animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognised as Peter
Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin,
sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable
frock-coat.
Ha! Our party is complete, said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket
and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. Watson, I think you
know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.
Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night s adventure.
We re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see, said Jones in his
consequential way. Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.
I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,
observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.
You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir, said the
police agent loftily. He has his own little methods, which are, if he
won t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic,
but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say
that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the
Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official
force.
Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right, said the stranger with
deference. Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first
Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my
rubber.
I think you will find, said Sherlock Holmes, that you will play for
a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play
will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be
some 30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you
wish to lay your hands.
John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He s a young man,
Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I would
rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He s a
remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke,
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