however, is Mr. Harrington Edwards — the one man in the world who could have unmasked me."
"Thank you, Nathaniel," said Mr. Harrington Edwards, gratefully.
"The inscription, of course, also was forged," continued the baronet. "You may as well know all."
"And the book?" asked Holmes. "Where did you destroy it?"
A grim smile settled on Sir Nathaniel's features. "It is even now burning in Mr. Edwards' own furnace," he said.
"Then it cannot yet be consumed," cried Holmes, and dashed into the basement. He was absent for some little time, and we heard the clinking of bottles, and, finally, the clang of a great metal door. He emerged, some moments later, in high spirits, carrying a charred leaf in his hand.
"It is a pity," he cried, "a pity! In spite of its questionable authenticity, it was a noble specimen. It is only half consumed, but let it burn away. I have preserved one leaf as a souvenir of the occasion." He folded it carefully and placed it in his wallet. "Mr. Harrington Edwards, I fancy the decision in this matter is for you to announce. Sir Nathaniel, of course, must
