st, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore him
away in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him
away. Let us step round together to this hotel, and see if the porter
can throw any fresh light upon the matter."

Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humble
witness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton's
abandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell.
The visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he
a working man. He was simply what the porter described as a
"medium-looking chap"; a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face,
quietly dressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The porter had
observed his hand trembling when he had held out the note. Godfrey
Staunton had crammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had not shaken
hands with the man in the hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, of
which the porter had only distinguished the one word "time." Then they
had hurried off in the manner described. It was just half-past ten by
the hall clock.

"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "You are
the day porter, are you not?"

"Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven."

"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?"

"No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No one else."

"Were you on duty all day yesterday?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?"

"Yes, sir; one telegram."

"Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?"

"About six."

"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?"

"Here in his room."

"Were you present when he opened it?"

"Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an answer."

"Well, was there?"

"Yes, sir. He wrote an answer."

"Did you take it?"

"No; he took it himself."

"But he wrote it in your presence?"

"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned at
that table. When he had written it he said, 'All right, porter, I will
take this myself.'"

"What did he write it with?"

"A pen, sir."

"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?"

"Yes, sir; it was the top one."

Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them over to the window and
carefully examined that which was uppermost.

"It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them down
again with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have no doubt frequently
observed, Watson, the impression usually goes through--a fact wh