"I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir," remarked
Lestrade. "We have both tried, and we have both failed.
You have remarked more than once since I have been in the room
that you had all the evidence which you require. Surely you
will not withhold it any longer."

"Any delay in arresting the assassin," I observed,
"might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity."

Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution.
He continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk
on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when
lost in thought.

"There will be no more murders," he said at last, stopping
abruptly and facing us. "You can put that consideration out
of the question. You have asked me if I know the name of the
assassin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is a small
thing, however, compared with the power of laying our hands
upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good
hopes of managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a
thing which needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and
desperate man to deal with, who is supported, as I have had
occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as himself.
As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue
there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the
slightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in
an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great
city. Without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am
bound to say that I consider these men to be more than a