“Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there’s money in it.”
“Why?”
“Ah, that’s a long story—rather a whimsical one, too. I don’t think in all our explorations of human complexities we have ever come upon anything more singular. The fellow will be here presently for cross-examination, so I won’t open the matter up till he comes. But meanwhile, that’s the name we want.”
The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned over the pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazement there was this strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.
“Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!”
Holmes took the book from my hand.
“‘Garrideb, N.,’” he read, “‘136 Little Ryder Street, W.’ Sorry to disappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself. That is the address upon his letter. We want another to match him.”
Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up and glanced at it.
“Why, here it is!” I cried in amazement. “This is a different initial. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U.S.A.”
Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. “I am afraid you must make yet another effort, Watson,” said he. “This gentleman is also in the plot already, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning. However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which I want to know.”
A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful
