often the grotesque has deepened into the criminal. Think of
that little affair of the red-headed men. That was grotesque
enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at
robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the
five orange pips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy.
The word puts me on the alert."

"Have you it there?" I asked.

He read the telegram aloud.

"Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I
consult you?

"Scott Eccles,
"Post Office, Charing Cross."

"Man or woman?" I asked.

"Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid
telegram. She would have come."

"Will you see him?"

"My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked
up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing
itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for
which it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile;
audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the
criminal world. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look