proudly. “The young man volunteered a statement, in which he said that after

following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him, and took a cab in order

to get away from him. On his way home he met an old shipmate, and took a long

walk with him. On being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to

give any satisfactory reply. I think the whole case fits together uncommonly

well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong

scent. I am afraid he won’t make much of it. Why, by Jove, here’s the very man

himself!”

 

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and

who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked

his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting.

 

His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and

untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock

Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put

out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and

uncertain what to do. “This is a most extraordinary case,” he said at last—“a

most incomprehensible affair.”

 

“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, triumphantly. “I thought you

would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the Secretary, Mr.

Joseph Stangerson?”

 

“The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,” said Lestrade gravely, “was murdered at