Short Stories
"So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why should a per-
fectly honest man—Well, well, here's a large stationer's. We shall
begin our researches here."
There were only four stationers of any consequences in the
town, and at each Holmes produced his pencil chips, and bid
high for a duplicate. All were agreed that one could be ordered,
but that it was not a usual size of pencil and that it was seldom
kept in stock. My friend did not appear to be depressed by his
failure, but shrugged his shoulders in half-humorous resigna-
tion.
"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final clue,
has run to nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we can
build up a sufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, it is
nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas at seven-
thirty. What with your eternal tobacco, Watson, and your irregu-
larity at meals, I expect that you will get notice to quit, and that I
shall share your downfall—not, however, before we have solved
the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless servant, and the
three enterprising students."
Holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day,
though he sat lost in thought for a long time after our belated
dinner. At eight in the morning, he came into my room just as I
finished my toilet.
"Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went down to St.
Luke's. Can you do without breakfast?"
"Certainly."
"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell
him something positive."
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