PART I.
3. CHAPTER III. THE LAURISTON GARDENS MYSTERY
(continued)
At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced,
flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed
forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion.
"It is indeed kind of you to come," he said, "I have had
everything left untouched."
"Except that!" my friend answered, pointing at the pathway.
"If a herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be
a greater mess. No doubt, however, you had drawn your own
conclusions, Gregson, before you permitted this."
"I have had so much to do inside the house," the detective
said evasively. "My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here.
I had relied upon him to look after this."
Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically.
"With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground,
there will not be much for a third party to find out," he said.
Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way.
"I think we have done all that can be done," he answered;
"it's a queer case though, and I knew your taste for such things."
"You did not come here in a cab?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
"No, sir."
"Nor Lestrade?"
"No, sir."
"Then let us go and look at the room." With which
inconsequent remark he strode on into the house, followed by
Gregson, whose features expressed his astonishment.
A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen
and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to
the right. One of these had obviously been closed for many
weeks. The other belonged to the dining-room, which was the
apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred.
Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued
feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires.
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