for this unfortunate youngster who has thrown

himself upon my protection."

it was late when my friend returned, and i could see by a

glance at his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes

with which he had started had not been fulfilled. for an

hour he droned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe

his own ruffled spirits. at last he flung down the

instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his

misadventures.

"it's all going wrong, watson -- all as wrong as it can go.

i kept a bold face before lestrade, but, upon my soul, i

believe that for once the fellow is on the right track and

we are on the wrong. all my instincts are one way and all

the facts are the other, and i much fear that british

juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence

when they will give the preference to my theories over

lestrade's facts."

"did you go to blackheath?"

"yes, watson, i went there, and i found very quickly that

the late lamented oldacre was a pretty considerable

black-guard. the father was away in search of his son.

the mother was at home -- a little, fluffy, blue-eyed

person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. of course,

she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt.

but she would not express either surprise or regret over the

fate of oldacre. on the contrary, she spoke of him with

such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably

strengthening the case of the police, for, of course, if

her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion it

would predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'he was

more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,'

said she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young man.'

"'you knew him at that time?' said i.

"'yes, i knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of

mine. thank heaven that i had the sense to turn away from

him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man. i was engaged

to him, mr. holmes, when i heard a shocking story of how he

had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and i was so horrified

at his brutal cruelty that i would have nothing more to do

with him.' she rummaged in a bureau, and presently she

produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and

mutilated with a knife. 'that is my own photograph,' she

said. 'he sent it to me in that state, with his curse,

upon my wedding morning.'

"'well,' said i, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since

he has left all his property to your son.'

"'neither my son nor i want anything from jonas oldacre,

dead or alive,' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'there is

a god in heaven, mr. holmes, and that same god who has

punished that wicked man will show in his own good time

that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'

"well, i tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing

which would help our hypothesis, and several points which

would make against it. i gave it up at last and off i went

to norwood.

"this place, deep dene house, is a big modern villa of

staring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with a

laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. to the right and some

distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had

been the scene of the fire. here's a rough plan on a leaf

of my note-book. this window on the left is the one which

opens into oldacre's room. you can look into it from the

road, you see. that is about the only bit of consolation i

have had to-day. lestrade was not there, but his head

constable did the honours. they had just made a great

treasure-trove. they had spent the morning raking among

the ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred

organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal

discs. i examined them with care, and there was no doubt

that they were trouser buttons. i even distinguished that

one of them was marked with the name of 'hyams,' who was

oldacre's tailor. i then worked the lawn very carefully

for signs and traces, but this drought has made everything

as hard as iron. nothing was to be seen save that some

body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge

which is in a line with the wood-pile. all that, of

course, fits in with the official theory. i crawled about

the lawn with an august sun on my back, but i got up at

the end of an hour no wiser than before.

"well, after this fiasco i went into the bedroom and

examined that also. the blood-stains were very slight,

mere smears and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh.

the stick had been removed, but there also the marks were

slight. there is no doubt about the stick belonging to our

client. he admits it. footmarks of both men could be made

out on the carpet, but none of any third person, which

again is a trick for the other side. they were piling up

their score all the time and we were at a standstill.

"only one little gleam of hope did i get -- and