“Journeys end with lovers’ meetings. What brings you here?”
“The same reasons that bring you, I expect,” said Gregson. “How you got on to it I can’t imagine.”
“Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I’ve been taking the signals.”
“Signals?”
“Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing the business.”
“Wait a bit!’ cried Gregson, eagerly. “I'll do you this justice, Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn’t feel stronger for having you on my side. There’s only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe.”
“Who is he?”
“Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must give us best this time.” He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. “May I introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” he said to the cabman. “This is Mr. Leverton, of Pinkerton’s American Agency.”
“The hero of the Long Island Cave mystery?” said Holmes. “Sir, I am pleased to meet you.”
The American, a quiet, businesslike young
