“Why,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “this is terrible!”

 

“It does seem to be a little out of the common,” he remarked, calmly. “Would you

mind reading it to me aloud?”

 

This is the letter which I read to him—

 

“MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—

 

“There has been a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the

Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning,

and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. He found

the door open, and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the

body of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the

name of ‘Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.’ There had been no robbery,

nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of

blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to

how he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. If you

can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there. I

have left everything _in statu quo_ until I hear from you. If you are unable to

come I shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great kindness if

you would favour me with your opinion.

 

Yours faithfully,