“We are on the outskirts of Lee,” said my companion. “We have

touched on three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex,

passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light among the

trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears

have already, I have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse’s

feet.”


“But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?” I

asked.


“Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs. St.

Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured

that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. I hate to

meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there,

whoa!”


We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds.

A stable-boy had run out to the horse’s head, and springing down, I

followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house. As

we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the

opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy

pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against

the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness,

her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted

lips, a standing question.


“Well?” she cried, “well?” And then, seeing that there

were two of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that

my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.


“No good news?”


“None.”


“No bad?”


“No.”


“Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had a

long day.”


“This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me in

several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring

him out and associate him with this investigation.”