The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found,
been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had
been marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the
narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my
mentioning the detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep with his hands in his
pockets, smoking his pipe.
"Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney
Jones has gone. We have had an immense display of energy
since you left. He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus but the
gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have
the place to ourselves but for a sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog
here and come up."
We tied Toby to the hall table and reascended the stairs. The
room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped
over the central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined
in the corner.
"Lend me your bull's eye, Sergeant," said my companion.
"Now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front
of me. Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.
Just you carry them down with you, Watson. I am going to do a
little climbing. And dip my handkerchief into the creosote. That
will do. Now come up into the garret with me for a moment."
We clambered up through the hole.
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