“Well, have you solved it?” I asked as I entered.


“Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.”


“No, no, the mystery!” I cried.


“Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There was

never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the

details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I fear,

that can touch the scoundrel.”


“Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss

Sutherland?”


The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips

to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.


“This is the girl’s stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,” said

Holmes. “He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come

in!”


The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of

age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a

pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning

glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a

slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.


“Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “I think

that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with

me for six o’clock?”


“Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own

master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this

little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in

public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very

excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily

controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind

you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not

pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a