Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight.

 

“The last link,” he cried, exultantly. “My case is complete.”

 

The two detectives stared at him in amazement.

 

“I have now in my hands,” my companion said, confidently, “all the threads which

have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, details to be filled in, but I

am as certain of all the main facts, from the time that Drebber parted from

Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of the latter, as if

I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could

you lay your hand upon those pills?”

 

“I have them,” said Lestrade, producing a small white box; “I took them and the

purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place of safety at the

Police Station. It was the merest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound

to say that I do not attach any importance to them.”

 

“Give them here,” said Holmes. “Now, Doctor,” turning to me, “are those ordinary

pills?”

 

They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small, round, and

almost transparent against the light. “From their lightness and transparency, I

should imagine that they are soluble in water,” I remarked.