tanding in its own grounds. In the light of a street
lamp we read "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. The
occupants had evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a
fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to
the garden path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the
road threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was
that we crouched.

"I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We may thank
our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture to
smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one chance that we get
something to pay us for our trouble."

It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes had
led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In
an instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden
gate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an
ape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown
from over the door and disappear against the black shadow of the house.
There was a long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very
gentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. The
noise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was making
his way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside
the room. What he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw the
flash through another blind, and then through another.

"Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out,"
Lestrade whispered.

But before we could move the man had emerged again. As he came out into
the glimmering patch of light we saw that he carried something white
under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of the
deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid down
his burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap,
followed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was
doing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot.
With the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later
Lestrade and I had him by either wrist and the handcuffs had been
fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with
writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that it was
indeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured.

But it was not our prisoner to who