“The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the end.”
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a trium- phant chuckle of laughter.
“Excellent, Watson ! The alternative develops. Have you telegraph forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: ‘Sumner, Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrow morning. Basil.’ That's my name in those parts. The other is : ‘Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come. Sherlock Holmes.’ There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-morrow, I trust, that we shall hear the last of it for ever. ”
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson had prepared. The young detective was in high spirits at his success.
“You really think that your solution must be correct?” asked Holmes.
“I could not imagine a more complete case.”
“It did not seem to me conclusive.”
“You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?”
“Does your explanation cover every point?”
“Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the Brambletye Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came on the pretence of playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out when he liked. That very night he
