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\ STEDY IN SCARLET. Ey A. CONAN COYLE. PAET ONE a reprint from the reminiscences of John 11. Watson, 'I. I)., late of the army medical deportment ] I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought it Lest to change the topic. “I wonder what that fellow is looking for?” I asked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly dressed individual who was walking slowly down the other side of the str<«t, looking anxiously at the num bers. He. had a large blue envelope in his hand and was evidently the bearer of a message. ‘‘You mean the retired sergeant of marines,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Brag and bounce!” thought I to my self. ‘‘Ho knows that I cannot verify his guess. ” The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door and rail rapidly across the roadway. We beard a loud knock, a deep voice below and heavy steps ascending the stairs. “For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter. Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He little thought of this when he made that random shot. : “May I ask, my lad,” I said blandly, ‘‘what your trade may be?” “Commissionnaire,sir, ” he said gruff ly. “Uniform away for repairs. ” “And you were?” I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my compan ion. “A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light infantry, sir. No answer? Hight, sir.” Ho clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute and was gone. CHAPTER 111. I confess that I was considerably startled by this fresh proof of the prac tical nature of my companion’s theories. My r< spect for his powers of analysis in creased wendrously. There still remain ed some lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that tho whole thing was a prearranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could have in taking me in was past my com prehension. When I looked at him, he had finished reading tho note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lackluster expression which showed mental ab straction. “How in the world did you deduce that?” I asked. “Deduce what?” said he petulantly. “Why, that he was a retired sergeant of marines. ” “1 have no time for trifles,” he re plied brusquely; then, with a smile: “Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts, but perhaps it is as well. So you actually were not able to see that that man was a sergeant of marines?” “No, indeed.” “It was easier to know it than to ex plain why 1 know it. If you were asked to prove that two and two make four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fel low's hand. That smacked of the sea. Ho had a military carriage, how ever, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was a man with some amount of self impor tance and a certain air of command. You must have observed tho way in which he held his head and swung his cane, a steady, respectable, middle aged man, too, on the face of him, all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant. ” “Wonderful!” I ejaculated. ‘‘Commonplace, ’ ’ said Holmes, though I thought from his expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. “I said just now that there were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong. Look at this!” He threw me over the note which the commissionnaire had brought. “Why,” I cried as I cast my eye over it, “this is terrible!” “It does seem to be a little out of the common, ’ ’ he remarked calm ly. “ Would you mind reading it to me aloud?” This is the letter which I read to him: My Dear Mb. Sherlock Holmbs—There has been a bad business during the night at 3 Lau riston Gardens, off the Brixton road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about 2 in the morning, and as the house was an empty one suspected something amiss. He found the door open and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed and having cards in his pocket bearing the name of “Enoch J. Drebber, Cleve land, Ohio, U. S. A. ’’ There had been no rob bery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house. Indeed the whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any time before 12, you will find me there. I have left everything in statu quo until I hear from you. If you are unable to come, I shall give you fuller details and would esteem it a great kindness if you would favor me with your opinion. Yours faithfully, Tobias Gregson. “Gregson is the smartest of the Scot land Yarders,” ray friend remarked. “He and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but conventional, shockingly so. They have their knives into one another too. They are as jealous as a pair of profes sional beauties. There will be some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent ” I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. “Surely there is not a moment to be lost,” I cried. “Shall I go and order you a cab?” “I am not sure about whether I shall go. lam the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather—that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough at times.” “Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for. ” “My dear fellow, what does it mat ter to me? Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you njav be wra Gregson, Lestrade & Co. will pocke t all the credit. That comes of being an un official personage.” “But he begs you to help him. ” “Yes. He knows that lam his supe rior and acknowledges it to me, but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person. However, we may as well go and have a look. 1 shall work it out on my own hook. 1 may have a laugh at them, if I have nothing elso. Come on!” He hustled on his overcoat and bus tled about in away that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathet ic one. “Get your bat,” he said. “You wish me to come?” “Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” A rainute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brix ton road. It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun colored veil hung over the house tops, looking like the reflection of the mud colored streets beneath. My com panion was in the best of spirits and prattled away about Cremona fiddles and the difference between a Stradiva rius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for tho dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged depressed my spirits. “Y’ou don’t seem to give much thought to the matter in hand,” I said at last, interrupting Holmes’ musical disquisi tion. “No data yet, ”ho answered. “It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judg ment. ” “You v,’ill have your data soon,” I re marked, pointing with my finger. ‘ ‘This is tho Brixton road, and that is the house, if I am not very much mistaken. ” “So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were still a hundred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alighting, and wo finished our journey upon foot. No. 3 Lauriston Gardens wore an ill omened and minatory look. It was ono of four which stood back some little way from the street, two being occupied and two empty. The latter looked cut with three tiers of vacant, melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that here and there a “To let” card had developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden, sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants, separated each of these houses from the street and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yellowish