smiling. "The cabman may as well
help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins."

I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about
to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it.
There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and
began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the
room.

"Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said, kneeling over
his task, and never turning his head.

The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put
down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the
jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again.

"Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce you to Mr.
Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson."

The whole thing occurred in a moment--so quickly that I had no time
to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes'
triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman's
dazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had
appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might
have been a group of statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury,
the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, and hurled
himself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but
before he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon
him like so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then
commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that
the four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have the
convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands
were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of
blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until
Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and
half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of
no avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his
feet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and
panting.

"We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take him to
Scotland Yard. And now, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasant smile,
"we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to
put any questions that you like to me now, and there is no