And it has not failed me.
By pursuing a clue apparently so trivial that I allowed it to go
neglected for weeks, I have come upon the key to the many mysterious
crimes which have defiled the library hearthstone. And where do
you think it lies? Not in the hearthstone itself and not in the
floor under the settle; not, in fact, in the library at all, but
in the picture hanging upstairs in the southwest chamber."
"The picture! that faded-out sketch, fit only for the garret?"
"Yes. To you and to most people surveying it, it is just what you
say and nothing more. But to the initiated few - pray Heaven they
may have been few - it is writing, conveying secret instructions.
The whole combination of curves which go to make up this sketch is
a curious arrangement of words inscribed with the utmost care, in
the smallest of characters. Viewed with a magnifying glass, the
uncertain outlines of a shadowy face surmounted by a mass of
piled-up hair resolve themselves into lines of writing, the words
of which are quite intelligible and full of grim and unmistakable
purpose. I have read those lines; and what is more, I have
transcribed them into plain copy. Will you read them? They
contain a most extraordinary confession; a confession that was
manifestly intended as a warning, but which unfortunately has had
very different results.
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