away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her

towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the

room. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of

a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head.

 

When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick

in his hand. “I don’t think that fine fellow will trouble us again,” he said. “I

will just go after him and see what he does with himself.” With those words he

took his hat and started off down the street. The next morning we heard of Mr.

Drebber’s mysterious death.’

 

“This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier’s lips with many gasps and pauses. At

times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words.

 

I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no

possibility of a mistake.”

 

“It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. “What happened next?”

 

“When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the detective continued, “I saw that the whole

case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found

effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son returned.

 

“‘I do not know,’ she answered.