"No."
"It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention thefact that when the man was raised up, a woman's wedding ring fell uponthe floor. It is just as well it does not."
"Why?"
"Look at this advertisement," he answered. "I had one sent to everypaper this morning immediately after the affair."
He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. Itwas the first announcement in the "Found" column. "In Brixton Road,this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadwaybetween the 'White Hart' Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson,221B, Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening."
"Excuse my using your name," he said. "If I used my own some of thesedunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair."
"That is all right," I answered. "But supposing anyone applies, I haveno ring."
"Oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one. "This will do very well. Itis almost a facsimile."
"And who do you expect will answer this advertisement."
"Why, the man in the brown coat--our florid friend with the square toes.If he does not come himself he will send an accomplice."
"Would he not consider it as too dangerous?"
"Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reasonto believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose thering. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber'sbody, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house hediscovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already inpossession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He hadto pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might havebeen aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in thatman's place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to himthat it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leavingthe house. What would he do, then? He would eagerly look out for theevening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. Hiseye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why shouldhe fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the findingof the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He willcome. You shall see him within an hour?"
"And then?" I asked.
"Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?"
"I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges."
"You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man,and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready foranything."
I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned withthe pistol the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in hisfavourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.
"The plot thickens," he said, as I entered; "I have just had an answerto my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one."
"And that is?" I asked eagerly.
"My fiddle would be the better for new strings," he remarked. "Put yourpistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes speak to him in an ordinaryway. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him by looking at him toohard."
"It is eight o'clock now," I said, glancing at my watch.
"Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly.That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is aqueer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday--'De Jure interGentes'--published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles'head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backedvolume was struck off."
"Who is the printer?"
"Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly-leaf, in veryfaded ink, is written 'Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.' I wonder who WilliamWhyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, I suppose. Hiswriting has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think."
As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rosesoftly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard theservant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as sheopened it.
"Does Dr. Watson live here?" asked a clear but rather harsh voice. Wecould not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed, and some onebegan to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shufflingone. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as helistened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feebletap at the door.
"Come in," I cried.
At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a veryold and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to bedazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, shestood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocketwith nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his facehad assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do tokeep my countenance.
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at ouradvertisement. "It's this as has brought me, good gentlemen," she said,dropping another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. Itbelongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth,which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he'd say ifhe come 'ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, hebeing short enough at the best o' times, but more especially when hehas the drink. If it please you, she went t
o the circus last night alongwith----"