“Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. No doubt it’s just as they say. She knocked at the door⁠—surprise visit, I guess, for he kept his life in watertight compartments⁠—he let her in, couldn’t keep her in the street. She told him how she had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, and then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn’t all done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her off with it. We’ve got it all clear as if we had seen it.”

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

“And yet you have sent for me?”

“Ah, yes, that’s another matter⁠—a mere trifle, but the sort of thing you take an interest in⁠—queer, you know, and what you might call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact⁠—can’t have, on the face of it.”

“What is it, then?”