Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance!

 

Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature

of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is!”

 

There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haired

detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our

sitting-room.

 

“My dear fellow,” he cried, wringing Holmes’ unresponsive hand, “congratulate

me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day.”

 

A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion’s expressive face.

 

“Do you mean that you are on the right track?” he asked.

 

“The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key.”

 

“And his name is?”

 

“Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty’s navy,” cried Gregson,

pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest.

 

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile.