“Two years have passed since then， and my life has been untillately lonelier than ever. A month ago， however， a dear friend，whom I have known for many years， has done me the honourto ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage—PercyArmitage—the second son of Mr. Armitage， of Crane Water， nearReading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match，and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two daysago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building，and my bedroom wall has been pierced， so that I have had tomove into the chamber in which my sister died， and to sleep inthe very bed in which she slept. Imagine， then， my thrill of terrorwhen last night， as I lay awake， thinking over her terrible fate， Isuddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle whichhad been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit thelamp， but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shakento go to bed again， however， so I dressed， and as soon as it wasdaylight I slipped down， got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn， whichis opposite， and drove to Leatherhead， from whence I have comeon this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking youradvice.”
“You have done wisely，” said my friend. “But have you told meall？”
“Yes， all.”
“Miss Roylott， you have not. You are screening your stepfather.”
“Why， what do you mean？”
For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace whichfringed the hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. Five little lividspots， the marks of four fingers and a thumb， were printed uponthe white wrist.
“You have been cruelly used，” said Holmes.
The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “Heis a hard man，” she said， “and perhaps he hardly knows his ownstrength.”
There was a long silence， during which Holmes leaned his chinupon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.
“This is a very deep business，” he said at last. “There are athousand details which I should desire to know before I decideupon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If wewere to come to Stoke Moran to-day， would it be possible for us tosee over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather？”
“As it happens， he spoke of coming into town to-day upon somemost important business. It is probable that he will be away allday， and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have ahousekeeper now， but she is old and foolish， and I could easily gether out of the way.”
“Excellent. You are not averse to this trip， Watson？”
“By no means.”
“Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself？”
“I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that Iam in town. But I shall return by the twelve o’clock train， so as tobe there in time for your coming.”
“And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myselfsome small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait andbreakfast？”
“No， I must go. My heart is lightened already since I haveconfided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing youagain this afternoon.” She dropped her thick black veil over herface and glided from the room.
“And what do you think of it all， Watson？” asked SherlockHolmes， leaning back in his chair.
“It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.”
“Dark enough and sinister enough.”
“Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and wallsare sound， and that the door， window， and chimney are impassable，then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she mether mysterious end.”
“What becomes， then， of these nocturnal whistles， and what ofthe very peculiar words of the dying woman？”
“I cannot think.”
“When you combine the ideas of whistles at night， the presenceof a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this olddoctor， the fact that we have every reason to believe that thedoctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage，the dying allusion to a band， and， finally， the fact that Miss HelenStoner heard a metallic clang， which might have been caused byone of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling backinto its place， I think that there is good ground to think that themystery may be cleared along those lines.”
“But what， then， did the gipsies do？”
“I cannot imagine.”
“I see many objections to any such theory.”
“And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going toStoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections arefatal， or if they may be explained away. But what in the name ofthe devil！”
The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by thefact that our door had been suddenly dashed open， and that ahuge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was apeculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural， havinga black top-hat， a long frock-coat， and a pair of high gaiters， witha hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hatactually brushed the cross bar of the doorway， and his breadthseemed to span it across from side to side. A large face， searedwith a thousand wrinkles， burned yellow with the sun， and markedwith every evil passion， was turned from one to the other of us，while his deep-set， bile-shot eyes， and his high， thin， fleshless nose，gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.
“Which of you is Holmes？” asked this apparition.
“My name， sir； but you have the advantage of me，” said mycompanion quietly.
“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott， of Stoke Moran.”
“Indeed， Doctor，” said Holmes blandly. “Pray take a seat.”
“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. Ihave traced her. What has she been saying to you？”
“It is a little cold for the time of the year，” said Holmes.
“What has she been saying to you？” screamed the old man furiously.
“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well，” continuedmy companion imperturbably.
“Ha！ You put me off， do you？” said our new visitor， taking a stepforward and shaking his hunting-crop. “I know you， you scoundrel！
I have heard of you before. You are Holmes， the meddler.”
My friend smiled.
“Holmes， the busybody！”
His smile broadened.
