take the dog to old Barnes at the ‘Green Dragon,’ for he never wished to see it again.”
Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He had lit the oldest and foulest of his pipes.
“I am not clear ⟨yet⟩ what you want me to do in this matter, Mr. Mason,” he said at last. “Can’t you make it more definite?”
“Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor.
He took a paper from his pocket and, unwrapping it carefully, he exposed a charred fragment of bone.
Holmes examined it with interest.
“Where did you get it?”
“There is a central heating furnace in the cellar under Lady Beatrice’s room. It’s been off for some time, but Sir Robert complained of cold and had it on again. Harvey runs it—he’s one of my lads. This very morning he came to me with this which he found raking out the cinders. He didn’t like the look of it.”
“Nor do I,” said Holmes. “What do you make of it, Watson?”
It was burned to a black cinder, but there could be no question as to its anatomical significance.
“It’s the upper condyle of a human femur,” said I.
“Exactly!” Holmes had become very serious. “When does this lad tend to the furnace?”
“He makes it up every evening and then leaves it.”
“Then anyone could visit it during the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you enter it from outside?”
“There is one door from outside. There is another
