period of continuous

work. as i have preserved very full notes of all these

cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them,

it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which i

should select to lay before the public. i shall, however,

preserve my former rule, and give the preference to those

cases which derive their interest not so much from the

brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic

quality of the solution. for this reason i will now lay

before the reader the facts connected with miss violet

smith, the solitary cyclist of charlington, and the curious

sequel of our investigation, which culminated in unexpected

tragedy. it is true that the circumstances did not admit

of any striking illustration of those powers for which my

friend was famous, but there were some points about the

case which made it stand out in those long records of crime

from which i gather the material for these little

narratives.

on referring to my note-book for the year 1895 i find that

it was upon saturday, the 23rd of april, that we first

heard of miss violet smith. her visit was, i remember,

extremely unwelcome to holmes, for he was immersed at the

moment in a very abstruse and complicated problem

concerning the peculiar persecution to which john vincent

harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had been

subjected. my friend, who loved above all things precision

and concentration of thought, resented anything which

distracted his attention from the matter in hand. and yet

without a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was

impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young

and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who

presented herself at baker street late in the evening and

implored his assistance and advice. it was vain to urge

that his time was already fully occupied, for the young

lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and

it was evident that nothing short of force could get her

out of the room until she had done so. with a resigned air

and a somewhat weary smile, holmes begged the beautiful

intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that

was troubling her.

"at least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen

eyes darted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full

of energy."

she glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and i

observed the slight roughening of the side of the sole

caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal.

"yes, i bicycle a good deal, mr. holmes, and that has

something to do with my visit to you to-day."

my friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it

with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a

scientist would show to a specimen.

"you will excuse me, i am sure. it is my business," said

he, as he dropped it. "i nearly fell into the error of

supposing that you were typewriting. of course, it is

obvious that it is music. you observe the spatulate

finger-end, watson, which is common to both professions?

there is a spirituality about the face, however" -- he

gently turned it towards the light -- "which the typewriter

does not generate. this lady is a musician."

"yes, mr. holmes, i teach music."

"in the country, i presume, from your complexion."

"yes, sir; near farnham, on the borders of surrey."

"a beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interesting

associations. you remember, watson, that it was near there

that we took archie stamford, the forger. now, miss violet,

what has happened to you near farnham, on the borders of surrey?"

the young lady, with great clearness and composure, made

the following curious statement:--

"my father is dead, mr. holmes. he was james smith,

who conducted the orchestra at the old imperial theatre.

my mother and i were left without a relation in the world

except one uncle, ralph smith, who went to africa

twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from

him since. when father died we were left very poor, but

one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the

_times_ inquiring for our whereabouts. you can imagine how

excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a

fortune. we went at once to the lawyer whose name was

given in the paper. there we met two gentlemen, mr.

carruthers and mr. woodley, who were home on a visit from

south africa. they said that my uncle was a friend of

theirs, that he died some months before in great poverty in

johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last

breath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in

no want. it seemed strange to us that uncle ralph, who

took no notice of us when he was alive, should be so

careful to look after us when he was dead; but mr.

carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had

just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt

responsible for our fat