from the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediate action, as political consequences of the gravest kind might arise from its neglect. Therefore it was not until the beginning of the next week, as my diary records, that I was able to start forth on my mission to Bedfordshire in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As we drove to Euston we picked up a grave and taciturn gentleman of iron-grey aspect, with whom I had made the necessary arrangements.
“This is an old friend,” said I to Dodd. “It is possible that his presence may be entirely unnecessary, and, on the other hand, it may be essential. It is not necessary at the present stage to go further into the matter.”
The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt, to the fact that I do not waste words or disclose my thoughts while a case is actually under consideration. Dodd seemed surprised, but nothing more was said, and the three of us continued our journey together. In the train I asked Dodd one more question which I wished our companion to hear.
“You say that you saw your friend’s face quite clearly at the window, so clearly that you are sure of his identity?”
“I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed against the glass. The lamplight shone full upon him.”
“It could not have been someone resembling him?”
“No, no; it was he.”
“But you say he was changed?”
“Only in colour. His face was—how shall I describe it?—it was of a fish-belly whiteness. It was bleached.”
“Was it equally pale all over?”
