that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a
number of people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will
rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?"

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and, at the
signal, to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire and to wait
you at the corner of the street."

"Precisely."

"Then you may entirely rely on me."

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepared
for the new role I have to play."

He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned in a few minutes in the
character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad, black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic
smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as
Mr. John Hare alone could have equaled. It was not merely that Holmes
changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to
vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor,
even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in
crime.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted
ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It
was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and
down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The
house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes's succinct