than I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful,
practical self once more.

"It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk,"
said he. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a
suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication."

Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared,
and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the
middle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door
there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of
young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the
night. The fog still hung about and screened us with its
friendly shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon
the massive door.

"This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainly
bolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There
is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous
policeman should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do
the same for you."

A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached
the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in
the fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work
upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a
sharp crash it flew open. We sprang through into the dark
passage, closing the area door behind us. Holmes let the way up
the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light
shone upon a low window.