Short Stories
you attend that anything is amiss?"
"No, sir—not a word."
"You haven't seen any of them?"
"No, sir."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in the
quadrangle, if you please."
Three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering
gloom.
"Your three birds are all in their nests," said Holmes, looking
up. "Halloa! What's that? One of them seems restless enough."
It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly
upon his blind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room.
"I should like to have a peep at each of them," said Holmes.
"Is it possible?"
"No difficulty in the world," Soames answered. "This set of
rooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for
visitors to go over them. Come along, and I will personally con-
duct you."
"No names, please!" said Holmes, as we knocked at
Gilchrist's door. A tall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened
it, and made us welcome when he understood our errand. There
were some really curious pieces of mediaeval domestic architec-
ture within. Holmes was so charmed with one of them that he
insisted on drawing it in his notebook, broke his pencil, had to
borrow one from our host and finally borrowed a knife to sharp-
en his own. The same curious accident happened to him in the
rooms of the Indian—a silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who
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