finally of the Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as
may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding
up the dead man's watch, to prove that it had been wound up
two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to
bed within that time--a deduction which was of the greatest
importance in clearing up the case. All these I may sketch
out at some future date, but none of them present such singu-
lar features as the strange train of circumstances which I have
now taken up my pen to describe.

It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial
gales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind
had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows,
so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we
were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the rou-
tine of life, and to recognize the presence of those great ele-
mental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of
his civilization, like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening
drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried
and sobbed like a child in the chimney. Sherlock Holmes
sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his
records of crime, while I at the other was deep in one of Clark
Russell's fine sea-stories, until the howl of the gale from with-
out seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain
to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. My
wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was
a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.

"Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was
surely the bell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of
yours, perhaps?"

"Except yourself I have none," he answered. "I do not en-
courage visitors."

"A client, then?"

"If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a
man out on such a day and at such an hour. But I take it
that it is more likely to be some crony of the landlady's."

Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for

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