Perhaps you would care to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the
mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last
night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age,
dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing
of one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him
at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose
future Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the
admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of
the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down
with an air of deep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round.
I spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."
"And what had you to report?"
"Failure, sir; absolute failure."
"You have made no progress?"
"None."
"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."
"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first
big chance, and I am at my wit's end.
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