yet it

amounted to nothing. i examined the contents of the safe,

most of which had been taken out and left on the table.

the papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, one or

two of which had been opened by the police. they were not,

so far as i could judge, of any great value, nor did the

bank-book show that mr. oldacre was in such very affluent

circumstances. but it seemed to me that all the papers

were not there. there were allusions to some deeds --

possibly the more valuable -- which i could not find.

this, of course, if we could definitely prove it, would

turn lestrade's argument against himself, for who would

steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it?

"finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no

scent, i tried my luck with the housekeeper. mrs.

lexington is her name, a little, dark, silent person, with

suspicious and sidelong eyes. she could tell us something

if she would -- i am convinced of it. but she was as close

as wax. yes, she had let mr. mcfarlane in at half-past

nine. she wished her hand had withered before she had done

so. she had gone to bed at half-past ten. her room was at

the other end of the house, and she could hear nothing of

what passed. mr. mcfarlane had left his hat, and to the

best of her belief his stick, in the hall. she had been

awakened by the alarm of fire. her poor, dear master had

certainly been murdered. had he any enemies? well, every

man had enemies, but mr. oldacre kept himself very much to

himself, and only met people in the way of business. she

had seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to

the clothes which he had worn last night. the wood-pile

was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. it burned

like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot nothing

could be seen but flames. she and all the firemen smelled

the burned flesh from inside it. she knew nothing of the

papers, nor of mr. oldacre's private affairs.

"so, my dear watson, there's my report of a failure. and

yet -- and yet ----" -- he clenched his thin hands in a

paroxysm of conviction -- "i _know_ it's all wrong. i feel

it in my bones. there is something that has not come out,

and that housekeeper knows it. there was a sort of sulky

defiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty

knowledge. however, there's no good talking any more about

it, watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way i

fear that the norwood disappearance case will not figure in

that chronicle of our successes which i foresee that a

patient public will sooner or later have to endure."

"surely," said i, "the man's appearance would go far with

any jury?"

"that is a dangerous argument, my dear watson.

you remember that terrible murderer, bert stevens,

who wanted us to get him off in '87? was there ever a more

mild-mannered, sunday-school young man?"

"it is true."

"unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory

this man is lost. you can hardly find a flaw in the case

which can now be presented against him, and all further

investigation has served to strengthen it. by the way,

there is one curious little point about those papers which

may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry.

on looking over the bank-book i found that the low state of

the balance was principally due to large cheques which have

been made out during the last year to mr. cornelius.

i confess that i should be interested to know who this

mr. cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very

large transactions. is it possible that he has had a hand

in the affair? cornelius might be a broker, but we have

found no scrip to correspond with these large payments.

failing any other indication my researches must now take

the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman

who has cashed these cheques. but i fear, my dear fellow,

that our case will end ingloriously by lestrade hanging our

client, which will certainly be a triumph for scotland yard."

i do not know how far sherlock holmes took any sleep that

night, but when i came down to breakfast i found him pale

and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark

shadows round them. the carpet round his chair was

littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of

the morning papers. an open telegram lay upon the table.

"what do you think of this, watson?" he asked, tossing it

across.

it was from norwood, and ran as follows:--

"important fresh evidence to hand. mcfarlane's guilt definitely

established. advise you to abandon case. -- lestrade." {2}

"this sounds serious," said i.

"it is lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," holmes

answered, with a bitter smile. "and yet it may be

premature to abandon the case. after all, important fresh

evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a

very different di