. Setting
aside the whole grim story of Sir Charles's death, we had a line
of inexplicable incidents all within the limits of two days,
which included the receipt of the printed letter, the
black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot,
the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new
brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to
Baker Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that
his mind, like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some
scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected
episodes could be fitted. All afternoon and late into the evening
he sat lost in tobacco and thought.

Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:--

"Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall.--BASKERVILLE."
The second:--

"Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report
unable to trace cut sheet of Times.--CARTWRIGHT."

"There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more
stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We
must cast round for another scent."

"We have still the cabman who drove the spy."

"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the
Official Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an
answer to my question."

The ring at the bell proved to be something even more
satisfactory than an answer, however, for the door opened and a
rough-looking fellow entered who was evidently the man himself.

"I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address
had been inquiring for 2704," said he. "I've driven my cab this
seven years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight
from the Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me."

"I have nothing in the world against you, my good man," said
Holmes. "On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you
will give me a clear answer to my questions."

"Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman, with
a grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?"

"First of all your name and address, in case I want you again."

"John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of
Shipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station."

Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.

"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched
this house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed
the two gentlemen down Regent Street."

The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, t