ion except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point
about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it
conclusive."

"Of what?"

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon
the case?"

"I cannot say that I do, unless it were that he wished to be able to deny
his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted."

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters which
should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to
the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he could
meet us here at six o'clock to-morrow evening. It is just as well that we
should do business with the male relatives. And now, doctor, we can do
nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little
problem upon the shelf for the interim."

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of
reasoning, and extraordinary energy in action, that I felt that he must
have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanor with which he
treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once
only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and the
Irene Adler photograph, but when I looked back to the weird business of
the "Sign of the Four," and the extraordinary circumstances connected with
the "Study in Scarlet," I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed
which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction
that when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held in
his hands all the clews which would lead up to the identity of the
disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the
time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer.
It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free, and was
able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I
might be too late to assist at the _denouement_ of the little mystery. I
found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin
form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of
bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent, cleanly smell of hydrochloric
acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so
dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.