not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and
instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath.

"There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he, more
moved than I had ever before seen him. "What do you make of it?"

I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was
streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and
shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it
were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a
face,--the very face of our companion Thaddeus. There was the
same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair,
the same bloodless countenance. The features were set, however,
in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that
still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any
scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our little
friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was indeed
with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us
that his brother and he were twins.

"This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What is to be done?"

"The door must come down," he answered, and, springing against
it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned,
but did not yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once
more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found
ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.

It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A
double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall