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In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily

from their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey

side. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the

river, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the

right and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well

known to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted

him. One of them held the horse's head while the other led us in.

"Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.

"Inspector Bradstreet, sir."

"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout official had come

down the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged

jacket. "I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet."

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here."

It was a small, office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the

table, and a telephone projecting from the wall. The inspector

sat down at his desk.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"