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"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my

analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the

morning."

By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the

old English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers

all the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he

threw them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal

spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white

clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining

very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air,

which set an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside,

away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and

grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light

green of the new foliage.

"Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried with all the

enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.

But Holmes shook his head gravely.