this as has brought me, good gentlemen,” she said, dropping another curtsey; “a

gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was

married only this time twelvemonth, which her husband is steward aboard a Union

boat, and what he’d say if he come ‘ome and found her without her ring is more

than I can think, he being short enough at the best o’ times, but more

especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last

night along with——”

 

“Is that her ring?” I asked.

 

“The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman; “Sally will be a glad woman this

night. That’s the ring.”

 

“And what may your address be?” I inquired, taking up a pencil.

 

“13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.”

 

“The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,” said

Sherlock Holmes sharply.

 

The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed

eyes. “The gentleman asked me for _my_ address,” she said. “Sally lives in

lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham.”

 

“And your name is——?”