of the latch as she opened it.
âDoes Dr Watson live here?â asked a clear but rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servantâs reply, but the door closed, and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door.
âCome in,â I cried.
At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsy, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance.
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. âItâs this as has brought me, good gentlemen,â she said, dropping another curtsy; âa gold wedding-ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelve-month, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what heâd say if he come âome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best oâ times,but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with ââ
âIs that her ring?â I asked.
âThe Lord be thanked!â cried the old woman; âSally will be a glad woman this night. Thatâs the ring.â
âAnd what may your address be?â I inquired, taking up a pencil.
â13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.â
âThe Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,â said Sherlock Holmes sharply.
The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. âThe gentleman asked me for
my
address,â she said. âSally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham.â
âAnd your name is â?â
âMy name is Sawyer â hers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her â and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as heâs at sea, and no steward in the company more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what with liquor shops ââ
âHere is your ring, Mrs Sawyer,â I interrupted, in obedience to a sign from my companion; âit clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner.â
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. âIâll follow her,â he said, hurriedly; âshe must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me.â The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. âEither his whole theory is incorrect,â I thought to myself, âor else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery.â There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure.
It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Murgerâs
Vie de Bohème
. Ten oâclock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. Eleven,and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination. It was close upon twelve before I heard
Simon Scarrow
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