Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I

touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered

us as bold as brass, ‘I suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the

death of that scoundrel Drebber,’ he said. We had said nothing to him about it,

so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.”

 

“Very,” said Holmes.

 

“He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as having with

him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.”

 

“What is your theory, then?”

 

“Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton Road. When

there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of which Drebber

received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killed

him without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, so

Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. As to the

candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all

be so many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent.”

 

“Well done!” said Holmes in an encouraging voice. “Really, Gregson, you are

getting along. We shall make something of you yet.”

 

“I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,” the detective answered