Ask him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone in this
room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for granted.
Tell him you KNOW someone has been here. Press him. Tell him
that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness.
Do exactly what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" cried Lestrade.
He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying
voice sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes, with frenzied eagerness.
All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless
manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget
from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and
knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it.
One turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it.
It hinged back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity
opened beneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it,
and drew it out with a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment.
It was empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid was
replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight when
Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage.
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