"
"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"
"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain --
Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair
with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window
of the second-floor front of No. 427, Park Lane, upon the 30th
of last month. That's the charge, Lestrade. And now, Watson,
if you can endure the draught from a broken window, I think that
half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some
profitable amusement."
Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision
of Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson.
As I entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old
landmarks were all in their place. There were the chemical
corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. There upon a
shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference
which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn.
The diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack -- even the
Persian slipper which contained the tobacco -- all met my eyes
as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the room --
one Mrs.
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