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I had hardly got the paper, however-which was, as I had expected, in one of them-when the two Cunninghams were on me, and would, I verily believe, have murdered me then and there but for your prompt and friendly aid.

As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort to get the paper out of my hand.

They saw that I must know all about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security to complete despair made them perfectly desperate.

"I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the motive of the crime.

He was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody else's brains if he could have got to his revolver.

When Cunningham saw that the case against him was so strong he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything.

It seems that William had secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made their raid upon Mr. Acton's, and having thus got them into his power, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail upon them. Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sort with.

It was a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglary scare which was convulsing the country side an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared.

William was decoyed up and shot, and had they only got the whole of the note and paid a little more attention to detail in the accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might never have been aroused."

"And the note?" I asked.

Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.

If you will only come around to the east gate you it will very much surprise you and be of the greatest service to you and also to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to anyone upon the matter.

"It is very much the sort of thing that I expected," said he.

"Of course, we do not yet know what the relations may have been between Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison.

The results shows that the trap was skillfully baited.

I am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's.

The absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most characteristic.

Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow."

One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day's work had been an exhausting one.

My wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the servants had also retired.

I had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.

I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened the door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step.

"Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be too late to catch you."

"My dear fellow, pray come in."

The Crooked Man

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