he door of a great dark house in the centre of
Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall
woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.

"Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through the
darkness.

"I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes.

"There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close the
door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot.

"Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call
himself," said Holmes firmly.

She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. "Well, come in!" said
she. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." She
closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the
right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters
will be with you in an instant," she said.

Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around
the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before
the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly
into the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a
general air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel,
vicious mouth.

"There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous,
make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdirected.
Possibly if you tried farther down the street--"

"That will do; we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly.
"You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of
Baden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name is
Sherlock Holmes."

Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his
formidable pursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr.
Holmes," said he coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't
rattle him. What is your business in my house?"

"I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whom
you brought away with you from Baden."

"I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," Peters
answered coolly. "I've a bill against her for a nearly a hundred
pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants
that the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs.
Peters and me at Baden--it is a fact that I was using another name at
the time--and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her
bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and