rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however, on

which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle’s concert to hear

Norman Neruda this afternoon.”

 

This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way through

a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and

dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. “That’s Audley Court in

there,” he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick.

“You’ll find me here when you come back.”

 

Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led us into a

quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our way

among groups of dirty children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we

came to Number 46, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on

which the name Rance was engraved. On enquiry we found that the constable was in

bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.

 

He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in his

slumbers. “I made my report at the office,” he said.

 

Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it pensively. “We

thought that we should like to hear it all from your own lips,” he said.

 

“I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can,” the constable answered with

his eyes upon the little golden disk.