vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St.

Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such

person.”


Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his

forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.


He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his overcoat.

“There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work,” he

remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for a

little.”


It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no time

to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s man with

a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had

brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite

epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house

mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté

de foie gras pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid

out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the

Arabian Nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for and

were ordered to this address.


Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room.

His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me

think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.


“They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.


“You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”


“Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he.

“I am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy

that I hear his step now upon the stairs.”


It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling his

glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon

his aristocratic features.