"And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked.

"Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he
had read himself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his
pipe was on a chair beside him. There was a glass of water
on the table, and on the window-sill a small chip ointment
box containing a couple of pills."

Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation
of delight.

"The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case is complete."

The two detectives stared at him in amazement.

"I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently,
"all the threads which have formed such a tangle. There are,
of course, details to be filled in, but I am as certain of
all the main facts, from the time that Drebber parted from
Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of
the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will
give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand
upon those pills?"

"I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box;
"I took them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have
them put in a place of safety at the Police Station. It was
the merest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to
say that I do not attach any importance to them."