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determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my

story to the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I

went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was

kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your

hands and shall do exactly what you advise."

We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to

this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down

from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in

which he placed his cuttings.

"Here is an advertisement which will interest you," said he.

"It appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:

"Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged

twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten

o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was

dressed in --

etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel

needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy."

"Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what

the girl said."

"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and

desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing

should stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out

pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,

every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall

go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for

Eyford."

Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train

together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.

There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector

Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.

Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon

the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with

Eyford for its centre.

"There you are," said he. "That circle is drawn at a radius of

ten miles from the village. The place we want must be some-

where near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."

"It was an hour's good drive."

"And you think that they brought you back all that way when

you were unconscious?"

"They must have done so.l have a confused memory, too, of

having been lifted and conveyed somewhere."

"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should

have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the

garden. Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's

entreaties."

"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face

in my life."

"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well,

I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point

upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found."

"I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.

"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your

opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it

is south, for the country is more deserted there."

"And I say east," said my patient.

"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There are

several quiet little villages up there."

"And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills

there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go

up any."

"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty

diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us.

Who do you give your casting vote to?"

"You are all wrong."

"But we can't all be."

"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger in

the centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."

"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.

"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that

the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be

that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"

"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet

thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature

of this gang."

"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large

scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which

has taken the place of silver."

"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at

work," said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-

crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading,

but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a

way that showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks

to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough."

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not

destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into

Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed

up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and

hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off

again on its way.

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.

"When did it break out?"

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,

and the whole place is in a blaze."

"Whose house is it?"

"Dr. Becher's."

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German,

very thin, with a long, sharp nose?"

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is

an Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a

bener-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,

a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if

a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were

all hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low

hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in

front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in

the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep

the flames under.

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is

the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That

second window is the one that I jumped from."

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge

upon them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp

which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden

walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after

you to observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this

crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much fear that

they are a good hundred miles off by now."

And Holmes's fears came to be realized, for from that day to

this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman,

the sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morn-

ing a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some

very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but

there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes's

ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their

whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrange-

ments which they had found within, and still more so by discov-

ering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the

second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last

successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof

had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute

ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a

trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate

acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were

discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be

found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky

boxes which have been already referred to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the

garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have

remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which

told us a very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by

two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the

other unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable

that the silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous

than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the uncon-

scious man out of the way of danger.

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to

return once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for

me! I have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and

what have I gained?"

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be

of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain

the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of

your existence."

The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have

long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in

which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have

eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips

away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe,

however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the

general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a consid-

erable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of

him would be complete without some little sketch of this remark-

able episode.

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days

when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that

he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the

table waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the

weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal

winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of

my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull

persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon

another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers

until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all

aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram

upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my

friend's noble correspondent could be.

"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he en-

tered. "Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a

fish-monger and a tide-waiter."

"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,"

he answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more

interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social sum-

monses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie."

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after

all."

"Not social, then?"

"No, distinctly professional."

"And from a noble client?"

"One of the highest in England."

"My dear fellow. I congratulate you."

"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of

my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of

his case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be

wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the

papers diligently of late, have you not?"

"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in

the corner. "I have had nothing else to do."

"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I

read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column.

The latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent

events so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and

his wedding?"

"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from

Lord St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn

over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the

matter. This is what he says:

MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:

"Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance

upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined,

therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference

to the very painful event which has occurred in connection

with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting

already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no

objection to your cooperation, and that he even thinks that it

might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in

the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement

at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter

is of paramount importance.

"Yours faithfully,

"ST. SIMON.

"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill

pen, and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of

ink upon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked

Holmes as he folded up the epistle.

"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an

hour."

"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon

the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in

their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client

is." He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of

reference beside the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting

down and flattening it out upon his knee. "Lord Robert

Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of