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leaving,' said I.

" 'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither

sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or

you lose your billet.'

" 'And the work?'

" 'Is to copy out the Encyclopedia Britannica. There is the

first volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink.

pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair.

Will you be ready to-morrow?'

" 'Certainly,' I answered.

" 'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratu-

late you once more on the important position which you have

been fortunate enough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room

and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say

or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.

"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was

in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the

whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its

object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past

belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would

pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the

Encyclopedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could

to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the

whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a

look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a

quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for

Pope's Court.

"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as

possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan

Ross was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off

upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from

time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he

bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I

had written, and locked the door of the office after me.

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday

the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns

for my week's work. It was the same next week, and the same

the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every

afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to

coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did

not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the

room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and

the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I

would not risk the loss of it.

"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about

Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica,

and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before

very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty

nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the

whole business came to an end."

"To an end?"

"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work

as usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a

little square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the

panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."

He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a

sheet of note-paper. It read in this fashion:

THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

IS

DISSOLVED.

October 9, 1890.

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and

the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so

completely overtopped every other consideration that we both

burst out into a roar of laughter.

"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our

client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can

do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."

"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair

from which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case

for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you

will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.

Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the

door?"

"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I

called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know

anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an

accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he

could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He

said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him

who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new

to him.

" 'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'

" 'What, the red-headed man?'

" 'Yes.'

" 'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a

solicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenience

until his new premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'

" 'Where could I find him?'

" 'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17

King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'

"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it

was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had

ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice

of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could

only say that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not

quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a

place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good

enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I

came right away to you."

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an

exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.

From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graver

issues hang from it than might at first sight appear."

"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost

four pound a week."

"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes,

"I do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordi-

nary league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by

some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you

have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A.

You have lost nothing by them."

"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they

are, and what their object was in playing this prank -- if it was a

prank -- upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it

cost them two and thirty pounds."

"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And,

first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours

who first called your attention to the advertisement -- how long

had he been with you?"

"About a month then."

"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advertisement."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had a dozen."

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."

"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"

"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his

face, though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid

upon his forehead."

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I

thought as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his

ears are pierced for earrings?"

"Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when

he was a lad."

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is

still with you?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."

"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"

"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do

of a morning."

"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an

opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is

Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a

conclusion."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us,

"what do you make of it all?"

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most

mysterious business."

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the

less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, feature-

less crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace

face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over

this matter."

"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem,

and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He

curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to

his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his

black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I

had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and

indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his

chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and

put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he

remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients

spare you for a few hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very

absorbing."

"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City

first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that

there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which

is rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is introspec-

tive, and I want to introspect. Come along!"

We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a

short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the

singular story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a

poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy

two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclo-

sure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded

laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and

uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with

"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced

the place where our red-headed client carried on his business.

Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side

and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between

puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then

down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses.

Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped

vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times,

he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a

bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to

step in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how

you would go from here to the Strand."

"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,

closing the door.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away.

"He is, in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and

for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I

have known something of him before."

"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a

good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure

that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see

him."

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"

"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk.

We are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of

Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie

behind it."

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the

corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a

contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one

of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the

north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense

stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and out-

ward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of

pedestrians. It was difficult to realize as we looked at the line of

fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted

on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we

had just quitted.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glanc-

ing along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of

the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowl-

edge of London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little

newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban

Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building

depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,

Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A

sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where

all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no

red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not

only a very capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinary

merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most

perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to