his sister is really his wife."

Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms
of her chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with
the pressure of her grip.

"His wife!" she said again. "His wife! He is not a married man."

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so--!"

The fierce flash of her eyes said more than any words.

"I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing several papers
from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple taken in
York four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,'
but you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also,
if you know her by sight. Here are three written descriptions
by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that
time kept St. Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you
can doubt the identity of these people."

She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid
face of a desperate woman.

"Mr. Holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage on
condition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has
lied to me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word
of truth has he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all