the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other’s beady eyes glistened with

curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time to speak, however, before

there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman of the street Arabs, young

Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavoury person.

 

“Please, sir,” he said, touching his forelock, “I have the cab downstairs.”

 

“Good boy,” said Holmes, blandly. “Why don’t you introduce this pattern at

Scotland Yard?” he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer.

“See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an instant.”

 

“The old pattern is good enough,” remarked Lestrade, “if we can only find the

man to put them on.”

 

“Very good, very good,” said Holmes, smiling. “The cabman may as well help me

with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins.”

 

I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out

on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it.

 

There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began to

strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room.

 

“Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman,” he said, kneeling over his task,

and never turning his head.