ences. Yet there were two thoughts which
sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless,
shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to
obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. If
Holmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was it
fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take such
advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might she not
look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk
that such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure
intervened like an impassable barrier between us.

It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The
servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so
interested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that
she had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself,
a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly
her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was the voice in
which she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an
honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged
me to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the
importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any
progress which we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole a
glance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step, the
two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall light
shining through stained glass, the barometer, and the bright
stair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a
tranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had
absorbed us.

And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it
grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I
rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original
problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain
Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--we
had had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, to
a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious
plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's
death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the
murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to