e had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, and
the card of Mr. Cyril Overton, of Trinity College, Cambridge, announced
the arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone and
muscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders and looked
from one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard with
anxiety.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

My companion bowed.

"I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw Inspector Stanley
Hopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so far as he
could see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police."

"Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter."

"It's awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I wonder my hair isn't grey.
Godfrey Staunton--you've heard of him, of course? He's simply the hinge
that the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare two from the pack
and have Godfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether it's passing, or
tackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touch him; and then, he's got
the head and can hold us all together. What am I to do? That's what I
ask you, Mr. Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained
as a half, and he always edges right in on to the scrum instead of
keeping out on the touch-line. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but,
then, he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Morton
or Johnson, the Oxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is
fast enough, but he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a
three-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't worth a place for
pace alone. No, Mr. Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to find
Godfrey Staunton."

My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, which
was poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every point
being driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker's
knee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and took
down letter "S" of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain into
that mine of varied information.

"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger," said he, "and
there was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Staunton is
a new name to me."

It was our visitor's turn to look surprised.

"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he. "I suppose, then,
if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton you don't know Cyril Overton
either?"

Holmes shook his head good-humouredly.

"Grea