The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

“How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?”

“No, I thank you; I will not take it off.”

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

“Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious.”

His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.

“I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing.”