No, no, cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he
had half risen. I really wouldn t miss your case for the world. It is
most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying
so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you
take when you found the card upon the door?
I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the
offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the
ground floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of
the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such
body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the
name was new to him.
Well, said I, the gentleman at No. 4.
What, the red-headed man?
Yes.
Oh, said he, his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and
was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.
Where could I find him?
Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King
Edward Street, near St. Paul s.
I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of
either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.
And what did you do then? asked Holmes.
I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my
assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that
if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough,
Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so,
as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk
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