there is much that is unexplained, and I should strongly recommend that you ask Mr. Douglas to tell us his own story.”
Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmes’ words. The detectives and I must have echoed it, when we were aware of a man who seemed to have emerged from the wall, who advanced now from the gloom of the corner in which he had appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned, and in an instant her arms were round him. Barker had seized his outstretched hand.
“It’s best this way, Jack,” his wife repeated,—“I am sure that it is best.”
“Indeed yes, Mr. Douglas,” said Sherlock Holmes, “I am sure that you will find it best.”
The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who comes from the dark into the light. It was a remarkable face, bold gray eyes, a strong, short-clipped, grizzled mustache, a square, projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. He took a good look at us all, and then to my amazement he advanced to me and handed me a bundle of paper.
“I’ve heard of you,” said he in a voice which was not quite English and not quite American,
