aited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas
upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him and
escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be described
by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and
made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place
which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That
is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half
an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in
a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer's
escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and
that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas
in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the
bridge. That's my reading of the first half."

The two detectives shook their heads.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another," said the London inspector.

"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she
have with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"

"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that
it may contribute something to the common cause."

"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All
my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic
question--why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so
unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?"

It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary
excursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that
the little country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was
partly awakened by his entrance.

"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"

He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,
lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would
you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with
softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"

"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.

"Ah, that's