"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger,"
said he, "and there was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang,
but Godfrey Staunton is a new name to me."
It was our visitor's turn to look surprised.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he.
"I suppose, then, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton
you don't know Cyril Overton either?"
Holmes shook his head good-humouredly.
"Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was first reserve
for England against Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all
this year. But that's nothing! I didn't think there was a
soul in England who didn't know Godfrey Staunton, the crack
three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, and five Internationals.
Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where HAVE you lived?"
Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment.
"You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton, a sweeter
and healthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many
sections of society, but never, I am happy to say, into amateur
sport, which is the best and soundest thing in England. However,
your unexpected visit this morning shows me that even in that
world of fresh air and fair play there may be work for me to do;
so now, my good sir, I beg you to sit down and to tell me slowly
and quietly exactly what it is that has occurred, and how you
desire that I should help you.
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