rderer's
escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and
that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas
in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the
bridge. That's my reading of the first half."

The two detectives shook their heads.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another," said the London inspector.

"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she have
with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"

"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it
may contribute something to the common cause."

"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my
lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question--why
should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument
as a single dumb-bell?"

It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion.
We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little
country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partly
awakened by his entrance.

"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"

He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,
lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would
you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with
softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"

"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.

"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that
night.

Chapter 7--The Solution

Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald and White
Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local
police sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number of
letters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing.
Three had been placed on one side.

"Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" Holmes asked cheerfully.
"What is the latest news of the ruffian?"

MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.

"He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Sout