ild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, disheveled, and
palpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us,
and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was
needed for this unceremonious entry.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am nearly
mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."

He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his
visit and its manner, but I could see, by my companion's unresponsive
face, that it meant no more to him than to me.

"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across.
"I am sure that, with your symptoms, my friend Dr. Watson here would
prescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last few
days. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if you
would sit down in that chair, and tell us very slowly and quietly who
you are, and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name, as if
I should recognize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts
that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I
know nothing whatever about you."

Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me
to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the
sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had
prompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement.

"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes; and, in addition, I am the most
unfortunate man at this moment in London. For heaven's sake, don't
abandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finished
my story, make them give me time, so that I may tell you the whole
truth. I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working for me
outside."

"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati--most interesting.
On what charge do you expect to be arrested?"

"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."

My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I am
afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.

"Dear me," said he, "it was only this moment at breakfast that I was
saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappeared
out of our papers."

Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DAILY
TELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.

"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what the
errand is on which I