“Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.”


“Not social, then?”


“No, distinctly professional.”


“And from a noble client?”


“One of the highest in England.”


“My dear fellow, I congratulate you.”


“I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my client

is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is just

possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation.

You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not?”


“It looks like it,” said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in

the corner. “I have had nothing else to do.”


“It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read

nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always

instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely you must have

read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?”


“Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.”


“That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St. Simon.

I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me

have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he says:


“‘MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—Lord Backwater tells me

that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have

determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the

very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr.

Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me

that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it

might be of some assistance. I will call at four o’clock in the

afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that

you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. Yours

faithfully,


“‘ROBERT ST. SIMON.’


“It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the