r at Wisteria Lodge."

"Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like my friend, Dr.
Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost.
Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence,
exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and
unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of
advice and assistance."

Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional
appearance.

"I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in
my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you
the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am
sure, that there has been enough to excuse me."

But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside,
and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and
official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as
Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within
his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and
introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary.

"We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this
direction." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr.
John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?"

"I am."

"We have been following you about all the morning."

"You traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said Holmes.

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross
Post-Office and came on here."

"But why do you follow me? What do you want?"

"We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up
to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near
Esher."

Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour
struck from his astonished face.

"Dead? Did you say he was dead?"

"Yes, sir, he is dead."

"But how? An accident?"

"Murder, if ever there was one upon earth."

"Good God! This is awful! You don't mean--you don't mean that I am
suspected?"

"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know by
it that you had planned to pass last night at his house."

"So I did."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

Out came the official notebook.

"Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire is a
plain statement, is it not?"

"And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against
hi