We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into
which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of
place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The
richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the
walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly-mounted
painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so
soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into
a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased
the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which
stood upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a
silver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the
centre of the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle
and aromatic odor.

"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking and
smiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course.
And these gentlemen--"

"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson."

"A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you your
stethoscope? Might I ask you--would you have the kindness? I
have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you would be so very
good. The aortic I may rely upon, but I should value your
opinion upon the mitral."

I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find
anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear,
for he shivered from head to foot. "It appears to be normal," I