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Page 110
"I had an answer to my advertisement."
"Ah!"
"Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving."
"And to what effect?"
Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
"Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal
cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak
constitution. 'Sir,' he says, 'in answer to your
advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you
that I know the young lady in question very well. If
you should care to call upon me I could give you some
particulars as to her painful history. She is living
at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours
faithfully, J. Davenport.'
"He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes.
"Do you not think that we might drive to him now,
Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"
"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable
than the sister's story. I think we should call at
Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and go straight
out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to
death, and every hour may be vital."
"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested.
"We may need an interpreter."
"Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for
a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once." He
opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed
that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes,"
said he, in answer to my glance; "I should say from
what we have heard, that we are dealing with a
particularly dangerous gang."
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall
Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just
called for him, and he was gone.
"Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.
"I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened
the door; "I only know that he drove away with the
gentleman in a carriage."
"Did the gentleman give a name?"
"No, sir."
"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"
"Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with
glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his
ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was
talking."
"Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This
grows serious," he observed, as we drove to Scotland
Yard. "These men have got hold of Melas again. He is
a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware
from their experience the other night. This villain
was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into
his presence. No doubt they want his professional
services, but, having used him, they may be inclined
to punish him for what they will regard as his
treachery."
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to
Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. On
reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an
hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply
with the legal formalities which would enable us to
enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we
reached London Bridge, and half past before the four
of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of
half a mile brought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark
house standing back from the road in its own grounds.
Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the
drive together.
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