Mr. Mycroft positively beamed. His uttered compliment was of course the “left-handed” sort he generally dealt me. “Mr. Silchester, I have always known it. It is laziness, just simple laziness, that keeps you from being a first-rate observer. You can’t deny that puzzles interest you, but you can’t be bothered to put out your hand and pluck the fruit of insight crossed with foresight.”

I waved the tribute aside by asking what the red transparency might signify.

“Well,” he said, “it put an idea into your head by what we may call a negative proof. Now, go one better and tell me something about it, itself, from its shape.”

“Well, it’s sickle-shaped, rather like a crescent moon. No,” I paused, “no, you know I never can do anything if I strain. I have to wait for these flashes.”

“All right,” he said, “we will humor your delicate genius. But I will just say that it is a beautiful link. The color and the shape—yes, the moment I saw it lying there like a petal cast aside, my mind suddenly took wings like yours.” He stopped and then remarked, “Well, the time has come for straight narrative. We have all the pieces of the board, yourself being actually the queen. It only remains to show you how the game was played. First, a tribute to Mr. Hess not as a man but as a murderer—an artist, without any doubt. Here are the steps by which he moved to his first check and how after the first queen had been taken—I refer to his aunt and her death—he was himself checkmated.

“You have noted that the garden has no red flowers and I have also suggested that the breeding box by the bridge interested me. About the water from the pond I have been frank and will shortly be franker. So we come to our second visit. It was then that our antagonist played boldly. How often have I had occasion to remind you that murderers love living over again the deaths they dealt, repeating a kill. That was Mr. Hess’s wish. Of course, it wasn’t pure love of art—he certainly knew something about me.” Mr. Mycroft sighed, “I know you don’t believe it, but I don’t think you can imagine how often and how strongly a detective wishes to be unknown. To recognize you must remain unrecognized.” He smiled again.