sin of cold water,
and tried to think it out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham?
Why had he got there before me? And why had he written a letter from
himself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could make
no sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me
might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to
town by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you both
back with me to Birmingham."

There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded his
surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me,
leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like
a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.

"Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points in it which
please me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with
Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-Midland
Hardware Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience for
both of us."

"But how can we do it?" I asked.

"Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. "You are two friends
of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural than
that I should bring you both round to the managing director?"

"Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have a look at
the gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his little game.
What qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services
so valuable? or is it possible that--" He began biting his nails and
staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from
him until we were in New Street.

At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down
Corporation Street to the company's offices.

"It is no use our being at all before our time," said our client. "He
only comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to
the very hour he names."

"That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.

"By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walking ahead of
us there."

He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along
the other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across at a boy
who was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper, and running
over among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him. Then, clutching
it in his hand, he vanished through a door-way.

"There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft