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"It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two

years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time

I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that

this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended

with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,

however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in

which it had come upon my father."

The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and

turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried

orange pips.

"This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark is

London-eastern division. Within are the very words which were

upon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the

papers on the sundial.'"

"What have you done?" asked Holmes.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"