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I never doubted it.

That there is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall.

I never doubted that either.

That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson.

Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed.

We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiries myself."

Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the postscript:-

"I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me.

I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable.

At the same time my promise is, of course, given.

He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently.

You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained."

"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter.

"The case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought.

I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I have formed."

Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland Yard investigation.

He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them.

"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said he. "You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without it."

I begged him to tell me what had occurred.

"I found that country pub which I had already recommended to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries.

I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted.

Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall.

There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical.

I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there WAS a man of that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one.

The landlord further informed me that there are usually week-end visitors - 'a warm lot, sir' - at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there.

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