“Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been here once, constable?”
“Yes, sir, only once.”
“Who was she?”
“Don’t know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement about typewriting and came to the wrong number—very pleasant, genteel young woman, sir.”
“Tall? Handsome?”
“Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you might say she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was very handsome. ‘Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!’ says she. She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought there was no harm in letting her just put her head through the door.”
“How was she dressed?”
“Quiet, sir—a long mantle down to her feet.”
“What time was it?”
“It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the lamps as I came back with the brandy.”
“Very good,” said Holmes. “Come, Watson, I think that we have more important work elsewhere.”
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand. The constable stared intently.