ing had been back in the U. S. A.
and I was a deputy state fire marshal, I would have ordered it torn
down at once. Of course none of the constables were in sight anywhere,
probably being asleep in some back room!

Holmes led the way into the feed store, and we met the proprietor, who
strongly reminded me of Inspector Letstrayed and Egbert Bunbury by his
general air of sleepy incompetence. It was now five minutes to five,
and after Holmes had warned old man Wuxley of his identity beneath the
valet's livery, we decided to hide behind one of the barrels of bran
that stood on one side of the store, and there await the coming of
Demetrius with his booty.

We didn't have long to wait, for he soon showed up in the
doorway,--with his swarthy face and shifty eyes,--and asked Wuxley if
Luigi had arrived yet to meet him. Suppressing a smile, Wuxley
motioned him in, saying that Luigi was in a back room.

As he passed the bran barrels Holmes and I jumped out and nailed him,
and Holmes exclaimed:

"Well, here I am, Mr. Xanthopoulos. We'll catch the next train in to
London and sell the diamonds,--maybe!"

But the wily Greek was quicker than I thought he would be; he jerked
loose as soon as he heard the tones of Holmes's well-remembered voice
that had bawled him out at the inquisition the day before, and in a
second had escaped by the back door, leaving Holmes with a shred of
cloth out of his coat-tail held between his fingers.

We two gave chase at once; out of the rickety old back door of the
feed store we sped, nearly breaking our necks in our stumble down the
uneven steps that led to a weedy yard. There was a gate in the picket
fence surrounding the yard, and through this we dashed madly after the
swiftly retreating Demetrius, who led us down a narrow lane back of
the stores fronting on the main street for several hundred feet, until
we arrived at a small creek that paralleled the railroad tracks,--a
stream that I had not noticed on the way out from London the previous
Monday.

As our ill luck would have it, Demetrius found a couple of dingy
rowboats at the edge of the creek, and into one of them he jumped,
grabbed the oars, and paddled himself down-stream at a pretty good
clip. Holmes swore, both in English and French, but quickly grabbed
the other boat, shoved me into it, and started to row after the
gardener down the turbid and muddy waters of the creek, which was
about sixty feet wide. As we rounded a sharp left bend