That note only reached her yesterday, said Holmes.
Good God! What a week she must have spent!
The police have watched this Lascar, said Inspector Bradstreet, and
I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letter
unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, who
forgot all about it for some days.
That was it, said Holmes, nodding approvingly; I have no doubt of
it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?
Many times; but what was a fine to me?
It must stop here, however, said Bradstreet. If the police are to
hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone.
I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take.
In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps may be
taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out. I am sure,
Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared
the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your results.
I reached this one, said my friend, by sitting upon five pillows and
consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to Baker
Street we shall just be in time for breakfast.
VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning
after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of
the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a
pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled
morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch
was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and
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