erced bit of metal dangling
down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with
a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look
as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his
blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent
upon his features.

Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his
head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the
obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he
takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and
that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce
nothing else."

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.

"How in the name of good fortune did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?"
he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor?
It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."

"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than
your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."

"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that;
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin."

"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"

"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where
you rest it upon the desk?"

"Well, but China?"

"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist
could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of
tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the
subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink
is quite peculiar to China. When in addition I see a Chinese coin
hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple."

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought
at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was
nothing in it, after all."

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in
explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid.
Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he an