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He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to

and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got

beyond words.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows

knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.

"Do you receive much company?" he asked.

"None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of

Arthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No

one else, I think."

"Do you go out much in society?"

"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for

it."

"That is unusual in a young girl."

"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She

is four-and-twenty."

"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to

her also."

"Terrible! She is even more affected than I."

"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?"

"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet

in his hands."