Jonas Oldacre."
The detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement.
The latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor,
and peering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious
face -- crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes
and white eyelashes.
"What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last. "What have you
been doing all this time, eh?"
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious
red face of the angry detective.
"I have done no harm."
"No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged.
If it wasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you
would not have succeeded."
The wretched creature began to whimper.
"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke."
"Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side,
I promise you. Take him down and keep him in the sitting-room
until I come. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they had gone,
"I could not speak before the constables, but I don't mind saying,
in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing
that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did
it.
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