very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this

horrible affair.”


“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes, “and let me have a

clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”


“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to

your ears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder &

Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street.”


The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in the

second largest private banking concern in the City of London. What could have

happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of London to this most

pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced

himself to tell his story.


“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I

hastened here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure your

co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurried from there

on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is why I was so out of

breath, for I am a man who takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I

will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.


“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking

business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments

for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our

depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape

of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this

direction during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom

we have advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or

plate.


“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card was

brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name, for it

was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I had better say no