weather,” said Smith. “When it’s warm and damp they’ll begin to go in about a week. Now here’s Barnett’s pipe that he’s left behind—the man that broke his leg, you know, sir—it’s just beginning to spot a little. He couldn’t have used it for a day or two before he went.”
“And are all these other pipes yours?”
“No, sir. This here one is mine. The end one is Jeffreys’, and I suppose the middle one is his too, but I don’t know it.”
“You’re a demon for pipes, doctor,” said the captain, strolling up at this moment; “you seem to make a special study of them.”
“‘The proper study of mankind is man,’” replied Thorndyke, as the keeper retired, “and ‘man’ includes those objects on which his personality is impressed. Now a pipe is a very personal thing. Look at that row in the rack. Each has its own physiognomy which, in a measure, reflects the peculiarities of the owner. There is Jeffreys’ pipe at the end, for instance. The mouthpiece is nearly bitten through, the bowl scraped to a shell and scored inside and the brim battered and chipped. The whole thing speaks of rude strength and rough handling. He chews the stem as he smokes, he scrapes the bowl violently, and he bangs the ashes out with unnecessary force. And the man fits the pipe exactly: powerful, square-jawed and, I should say, violent on occasion.”
“Yes, he looks a tough customer, does Jeffreys,” agreed the captain.