brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in
an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national
policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as
an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask
him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is
descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan
West, and what is he to Mycroft?"

"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon
the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was
the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday
morning."

Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.

"This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my
brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the
world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I
remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the
train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was
no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?"

"There has been an inquest," said I, "and a good many fresh facts
have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say
that it was a curious case."

"Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be
a most extraordinary one." He snuggled down in his armchair.
"Now, Watson, let us have the facts."