“There’s been a woman here,” he cried. “It’s a woman’s wedding-ring.”

 

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all gathered round

him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet of plain gold had

once adorned the finger of a bride.

 

“This complicates matters,” said Gregson. “Heaven knows, they were complicated

enough before.”

 

“You’re sure it doesn’t simplify them?” observed Holmes. “There’s nothing to be

learned by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?”

 

“We have it all here,” said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects upon one of

the bottom steps of the stairs. “A gold watch, No. 97163, by Barraud, of London.

Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold

pin—bull-dog’s head, with rubies as eyes. Russian leather card-case, with cards

of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the

linen. No purse, but loose money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket

edition of Boccaccio’s _Decameron_, with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the

fly-leaf. Two letters—one addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph

Stangerson.”

 

“At what address?”

 

“American Exchange, Strand—to be left till called for. They are both from the