"
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was
on the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm
crawling very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind
a stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then
vanished once more upon the opposite side. When I made my way
round there I found him seated at one of the corner eaves.
"That you, Watson?" he cried.
"Yes."
"This is the place. What is that black thing down there?"
"A water-barrel."
"Top on it?"
"Yes."
"No sign of a ladder?"
"No."
"Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I ought to
be able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe
feels pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow."
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come
steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he
came on to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
"It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings
and boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his
hurry he had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you
doctors express it."
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch
woven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung
round it.
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