we had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds. a stable-boy had run out to the horse’s head, and springing down, i followed holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house. as we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. she stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question.