“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his

lens in his pocket. “Hullo! Here is something interesting!”


The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of

the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a

loop of whipcord.


“What do you make of that, Watson?”


“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why it should be

tied.”


“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world,

and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think

that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall

walk out upon the lawn.”


I had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it was

when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several

times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in

upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.


“It is very essential, Miss Stoner,” said he, “that you

should absolutely follow my advice in every respect.”


“I shall most certainly do so.”


“The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon

your compliance.”


“I assure you that I am in your hands.”


“In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your

room.”


Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.


“Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village

inn over there?”


“Yes, that is the Crown.”


“Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?”


“Certainly.”


“You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when

your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you

must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a

signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to