it was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. a fortnight went by, during which i frequently found my thoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed into. the unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. as to holmes, i observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his hand when i mentioned it. "data! data!