"Why must you keep us waiting, Mr. Holmes?" he whispered. "Tell us, at once, please, who— who—" His voice trailed off into a moan.
"The criminal," said Sherlock Holmes, smoothly, "is—"
"Sir Nathaniel Brooke-Bannerman!" said a maid, suddenly, putting her head in at the door, and on the heels of her announcement stalked the handsome baronet, whose priceless volume had caused all this stir and unhappiness.
Sir Nathaniel was white, and appeared ill. He burst at once into talk.
"I have been much upset by your call," he said, looking meanwhile at our client. "You say you have something to tell me about the quarto. Don't say that anything has happened to it!" He clutched nervously at the wall to steady himself, and I felt deep pity for him.
Mr. Harrington Edwards looked at Sherlock Holmes. "Oh, Mr. Holmes," he cried, pathetically, "why did you send for him?"
"Because," said my friend, firmly, "I wish him to hear the truth about the Shakespeare quarto. Sir Nathaniel, I believe you have not been told as yet that Mr. Edwards was robbed, last night, of your precious volume robbed by the
