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Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.

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"I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this."

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"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."

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"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos."

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"But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to what these perils are?"

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"There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.


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