e be doing? There is something which I don't
understand in this matter. If ever a man was three parts mad with
terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on
him?"

"He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.

"That's it," said Pycroft.

Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He _was_ pale when we
entered the room," said he. "It is just possible that----"

His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the
inner door.

"What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried the clerk.

Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly at
the closed door. Glancing at Holmes I saw his face turn rigid, and he
leaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low gurgling,
gargling sound and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang
frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on
the inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with
all our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the
door with a crash. Rushing over it we found ourselves in the inner room.

[Illustration: "WE FOUND OURSELVES IN THE INNER ROOM."]

It was empty.

But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner, the
corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door.
Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were lying
on the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces round
his neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco-Midland
Hardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful
angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made
the noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had
caught him round the waist and held him up, while Holmes and Pycroft
untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creases
of skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with a
clay-coloured face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every
breath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes
before.

"What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.

I stooped over him and examined him.

His pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer,
and there was a little shivering of his eyelids which showed a thin
white slit of ball beneath.

"It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live now. Just
open that windo