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I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the

autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a

very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.

With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when

Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door

behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear

Watson," he said cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and

helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt

that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of

greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small

fat-encircled eyes.