yes to the lighted window and

again experienced almost as great a surprise as before.

i clutched holmes's arm and pointed upwards.

"the shadow has moved!" i cried.

it was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which

was turned towards us.

three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of

his temper or his impatience with a less active

intelligence than his own.

"of course it has moved," said he. "am i such a farcical

bungler, watson, that i should erect an obvious dummy and

expect that some of the sharpest men in europe would be

deceived by it? we have been in this room two hours, and

mrs. hudson has made some change in that figure eight

times, or once in every quarter of an hour. she works it

from the front so that her shadow may never be seen. ah!"

he drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake.

in the dim light i saw his head thrown forward, his whole

attitude rigid with attention. outside, the street was

absolutely deserted. those two men might still be

crouching in the doorway, but i could no longer see them.

all was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow

screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon

its centre. again in the utter silence i heard that thin,

sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.

an instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner

of the room, and i felt his warning hand upon my lips. the

fingers which clutched me were quivering. never had i

known my friend more moved, and yet the dark street still

stretched lonely and motionless before us.

but suddenly i was aware of that which his keener senses

had already distinguished. a low, stealthy sound came to

my ears, not from the direction of baker street, but from

the back of the very house in which we lay concealed. a

door opened and shut. an instant later steps crept down

the passage -- steps which were meant to be silent, but

which reverberated harshly through the empty house. holmes

crouched back against the wall and i did the same, my hand

closing upon the handle of my revolver. peering through

the gloom, i saw the vague outline of a man, a shade

blacker than the blackness of the open door. he stood for

an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing,

into the room. he was within three yards of us, this

sinister figure, and i had braced myself to meet his

spring, before i realized that he had no idea of our

presence. he passed close beside us, stole over to the

window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half

a foot. as he sank to the level of this opening the light

of the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell

full upon his face. the man seemed to be beside himself

with excitement. his two eyes shone like stars and his

features were working convulsively. he was an elderly man,

with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a

huge grizzled moustache. an opera-hat was pushed to the

back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed

out through his open overcoat. his face was gaunt and

swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. in his hand he

carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down

upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. then from the

pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he

busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp

click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place.

still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all

his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result

that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending

once more in a powerful click. he straightened himself

then, and i saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of

gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. he opened it at the

breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block.

then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon

the ledge of the open window, and i saw his long moustache

droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along

the sights. i heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he

cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing

target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear

at the end of his fore sight. for an instant he was rigid

and motionless. then his finger tightened on the trigger.

there was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle

of broken glass. at that instant holmes sprang like a

tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon

his face. he was up again in a moment, and with convulsive

strength he seized holmes by the throat; but i struck him

on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped

again upon the floor. i fell upon him, and as i held him

my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. there was

the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two

policemen in uniform, with one plain-c