“Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.”


“In Heaven’s name, what for?”


“In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.”


Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.


“Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?” he

asked.


“Why? What do you mean?”


“Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one

as in the other.”


Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “I suppose you know all

about it,” he snarled.


“Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”


“Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the

matter?”


“I think it very unlikely.”


“Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in

it?” He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a

wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a bride’s

wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. “There,” said

he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “There is a

little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes.”


“Oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air.

“You dragged them from the Serpentine?”


“No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They have

been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were

there the body would not be far off.”


“By the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found

in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive at

through this?”


“At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.”


“I am afraid that you will find it difficult.”


“Are you, indeed, now?” cried Lestrade with some bitterness.

“I am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your

deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes.

This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.”


“And how?”