Sherlock Holmes and the Ghosts of Bly by Donald Thomas Page B

eyes closed. I am offering you a chance to prove your innocence, but you must do this much for me. Write it as you would normally write your signature and do not worry what it will look like.”
    The boy nodded. Holmes produced a fountain-pen and a sheet of paper from his pocket, handing them to him.
    â€œYou had better put your glasses on,” he said casually. “You will certainly need them for the copying.”
    The boy looked as if he was about to ask Holmes how he knew about the glasses, but my friend anticipated him.
    â€œThere is a slight mark either side of your nose, evident to a student of physiognomy. That is unusual in one of your age. It is plain that you spend a commendable amount of time in reading and study. You do not wear glasses otherwise, but I believe you should. There is a sluggishness of movement on one side which suggests that you suffer from what is called a lazy eye.”
    Riley was visibly disconcerted by this impromptu oculist’s diagnosis.
    â€œHave no fear,” said Holmes cheerily. “It is my business to notice such things. I believe, however, it may be of importance in your case.”
    The lad’s inability to copy a signature without his glasses might be of importance to our inquiry, but for the life of me I could not see how.
    Riley laid the paper on the table and closed his eyes. He took the pen and wrote a little uncertainly but quite fluently. It was not a bad effort, though the inconsistencies were clear. Let me just say that his name written with his eyes closed looked to me something like “Put riccc Rileg.”
    â€œExcellent,” said Holmes encouragingly. “Now, imitate that, if you please, as closely as you can. Do not correct it to your normal signature. Imitate it as if it was another person’s signature on a postal order.”
    The boy began. He drew quite accurately the down stroke of the “P” and the loop. Lifting the pen he then began the “u.” He paused and lifted it again where it dropped down to join the “t.” At the end of his first name, he paused to check his progress, though without lifting the pen. The copy of his surname appeared in a more rounded script than the original and only the last three letters were joined.
    Holmes unfolded his magnifying glass and there was silence for a long two minutes, an eternity as it must have seemed to the poor boy, before my friend looked up.
    â€œCapital!” he said enthusiastically, “If it will bring you any consolation, Patrick Riley, you would make a very poor forger.”
    The relief on the poor young fellow’s face was almost inexpressible.
    â€œUnfortunately,” Holmes added, “whoever signed the postal order—which I have seen, of course—was probably also a poor copyist. But we have made a good beginning. Very well. Whoever endorsed that order produced a so-called feathering effect of the pen, as most of us do when we write something familiar like our names. That is to say, the pen is moving almost before it touches the paper. I observe that you started with the nib already on the paper, as a copyist might.”
    He held up the page at a slant to the light from the window.
    â€œTwice at least in the copy you have lifted the nib clear of the paper, though you did not do so in the original. Through my glass, though not with the naked eye, it is also possible to see three places at which you have rested the nib on your work while checking your progress. This lack of flow appears only in the crudest freehand forgeries. The signature on the counterfoil of the postal order was skilled enough to avoid anything of that kind. It was not crude copying. This is copied. That was traced—or possibly written on an indentation.”
    â€œBut can you prove it, Mr Holmes?” The earnestness in the young face was painful to behold. “Can you show them I never did it?”
    â€œMy dear young fellow, a negative is hard