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“I have an idea, as I am sure Mr. Holmes does,” said Flaxman Low quietly; “although whether or not these ideas will agree remains to be seen.” He straightened up from where he had been crouching by the wall, running his hand along the marks, and looked around the room. His gaze seemed to be held by a large, ornately carved desk which stood close by. “You said that you purchased one or two pieces from the estate of Mr. Karswell. May I ask if that desk was one of those pieces?”

Mrs. Fitzgerald gazed at Low in astonishment. “Yes, it is; but how did you know?”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Holmes, approaching the desk, “it is quite obvious that while the other pieces in the room were chosen by someone with an eye for symmetry and comfort, this desk was not; it does not match anything else in the room. Furthermore, it is one of two desks in the room; the other is quite obviously used extensively, to judge by the papers, pens, ink, books, and other items on its surface, whereas this one is singularly clear of any such items. Not, therefore, a piece of furniture which is in regular use, which rather suggests an afterthought of some sort, here on sufferance only.”

“You are quite right,” said Mr. Fitzgerald. “That was one of the items we bought from Karswell’s estate, as the original purchaser unaccountably decided against buying it. At the time it seemed a reasonable enough purchase, but for some reason…” His voice trailed off.

“You found yourself unwilling to use it, and uncomfortable when you did,” supplied Low.

“Precisely,” said Mr. Fitzgerald gratefully. “It is, as you can see, a handsome piece, and I had some thought of making it my own desk; but for reasons that I cannot articulate I always felt uncomfortable when working at it, and it was not long before I abandoned it altogether in favor of the other desk.”

Flaxman Low walked over to the carved desk and ran his hand over it. “Karswell’s desk,” he murmured to himself. “That is certainly intriguing.”

“Yes,” said Holmes crisply. “For there are few things which can tell us more about a man than his desk. Tell me, did you find anything in it?”

“That is a curious thing, Mr. Holmes. When we purchased it the desk was, as we thought, quite empty, and I made sure that nothing had been left in it; there could have been something valuable which his executors should know about. I found nothing; but a few days later, I happened to be opening one of the drawers, to place something within it, and it stuck. I pulled and pushed, and gradually worked it free, and found a small piece of paper at the back of it, which had obviously fallen out and become wedged in behind.”

“Do you still have this paper?” asked Holmes eagerly, and Mr. Fitzgerald nodded towards his desk.

“I put it with my own papers; although I confess I do not know why, as it seemed without value.” He moved to the other desk, where he rummaged around in one of the drawers. The rest of us stood close together, as if by common consent, and waited for him to return. When he did he was holding a small piece of yellowed paper, which he handed to my friend, who held it out so that we could all read it. There, in a neat hand, we saw the following:

Nonne haec condita sunt apud me et signata in thesauris meis.

Mea est ultio et ego retribuam in tempore ut labatur pes eorum iuxta est dies perditionis et adesse festinant tempora.

“What on earth does it mean?” I asked in some puzzlement.

“Well, I wondered that myself, Dr. Watson. My own Latin is not, I am afraid, as good as it once was, but after a little thought I realized it was from the Vulgate — Deuteronomy 32, verses 34 and 35 — and translates as ‘Is not this laid up in store with me, and sealed up among my treasures? To me belongeth vengeance and recompense; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.’”

Both men gave a start, and I could see that they were thinking furiously.