As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at the
building which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top
window, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing
tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathless
suspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. At the
doorway of the Howe Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and
greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. He started as the
hall-light fell upon our faces.

"Holmes!" he cried.

"Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the
Scotland Yard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings.
What brings you here?"

"The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How
you got on to it I can't imagine."

"Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've been
taking the signals."

"Signals?"

"Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came
over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see
no object in continuing this business."

"Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice,
Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel