"Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man,
sir," said he in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man
who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go into a
good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that he could not
throw a light upon. He is irregular in his methods and a little
quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think
he would have made a most promising officer, and I don't care
who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by
which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto
business. Here is his message."
He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me. It
was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock.
Go to Baker Street at once [it said]. If I have not returned,
wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang.
You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the
finish.
"This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent
again," said I.
"Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones with
evident satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown off some-
times. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm but it is my
duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there
is someone at the door. Perhaps this is he."
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great
wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for
breath.
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