watchman has been left day and night in the building. It

appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was

engaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none

other than Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman,

who, with his brother, has only recently emerged from a

five years’ spell of penal servitude. By some means, which

are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false

name, this official position in the office, which he utilized

in order to obtain mouldings of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of the strongroom and the

safes.

“It is customary at Mawson’s for the clerks to leave at

midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City police,

was somewhat surprised, therefore, to see a gentleman with

a carpet-bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past

one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed

the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded,

after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at

once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been

committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of

American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in

mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On

examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the

safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of

Sergeant Tuson. The man’s-skull had been shattered by a

blow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be

no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having

murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and

then made off with his booty. His brother, who usually

works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at

present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts.”

“Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction,” said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. “Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain and murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police.”

“I have some papers here,” said my friend Sherlock Holmes as we sat one winter’s night on either side of the fire, “which I really think, Watson, that it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the documents in the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, and this is the message which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it.”

He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and. undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-gray paper.