roadway without any of those _outré_ and sensational accompaniments which have

rendered it remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case more

difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so.”

 

Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable impatience,

could contain himself no longer. “Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “we

are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and that you have your

own methods of working. We want something more than mere theory and preaching

now, though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made my case out, and it

seems I was wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second

affair. Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was

wrong too.

 

You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know more than we

do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight

how much you do know of the business. Can you name the man who did it?”

 

“I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir,” remarked Lestrade. “We have

both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked more than once since I

have been in the room that you had all the evidence which you require. Surely

you will not withhold it any longer.”

 

“Any delay in arresting the assassin,” I observed, “might give him time to

perpetrate some fresh atrocity.”