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"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had £ 1000 for

every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It is

the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that

Neville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But our

trap should be here." He put his two forefingers between his

teeth and whistled shrilly-a signal which was answered by a

similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle

of wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs.

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through

the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from

its side lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?"

"If I can be of use."

"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still

more so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one."

"The Cedars?"

"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while I

conduct the inquiry."

"Where is it, then?"

"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us."