round hat!” I cried in despair.

“–Straight to a round stone let into the wall. And on this round stone was carved a camel’s head, the precise image of the camel’s head in this photograph of the background of the fourth hour.”

St. Hilary looked at me in triumph, and, picking up the photograph, thrust it into my hand.

“The precise image of the camel’s head in this photograph,” I repeated, trying to grasp the significance of that statement. “But why should you think that the clock-maker copied the head of that particular camel in the background of the fourth hour? My dear St. Hilary, your introduction 173was too elaborate for your news to be striking. I expected something more startling.”

173

“But, idiot,” cried the dealer, exasperated, “look at the photograph. Do you see nothing peculiar about that camel’s head?”

I took the magnifying-glass and studied the photograph carefully.

“Nothing–unless it be the eye. Perhaps it is a defect in the workmanship. But it looks–yes, it certainly does look as if the camel was blind.”

“The camel carved on the stone let into the wall of the house is blind also.”

“This is news, if it is not the merest chance,” I cried.

“And before the house was used as a school, it was called the House of the Blind Camel.”

“The House of the Blind Camel!” I repeated excitedly. “By Jove, St. Hilary, does that mean you have stumbled on one of the twelve landmarks?”

“Patience. Look at your photograph again. What else do you see in the background of the fourth hour?”

“A well,” I answered promptly. “If you have found the well, there can be no doubt.”

“And I have found the well. Look at the 174photograph. What is the design of the beading round the curb?”

174

“A looped wreath with pomegranates between each loop.”

“The well in the school garden has a beading of the same design. But study the photograph a moment–look carefully at the second and third pomegranates from the left. Do you notice anything peculiar?”

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