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The Lauriston Garden Mystery
Atthedoorofthehouseweweremetbyatall,white-faced,flaxen-hairedman,withanotebookinhishand,whorushedforwardandwrungmycompanion’shandwitheffusion. “Itisindeedkindofyoutocome,”hesaid,“Ihavehadeverythingleftuntouched.”
“Exceptthat!”myfriendanswered,pointingatthepathway. “Ifaherdofbuffaloeshadpassedalongtherecouldnotbeagreatermess. Nodoubt,however,youhaddrawnyourownconclusions,Gregson,beforeyoupermittedthis.”
“Ihavehadsomuchtodoinsidethehouse,”thedetectivesaidevasively. “Mycolleague,Mr.Lestrade,ishere. Ihadrelieduponhimtolookafterthis.”
Holmesglancedatmeandraisedhiseyebrowssardonically. “WithtwosuchmenasyourselfandLestradeupontheground,therewillnotbemuchforathirdpartytofindout,”hesaid.
Gregsonrubbedhishandsinaself-satisfiedway. “Ithinkwehavedoneallthatcanbedone,”heanswered; “it’saqueercasethough,andIknewyourtasteforsuchthings.”
“Youdidnotcomehereinacab?”askedSherlockHolmes.
“No,sir.”
“NorLestrade?”
“No,sir.”
“Thenletusgoandlookattheroom.”Withwhichinconsequentremarkhestrodeonintothehouse,followedbyGregson,whosefeaturesexpressedhisastonishment.
Ashortpassage,bareplankedanddusty,ledtothekitchenandoffices.
