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What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent.

I am afraid he won't make much of it.

Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!"

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room.

The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting.

His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy.

He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out.

He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do.

"This is a most extraordinary case," he said at last - "a most incomprehensible affair."

"Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson, triumphantly. "I thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"

"The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely, "was murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock this morning."

The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered.

Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water.

I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes.

"Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens."

"It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair. "I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war."

"Are you - are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammered Gregson.

"I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was the first to discover what had occurred."

"We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmes observed. "Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?"

"I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself.

"I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in the death of Drebber.

This fresh development has shown me that I was completely mistaken.

Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out what had become of the Secretary.

They had been seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third.

Chapter 7. Light in the Darkness

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