It had just struck three on
the Palace clock when I found myself back once more at
Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found,
been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had
been marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the
narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my
mentioning the detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his
pockets, smoking his pipe.
"Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Atheney
Jones has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since
you left. He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the
gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the
place to ourselves, but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog
here, and come up."
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The
room was as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped
over the central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant
reclined in the corner.
"Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie
this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me.
Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you
carry them down with you, Watson.
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