“Well,” said I, laughing.

“This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail I have other resources, but I shall try them first. That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast.”

It was between eight and nine o’clock now, and I was conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it, it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee.

“Here it is,” said he, laughing and pointing to an open newspaper. “The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first.”

I took the paper from him and read the short notice, Which was headed “Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood.”

About twelve o’clock last night [said the Standard] Mr.

Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances

which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no actual

traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto’s person, but

a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased

gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried

off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes

and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece

of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member

of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood

police station and was on the ground within half an hour of

the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at

once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with

the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has

already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs.

Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or

gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the

thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for

Mr. Jones’s well-known technical knowledge and his powers