“In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the card-case

is a note. And here is the very note.” He slapped it down upon the table

in front of him. “Listen to this: ‘You will see me when all is

ready. Come at once. F. H. M.’ Now my theory all along has been that Lady

St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no

doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials,

is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door

and which lured her within their reach.”


“Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing. “You really are

very fine indeed. Let me see it.” He took up the paper in a listless way,

but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of

satisfaction. “This is indeed important,” said he.


“Ha! you find it so?”


“Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.”


Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “Why,” he

shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”


“On the contrary, this is the right side.”


“The right side? You’re mad! Here is the note written in pencil

over here.”


“And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which

interests me deeply.”


“There’s nothing in it. I looked at it before,” said

Lestrade. “‘Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s.

6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s. 6d., glass sherry,

8d.’ I see nothing in that.”


“Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note, it

is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you

again.”


“I’ve wasted time enough,” said Lestrade, rising. “I

believe in hard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.

Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter

first.” He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made

for the door.


“Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes before his rival