"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until

lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,

whom I have known for many years, has done me the honor to ask

my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the

second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My

stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to

be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs

were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom

wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the

chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in

which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last

night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I

suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which

had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the

lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to

go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was

daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which

is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on

this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your

advice."

"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told me

all?"

"Yes, all."

"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather."

"Why, what do you mean?"

For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which

fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little

livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed

upon the white wrist.

"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.

The lady colored deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "He

is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own

strength."

There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin

upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.

"This is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are a

thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide

upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If

we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for

us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your

stepfather?"

"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some

most important business. It is probable that he will be away all

day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a

housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily

get her out of the way."

"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?"

"By no means."

"Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?"

"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am

in town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to

be there in time for your coming."

"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some

small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and

breakfast?"

"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have

confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you

again this afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil over her

face and glided from the room.

"And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock Holmes,

leaning back in his chair.

"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."

"Dark enough and sinister enough."

"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls

are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable,

then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her

mysterious end."

"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the

very peculiar words of the dying woman?"

"I cannot think."

"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of

a band of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor,

the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has

an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying

allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner

heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of

those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its

place, I think that there is good ground to think that the

mystery may be cleared along those lines."

"But what, then, did the gypsies do?"

"I cannot imagine."

"I see many objections to any such theory."

"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going

to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are

fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of

the devil!"

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that

our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had

framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar

mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a

black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters,

with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his

hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his

breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face,

seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and

marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other

of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin,

fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old

bird of prey.

"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.

"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my

companion quietly.

"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."

"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat."

"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I

have traced her. What has she been saying to you?"

"It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.

"What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man

furiously.

"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued my

companion imperturbably.

"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a step

forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel!

I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler."

My friend smiled.

"Holmes, the busybody!"

His smile broadened.

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"

Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most

entertaining," said he. "When you go out close the door, for

there is a decided draught."

"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with

my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her!

I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped

swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with

his huge brown hands.

"See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and

hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the

room.

"He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing. "I am

not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him

that my grip was not much more feeble than his own." As he spoke

he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort,

straightened it out again.

"Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official

detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation,

however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer

from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now,

Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk

down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may

help us in this matter."