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him?"

"He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.

"That's it," cried Pycroft.

Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was
pale when we entered the room," said he. "It is just
possible that--"

His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the
direction of the inner door.

"What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?"
cried the clerk.

Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all
gazed expectantly at the closed door. Glancing at
Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and he leaned
forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a
low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming
upon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the
room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the
inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves
upon it with all our weight. One hinge snapped, then
the other, and down came the door with a crash.
Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner room.
It was empty.

But it was only for a moment that we were at fault.
At one corner, the corner nearest the room which we
had left, there was a second door. Holmes sprang to
it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were
lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door,
with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the
managing director of the Franco-Midland Hardware
Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a
dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his
heels against the door made the noise which had broken
in upon our conversation. In an instant I had caught
him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes and
Pycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared
between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried
him into the other room, where he lay with a
clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out
with every breath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had
been but five minutes before.

"What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.

I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was
feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew
longer, and there was a little shivering of his
eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball
beneath.

"It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but
he'll live now. Just open that window, and hand me
the water carafe." I undid his collar, poured the
cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms
until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only a
question of time now," said I, as I turned away from
him.

Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his
trouser's pockets and his chin upon his breast.

"I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said
he. "And yet I confess that I'd like to give them a
complete case when they come."

"It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft,
scratching his head. "Whatever they wanted to bring
me all the way up here for, and then--"

"Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes
impatiently. "It is this last sudden move."

"You understand the rest, then?"

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