suburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his

pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he is acting for the

best.


“You have a grand gift of silence, Watson,” said he. “It

makes you quite invaluable as a companion. ’Pon my word, it is a great

thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not

over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little woman

to-night when she meets me at the door.”


“You forget that I know nothing about it.”


“I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get

to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get nothing to go

upon. There’s plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can’t get the end

of it into my hand. Now, I’ll state the case clearly and concisely to

you, Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me.”


“Proceed, then.”


“Some years ago—to be definite, in May, 1884—there came to

Lee a gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of

money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived

generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the neighbourhood, and

in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has two

children. He had no occupation, but was interested in several companies and

went into town as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon

Street every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of

temperate habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is

popular with all who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present

moment, as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to £ 88 10s.,

while he has £ 220 standing to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank.

There is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighing

upon his mind.


“Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than