Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand, and examined them with the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.
“That’s the best I can do for you,” said he. “It may prove to be of some use.”
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:
“Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has a remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either side of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she has had recourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months.”

“Hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. The professor’s corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting.”

“Have you a clue?” I asked, at last.
“It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked,” said he. “It is possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.”

“A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention of possessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau.”

“And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be aware that a woman had entered my room?”
“I never said so. You were aware of it. You spoke with her. You recognized her. You aided her to escape.”

Where is she now?”
“She is there,” said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in the corner of the room.

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