Then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke English well. This other, however, prints “match” when it should have been “matches”. I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural. The laconic style may be to conceal the absence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there are good reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers.’

‘But for what possible end?’

‘Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line of investigation.’ He took down the great book in which, day by day, he filed the agony columns of the various London journals. ‘Dear me!’ said he, turning over the pages, ‘what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! This person is alone, and cannot be approached by letter without a breach of that absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any message to reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement through a newspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately we need concern ourselves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. “Lady with a black boa at Prince’s Skating Club”—that we may pass. “Surely Jimmy will not break his mother’s heart”—that appears to be irrelevant. “If the lady who fainted in the Brixton bus”—she does not interest me. “Every day my heart longs—” Bleat, Watson—unmitigated bleat! Ah! this is a little more possible. Listen to this: “Be patient. Will find some sure means of communication. Meanwhile, this column.—G.” That is two days after Mrs Warren’s lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it not? The mysterious one could understand English, even if he could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the trace again. Yes, here we are—three days later. “Am making successful arrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will pass.—G.” Nothing for a week after that. Then comes something much more definite: “The path is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed—one A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon.—G.” That was in yesterday’s paper, and there is nothing in to-day’s. It’s all very appropriate to Mrs Warren’s lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I don’t doubt that the affair will grow more intelligible.’

So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire, and a smile of complete satisfaction upon his face.

‘How’s this, Watson?’ he cried, picking up the paper from the table. ‘ “High red house with white stone facings. Third floor. Second window left. After dusk.—G.” That is definite enough. I think after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of Mrs Warren’s neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs Warren! what news do you bring us this morning?’

Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosive energy which told of some new and momentous development.

‘It’s a police matter, Mr Holmes!’ she cried. ‘I’ll have no more of it! He shall pack out of that with his baggage. I would have gone straight up and told him so, only I thought it was but fair to you to take your opinion first. But I’m at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my old man about—’

‘Knocking Mr Warren about?’

‘Using him roughly, anyway.’

‘But who used him roughly?’

‘Ah! that’s what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr Warren is a time-keeper at Morton and Waylight’s, in Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had not got ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the kerb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw what became of