He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that
showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.

"Get your hat," he said.

"You wish me to come?"

"Yes, if you have nothing better to do." A minute later we
were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung
over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the
mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best
of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the
difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for
myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy
business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits.

"You don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand,"
I said at last, interrupting Holmes' musical disquisition.

"No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mistake to theorize
before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment."

"You will have your data soon," I remarked, pointing with
my finger; "this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house,
if I am not very much mistaken."

"So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still a hundred yards