e light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor, I had no
difficulty in recognizing him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promising
detective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a very
practical interest.

"Is he in?" he asked, eagerly.

"Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice from above. "I hope you have
no designs upon us such a night as this."

The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shining
waterproof. I helped him out of it, while Holmes knocked a blaze out of
the logs in the grate.

"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he. "Here's
a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and a
lemon, which is good medicine on a night like this. It must be something
important which has brought you out in such a gale."

"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, I promise you.
Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?"

"I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day."

"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have not
missed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet. It's down
in Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I
was wired for at 3:15, reached Yoxley Old Place at 5, conducted my
investigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight
to you by cab."

"Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?"

"It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can
see, it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at
first it seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no motive,
Mr. Holmes. That's what bothers me--I can't put my hand on a motive.
Here's a man dead--there's no denying that--but, so far as I can see, no
reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm."

Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.

"Let us hear about it," said he.

"I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins. "All I want now
is to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out,
is like this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was
taken by an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was
an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling
round the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the
gardener in a Bath chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours who
called upon hi