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And yet without a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in the evening and implored his assistance and advice.

It was vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so.

With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troubling her.

"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes darted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy."

She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal.

"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you to-day."

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen.

"You will excuse me, I am sure.

It is my business," said he, as he dropped it.

"I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting.

Of course, it is obvious that it is music.

You observe the spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to both professions? There is a spirituality about the face, however" - he gently turned it towards the light - "which the typewriter does not generate.

This lady is a musician."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."

"In the country, I presume, from your complexion."

"Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey."

"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interesting associations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we took Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"

The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement:-

"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes.

He was James Smith, who conducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre.

My mother and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him since.

When father died we were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the Times inquiring for our whereabouts.

You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune.

We went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper.

There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa.

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