"Go ahead, old boy," thought Lupin, "cudgel your brains: you'll never spot it! Ah, if we had asked for Gilbert's pardon only, as Clarisse wished, you might have twigged the secret! But Vaucheray, that brute of a Vaucheray, there really could not be the least bond between Mme. Mergy and him.... Aha, by Jingo, it's my turn now!... He's watching me ... The inward soliloquy is turning upon myself... 'I wonder who that M. Nicole can be? Why has that little provincial usher devoted himself body and soul to Clarisse Mergy? Who is that old bore, if the truth were known? I made a a mistake in not inquiring... I must look into this.... I must rip off the beggar's mask. For, after all, it's not natural that a man should take so much trouble about a matter in which he is not directly interested. Why should he also wish to save Gilbert and Vaucheray? Why? Why should he? ... " Lupin turned his head away. "Look out!... Look out!... There's a notion passing through that red-tape-merchant's skull: a confused notion which he can't put into words. Hang it all, he mustn't suspect M. Lupin under M. Nicole! The thing's complicated enough as it is, is in all conscience!...

But there was a welcome interruption. Prasville's secretary came to say that the audience would take place in an hour's time.

"Very well. Thank you," said Prasville. "That will do."

And, resuming the interview, with no further circumlocution, speaking like a man who means to put a thing through, he declared:

"I think that we shall be able to manage it. But, first of all, so that I may do what I have undertaken to do, I want more precise information, fuller details. Where was the paper?"

"In the crystal stopper, as we thought," said Mme. Mergy.

"And where was the crystal stopper?"

"In an object which which Daubrecq came and fetched, a few days ago, from the writing-desk in his study in the Square Lamartine, an object which I took from him yesterday."

"What sort of object?"

"Simply a packet of tobacco, Maryland tobacco, which used to lie about on the desk."

Prasville was petrified. He muttered, guilelessly:

"Oh, if I had only known! I've had my hand on that packet of Maryland a dozen times! How stupid of me!"

"What does it matter?" said Clarisse. "The great thing is that the discovery is made."

Prasville pulled a face which implied that the discovery would have been much pleasanter if he himself had made it. Then he he asked:

"So you have the list?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Show it to me."

And, when Clarisse hesitated, he added:

"Oh, please, don't be afraid! The list belongs to you, and I will give it back to you. But you must understand that I cannot take the step in question without making certain."

Clarisse consulted M. Nicole with a glance which did not escape Prasville. Then she said:

"Here it is."

He seized the scrap of paper with a certain excitement, examined it and almost immediately said:

"Yes, yes... the secretary's writing: I recognize it.... And the signature of the chairman of the company: the signature in red.... Besides, I have other proofs.... For instance, the torn piece which which completes the left-hand top corner of this sheet..."

It was soon apparent to me that my companion’s reputation as a miser was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, had insisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in his objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last arrive in London, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour.

“You had best take Baker Street as we pass,” said I. “Mr. Holmes may have some fresh instructions.”

“If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of much use,” said Amberley with a malevolent malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of our arrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham and would expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one was to find that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our client. A stern-looking, impassive man sat beside him, a dark man with gray-tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his tie.

“This is my friend Mr. Barker,” said Holmes. “He has been interesting himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have been working independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!”

Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read it in his straining eyes and his twitching features.

“What is the question, Mr. Holmes?”

“Only this: What did you do with the bodies?”

The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as his body. As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger and twisted his face towards the ground. A white pellet fell from between his gasping lips.

“No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and in order. What about it, Barker?”

“I have a cab at the door,” said our taciturn companion.

“It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together. You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour.”

The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk of his, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experienced man-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In less time than he had named, however, Holmes was back, in company with a smart young police inspector.

“I’ve left Barker to look after the formalities,” said Holmes. “You had not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey shore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to complete the picture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he not, Inspector?”

“He has certainly interfered several times,” the inspector answered with reserve.