�You know my methods Watson, you should try to apply them more carefully. Now regarding the ring, I got most of my deductions from the curious engravings. The first thing I did, was to ascertain what kind of ring we had in our hands. What first got my attention was the date. The only rings that have dates are graduation rings and in less degree, sports, so I decided myself for the former. But what university had given this award? The three letters told me, and further backed up my hypothesis; they could only stand for North Brixton University (London), a college that, although not inferior, lacks prestige, but it is moderately inexpensive. The other pair of letters are surely the student�s initials. After finishing with the etchings my attention then wandered to the depression. It probably housed some kind of stone that decorated the ring. It had been removed willingly for no other reason than to sell it, the chipped sides tell me so. Why would somebody want to take away the stone and mar the artifact? Only one in great need of funds would do that. But it certainly took some time for our man to resolve to deface it, because the colouring of the depression is only a shade lighter that the outside. From this, I deduced that he used it for sometime, before adversity came. Returning to the date I concluded that our man would have around five and fifty years of age if he received it in 1859. Anything that I left out?�
�Yes, how do you know he suffers arthritis and that he hates it?�
�Ah, yes, that was quite simple too. If you had observed, you would have noticed that is as worn in the inside as in the outside. That tells us that he takes it out of his finger quite often and only a man suffering arthritis would not bear to wear it all day. Such a hurtful item would be obviously repulsive to him. Furthermore, see how he has deliberately thrashed it: that is why he left lying on our floor.�
�How come he did not left it on the street or somewhere else?.� I objected.
�The hour he was alone waiting for us probably gave him ample time to reflect on his current position in life (which should be favorable, if he dares to part from the item) and decided that it was now useless to him, and just left it here.�
�Great, Holmes! You have really taken me aback this time.�
�I have told you before that it is difficult for a man to have any object in daily use without the impress of his individuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it. But, do I hear footsteps at our stairs? Come Watson, sit beside me, I think our visitor has returned. Come in! Come in!�
With this a man of short stature in a black tweed suit, with a hat as gray as his head and a walking stick a bit too big for him, came in. �Mr. Sherlock Holmes?� he asked.
�It is me,� my friend answered �take a seat please. What brings you here? Probably not your ring.� He finished testily as he showed it to him.
He gave us an offended look, obviously not pleased to see the artifact again. But his irritation immediately vanished when he remembered his private concern. �Please mister take that out of my sight. Thank you. Well, mister, my name is Paul Richards, and I have been sent to ask you for your help in a delicate matter.�
�By who, if may I ask� I intervened.
�Well, I have been sent by Lady Beatrice Hillsborough, the daughter of Sir Rodger Hillsborough.�
�Sir Hillsborough, the famous biologist?� asked Holmes, �I�ve met him once or twice. I have heard he has retired. What is the lady�s issue?�
��A most terrible one� she told me. But let me first present you the facts. I have been their butler for six months now and I have gained their confidence in this brief period of time. Just a year ago, Lady Beatrice met Sir Arthur Nephews, the son of the late Sir Albert Nephews. They fell in love and despite of Sir Rodger�s dislike towards Sir Arthur, they settled their marriage for next June. But since a month ago something has changed in Sir Arthur�s attitude. His once pleasant character has turned unbearable towards almost everybody. Now he refuses to go out of his dwelling save to pay weekly visits to Lady Beatrice, and when he does he goes armed. Lady Beatrice has tried to find what is wrong with him but he refuses to tell even her.�
�Now, I suppose she wants me to investigate the matter?� asked Holmes, showing his aversion for such cases.
�Well, mister, yes, if you would kindly assist us.�
After a brief moment of indecision he accepted. �Okay, Watson and I will be honoured to aid Lady Beatrice and perhaps I can have a word or two with Sir Rodger about the new variety of Triachonea flowers.�
At that moment, our door flung open and before us stood the robust figure of Inspector Samuelson of Scotland Yard. He was in a state of supreme agitation. Behind him was a black-moustached constable that apparently was not needed anywhere else, and was sent to accompany the inspector.
�Mr. Holmes,� said Samuelson, �we need your help! Sir Arthur Nephews of Kingston has just been poisoned!