John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. “He was an

uncommon drunk sort o’ man,” he said. “He’d ha’ found hisself in the station if

we hadn’t been so took up.”

 

“His face—his dress—didn’t you notice them?” Holmes broke in impatiently.

 

“I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up—me and

Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled

round——”

 

“That will do,” cried Holmes. “What became of him?”

 

“We’d enough to do without lookin’ after him,” the policeman said, in an

aggrieved voice. “I’ll wager he found his way home all right.”

 

“How was he dressed?”

 

“A brown overcoat.”

 

“Had he a whip in his hand?”

 

“A whip—no.”

 

“He must have left it behind,” muttered my companion. “You didn’t happen to see

or hear a cab after that?”