e empty room was huddled the figure of
an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in
its contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of
blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees
were drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of
his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a
knife driven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must
have gone down like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside
his right hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay
upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove.

"By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American detective.
"Someone has got ahead of us this time."

"Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why,
whatever are you doing?"

Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it
backward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into the
darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor.

"I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stood
in deep thought while the two professionals were examining the body.
"You say that three people came out form the flat while you were
waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe them closely?"

"Yes, I did."

"Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?"

"Yes; he was the last to pass me."

"That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we
have a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough
for you."

"Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London."

"Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to your
aid."

We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was a
tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowly
she advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension,
her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark
figure on the floor.

"You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killed
him!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang
into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced,
her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a
thousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It was
terrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy