the man, too, in the gloom.”
“Do you know him?”
“Oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings our vegetables round. His name is Francis Prosper.”
“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left of the door—that is to say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”
Something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black eyes.
“Why, you are like a magician,” said she. “How do you know that?”
She smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmes’ thin, eager face.
“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he.
“I shall probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up.”
He walked swiftly round from one to the