house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge, and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing’s belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.’

‘So much for the Daily Chronicle,’ said Holmes, as I finished reading. ‘Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says: “I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast postoffice, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco, and does not help us in any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare, I should be very happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day.” What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat, and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?’

‘I was longing for something to do.’

‘You shall have it, then. Ring for our boots, and tell them to order a cab. I’ll be back in a moment, when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case.’

A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.

It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. Half-way down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.

‘They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things,’ said she, as Lestrade entered. ‘I wish that you would take them away altogether.’

‘So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr Holmes, should have seen them in your presence.’

‘Why in my presence, sir?’

‘In case he wished to ask any questions.’

‘What is the use of asking me questions, when I tell you that I know nothing whatever about it?’

‘Quite so, madam,’ said Holmes, in his soothing way. ‘I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business.’

‘Indeed, I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won’t have those things in here, Mr Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse.’