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search of the body of Lady St. Simon.”

      Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

      “Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?” he asked.

      “Why? What do you mean?”

      “Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as in the other.”

      Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “I suppose you know all about it,” he snarled.

      “Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”

      “Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the matter?”

      “I think it very unlikely.”

      “Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it?” He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes, and a bride’s wreath and veil, all discolored and soaked in water. “There,” said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “There is a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes.”

      “Oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. “You dragged them from the Serpentine?”

      “No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were there the body would not be far off.”

      “By the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found in the neighborhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive at through this?”

      “At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.”

      “I am afraid that you will find it difficult.”

      “Are you, indeed, now?” cried Lestrade, with some bitterness. “I am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.”

      “And how?”

      “In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the card-case is a note. And here is the very note.” He slapped it down upon the table in front of him. “Listen to this: ‘You will see me when all is ready. Come at once. F. H. M.’ Now my theory all along has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door, and which lured her within their reach.”

      “Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing. “You really are very fine indeed. Let me see it.” He took up the paper in a listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of satisfaction. “This is indeed important,” said he.

      “Ha! you find it so?”

      “Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.”

      Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “Why,” he shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”

      “On the contrary, this is the right side.”

      “The right side? You’re mad! Here is the note written in pencil over here.”

      “And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me deeply.”

      “There’s nothing in it. I looked at it before,” said Lestrade. “‘Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s. 6d., glass sherry, 8d.’ I see nothing in that.”

      “Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you again.”

      “I’ve wasted time enough,” said Lestrade, rising. “I believe in hard work, and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first.” He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door.

      “Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes, before his rival vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person.”

      Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.

      He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose and put on his overcoat. “There is something in what the fellow says about out-door work,” he remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for a little.”

      It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras pie, with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered to this address.

      Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.

      “They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.

      “You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”

      “Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “I am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs.”

      It was indeed our visitor of the morning who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.

      “My messenger reached you, then?” asked Holmes.

      “Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have you good authority for what you say?”

      “The best possible.”

      Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.

      “What will the duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the family has been subjected to such humiliation?”

      “It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any humiliation.”

      “Ah, you look on these things from another stand-point.”

      “I fail to see that any one is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise her at such a crisis.”

      “It was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said Lord St. Simon, tapping his fingers upon the table.

      “You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a position.”

      “I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been shamefully used.”

      “I think that I heard a ring,” said Holmes. “Yes, there are steps on the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more successful.” He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman. “Lord St. Simon,” said he, “allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already met.”

      At the sight of these new-comers our client had sprung from his seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the breast

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