in col or and consisting apparently of a mix ture of clay and gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night The garden was bounded by a three foot brick wall, with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who craned their nocks and strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse of tho proceed ings within. I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried into the house and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be x rther from his intention. With an a.r of nonchalance, which, under the circum stances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, ho proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet, clayey soil, but since the police had been coming and going over it I was unable to see how my companion could hope to learn any thing from it. Still I had had such ex traordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive faculties that I had no doubt that he could see a great deal which was hidden from me. At the door of the bouse tvo were met by a tall, white faced, flaxen haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and wrung my compan ion’s hand with effusion. “It is in deed kind of you to come,” he said. “I have had everything left untouched.” “Except that!” my friend answered, pointing to the pathway. “If a herd of buffaloes had passed along, there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, how ever, you had drawn your own conclu sions, Gregson, before you permitted this. ” “I have had so much to do inside the house,” the detective said evasive ly. “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him to look after this.” Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. “With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground there will not be much for a third party to find out,” he said. Gregson rubbed his hands in a self satisfied way. “I think we have done all that can be done,” he answered. “It’s a queer case, though, and 1 knew your taste for such things.” “You did not come here in a cab?” asked Sherlock Holmes. “No, sir. ” “Nor Lestrade?” “No, sir,.” “Then let us go and look at the room.” With which inconsequent re mark he strode on into the house, fol lowed by Gregson, whose features e<- pressed his astonishment. A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of these had ob viously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the dining room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires. It was a large, square room, looking all the larger for the absence of all fur niture. A vulgar, flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had become detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster be neath. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull gray tinge to everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment. All these details I observed afterward. At present my attention was centered upon the single grim, motionless figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant, sightless eyes staring up at the discolored ceiling. It was that of a man about 43 or 44 years of age, middle sized, broad shouldered, with crisp, curling black hair and a short, stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waist coat, with light colored trousers and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were clinched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror and, as it seemed to me, of hatred such as I have never seen upon human features. This malignant and terrible contortion, com bined with the low forehead, blunt nose and prognathous jaw, gave the dead man a singularly simious and apelike appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me in a more fear some aspect than in that dark, grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban Lon don. Lestrade, lean and ferretlike as ever, was standing by tho doorway and greet ed my companion and myself. “This case will make a stir, sir,” he remarked. “It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken.” “There is no clew?” said Gregson. “None at all,” chimed in Lestrade. Sherlock Holmes approached tho body, and kneeling down examined it intent ly. “You are sure that there is no. wound?’ ’ he asked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all around. “Positive!” cried both detectives. “Then of course this blood belongs to a second individual, presumably the murderer, if murder has been commit ted. It reminds me of tho circumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen in Utrecht in the year ’34. Do you re member tho case, Gregson?” “No, sir. ” “Read it up, you really should. There is nothing new under tho sun. It has all been done before.” As ho spoke his nimble fingers were flying here, there and everywhere, feel ing, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the same faraway expression which I have already remark ed upon. So swiftly was the examina tion made that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally he sniffed the dead man’s lips and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots. “He has net been moved at all?” he asked. “No more than was necessary for the purpose of our examination.” “You can take him to tho mortuary now, ”he said. “There is nothing more to be learned. ” Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. As they raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it and stared at it with mystified eyes. “There’s been a woman here!” he cried. “It’s a woman’s wedding ring.” He held it out as ho spoko upon the palm of his hand. We all gathered around him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circle of plain gold had once adorned tho finger of a bride. ‘‘This complicates ■'matters, ” said Gregson. “Heaven knows they were complicated enough before!” “Y’ou’re sure it doesn’t simplify them?” observed Holmes. “There’s nothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?” “We have it all here, ” said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. “A gold watch, No. 97,163, by Barraud of London; gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid; gold ring, with Masonic de vice; gold pin, bulldog’s head, with rubies as eyes; Russian leather cardcase, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen; no purse, but loose money to the extent of £7 135.; pocket edition of Boccaccio’s ‘Decameron,’ with name of Joseph Stangerson upon tke fly leaf; two letters, one addi'iessed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stan gerson. ’ ’ “At what address?” “American Exchange, Strand, to be left till called for. They are both from tho Guion Steamship company and re fer to tho sailing of their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortu nate man was about to return to New York. ” “Have you made any inquiries as to this man Stangerson?” “I did it at once, sir,” said Gregson. ; “I have had advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one cf my men has 1 gone to the American Exchange, but he has not returned yet. ” “Have you sent to Cleveland?” “We telegraphed this morning.” “How did you word your inquiries?” “We simply detailed the circum stances and said that we should be glad of any information which could he’p us. ’ j “Y'ou did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you to. be : crucial?” “I asked about Stangerson.” “Nothing else? Is there no cireum ’ stance on which this whole case ap ! pears to hinge’ Will you not telegraph again?” ‘‘l have aaid all I havo to say,” said Gregson in an offended voice. Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself and appeared to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room while we were bold ing this conversation in the hall, reap peared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self satisfied manner. “Mr. Gregson,” he said, “lhave just made a discovery of the highest impor tance and one which would have been overlooked had I not made a careful examination of the walls.” The little man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against his colleague. “Come here,” he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere of which felt cleaner since the removal of its ghastly inmate. “Now stand there.” He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall. “Look at that, ” he said triumphantly. I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In this particu lar corner of the room a large piece h id peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled in blood red letters a single word, “Rache.” “What do you think of that?” cried the detective with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. “This was over looked because it was in the darkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. The murderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear where it has trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See that candle on the mantel piece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this corner would be the bright est instead of the darkest portion of the wall. ’ ’ “And what does it mean, njw that you have found it?” asked Gregson in a deprecatory voice. “Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female iqunc Ra chel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named Ra chel has something to do with it It’s all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sher lock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best when all is said and done.” “I really beg your pardon,” said my companion, who had ruffled the little man’s temper by bursting into an explo sion of laughter. “You certainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out, and, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the other participant in last night’s mys tery. I have not had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission I shall do so now. ” As ho spoke he whipped a tape meas ure and a large, round magnifying glass from his pocket. With those imple ments he trotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping, occasion ally kneeling and once lying flat upon his face. So engrossed was ho with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded of a pure blooded, well trained foxhound as it dashes back ward and forward through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost scent. For 20 minutes or more he continued his researches, meas uring with the most exact care the dis tance between marks which were en tirely invisible to me and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered very carefully a little pile of gray dust from the floor and packed it away in an envelope. Finally he examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most minute ex actness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket. “They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains,” he remark ed, with a smile. “It’s a very bad defi nition, but it does apply to detective work. ” Gregson and Lestrade had watched the maneuvers of their amateur com panion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had be gun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes’ smallest actions were all directed to ward some definite and practical end. “What do you think of it, sir?” they both asked. “It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presume to help you, ” remarked my friend. “You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for any one to interfere.” There was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. “If you will let me know how your investigations go, ” he con tinued, “I shall be happy to give you any help I can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who found the body. Can you give me his name and address?” Lestrade glanced at his notebook. “John Rance, ”he said. “He is off duty now. You will find him at 4G Audley court, Kennington Park Gate. ” Holmes took a note of the address. “Come along, doctor,” he said. “We shall go and look him up. I’ll tell you one thing which may help you in the case, ”_he continued, turning to the two detectives. “There has been murder done, and the murderer was a man. He was more than 6 feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square toed boots and smoked a Trichinopdly cigar. He came here with his victim in ’ a four wheeled cab, which was drawn by a herse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg. In all probabil ity the murderer had a florid face, and the finger nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you.” Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile. “If this man was murdered, how’was it dene?” asked the former. “Poison, ” said Sherlock Holmes curt ly and strode off. “One ether thing, Lestrade,” he added, turning around at the door. “ ‘Rache’ is the German for ‘revenge,’ so don't lose your time look ing for Miss Rachel.” With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals open mouthed behind him. CHAPTER IV. It was 1 o’clock when we left 3 Lau riston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by Le strade. “There is nothing like first hand evi dence, ”ho remarked. “As a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up on the case, but still we may as well learn all that is to bo learned. ” “You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “Surely you are not as sure as you pre tend to be of all those particulars which you gave. ’ ’ “There’s no room for a mistake,” he answered. “The very first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Now up to last night we had no rain for a week, so that those wheels, which left such a deep impres sion, must have been there during the night. There were the marks of the horse’s hoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain began and was not there at any time during the morning— I have Gregson’s word for that—it fol lows that it must have been there dur ing the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two individuals to the house. ” “That seems simple enough,” said I; “but how about the other man’s height?” “Why, the height of a man in nine cases out of ten can be told from the length of his stride. It is a simple caL culation enough, though there is no use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow’s stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking my calculation When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. It was child’s play. ” “And his age?” I asked. “Well, if a man can stride feet without the slightest effort, he can’t be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patent leather boots had gone around, and square toes had hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. lam simply applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observa tion and deduction which I advocated in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?” “The finger nails and the Trichinop oly, ’ ’ I suggested. “The writing on the wall was dene with a man’s forefinger dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not havo been the case if the man’s nail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. It was dark in color and flaky, such an ash as is only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a study of cigar ashes—in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject. I flat ter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and Lestrade type-” “And the florid face?” I asked. “Ab, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I was right. You must not ask me that at the pres ent state of the affair.” I passed my hand over my brow. “My head is in a whirl,” I remarked. “The more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came these two men—if there were two men—into an empty house? What has become of the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another to take poison? W T here did tho blood come from? What was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the woman’s ring there? Above all, why should the second man write up the German word ‘Rache’ before decamp ing? I confess I. cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts.” My companion smiled approvingly. “You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well,” he said. “There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. AstopoorLestrade’s discovery, it was simply a blind intend ed to put the police upon a wrong track by suggesting socialism and secret so cieties. It was not done by a German. The ‘a,’ if you noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints in tho Latin character, so that wo may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator, who overdid his pars. It was s ; mply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going to tell you much more of the case, doctor. You know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has explain ed his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of working you will come to the conclusion that I am a very or dinary individual, after all.” “I shall never do that,” I answered. “You have brought detection as near an exact science as it will ever be brought in this world. ” My companion flushed up witn pleas ure at my words and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. “I’ll tell you one other thing, ” he said. ‘ ‘Patent leathers and square toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together as friendly as possible—arm in arm in all probabil ity. When they got inside, they walked up and down the room, or rather patent leathers stood still while square toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust, and I could read that, as he walked, he grew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his strides. He was talking all the while and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then tho tragedy occurred. I’ve told you all I know my self now, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We havo a good work ing basis, however, on which to start. Wo must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle’s concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon. ” This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary byways. In tho dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. “That’s Audley court in there,” he said, point ing to a narrow slit in tho line of dead colored brick. “You’ll find mo hero when you come back. ” Audley court was not an attractive lo cality. The narrow passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. Wo picked our way among groups of dirty children and through lines of discolored linen until we came to 4G, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass, on which tho name Rance was engraved. On inquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little front parlor to await his coming. He appeared presently, looking a lit tle irritable at being disturbed in his slumbers. “I made my report at tho office, ” he said. Holmes took a half sovereign from his pocket and played with it pensively, “We thought that we should like to hear it all from your own lips, ’ ’ he said. “I shall bo most happy to tell you anything I can,” the constable answer ed, with his eyes upon tho little golden disk. “Just let us hear it all in your way, as it occurred ” Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa and knitted his brows, as though de termined not to omit anything in his narrative. “I’ll tell it ye from the beginnin, ” he said. “My time is from 10 at night to Gin the mornin. At 11 there was a fight at tho White Hart; but, bar that, all was quiet enough on the beat. At 1 o’clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher, him who has the Hol land grove beat, and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta street a-talkin. Presently, maybe about 2 or a little aft er, I thought I would take a look around and see that all was right down the Brixton road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. I was a-strollin down, thinkin between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of hot gin would be, when sud denly a glint of a light caught my eye in that Now’ I knew’ that ■ hp”i Lauriston gardens w., of him that owua them, who wowTa m tho dray/lseed to, though the very last tenant .tlfat lived in one of them died o’ typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap, therefore, at seein a light in the window, and I sus pected as somethin was wrong. When I got to the door”— “You stopped and then walked back to the garden gate,” my companion in terrupted. “What did you do that for?” Rance gave a violent jump and stared at Sherlock Holmes, with the utmost amazement upon his features. “Why, that’s true, sir,” he said, “though Low you come to know it heav en only knows! Ye see,, when I got to the door, it was so still and so lonesome that I thought I’d bo none the worse for some one with me. I ain’t afeard of anythin on this side o’ the grave, but I thought that maybe it was him that died o’ tho typhoid inspectin the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o’ turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if I could seo Marcher’s lantern, but there wasn’t no sign of him nor of any one else. ” “There was no one in the street?” “Not a livin soil!, sir, nor so much as a dog. Then I pulled myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin. There was a candle flickerin on the mantelpiece, a red wax one, and by its light I saw” — “Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked around the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then’ ’ — John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. “Where was you hid to see all that?” he cried. “It seems to me that you knows a deal more than you should. ” Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. “Don’t get arresting me for the murder, ” he said. “I am one of the hounds and not the wolf. Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though. What did you do next?” Rance resumed his seat, without, how ever, losing his mystified expression. “I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and two more to the spot. ” “Was the street empty then?” “Well, it was, as far as anybody thai could be of any good goer ” [TO BE CONTINUED.] In 1877 occurred tho great riots and fires in Pittsburg, in which over $3,000,000 worth of property was destroyed. Dampness of the walls or furni ture of a dwelling is a good indica tion of rainy weather soon to follow. Umbrellas were introduced into America from England in 1772.