Sherlock Holmes was sick. The great detective had been working too hard lately. For two whole months, he had been busy with his latest case, working over fifteen hours a day, and it had made him very tired and weak.

As his doctor and closest friend, I told him he needed a break. It was April in the year 1887, and I thought a week of spring sunshine in the countryside would be good for him. My old friend Colonel Hayter had bought a house near Reigate in Surrey and had said we could visit anytime.

This was the perfect time to accept his offer. Holmes, luckily, didn't need much convincing, and on the morning of April 25, we left our Baker Street home for Waterloo Station. By the middle of the afternoon, we had arrived at the colonel's house.

After dinner, while Holmes rested on the sofa, the colonel showed me his collection of weapons from the Afghan War, where we had met.

"By the way," he said suddenly, "I think I'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me tonight in case of a break-in."

"A break-in?" I exclaimed.

"Yes! We had an incident not far from here last Monday. Burglars broke into the house of a local businessman named Acton. They didn't do much damage, but the burglars are still free, and one can't be too careful."

Holmes, who I thought was asleep, opened one eye. "Did they leave any clues?" he asked.

"Not that I know of," said Hayter. "It was a very minor burglary, not worth your attention, Mr. Holmes. The thieves ransacked the library. They made a mess, breaking open drawers and pulling things off shelves. All they took was a book, two candlesticks, a paperweight, a small clock, and a ball of string."

"What a strange mix of items!" I said.

"They probably grabbed the first things they saw," said Hayter.

"The local police should learn something from that list," Holmes said, sitting up straighter on the sofa. "To me, it seems clear that ..."

I held up my hand. "You're here to rest, my friend. I don't want you getting involved in another problem right now."

Holmes shrugged and sighed, and we changed the topic to something less serious.

But my attempts to make this a relaxing trip failed because peaceful Reigate suddenly became a crime scene. The next morning, we were eating breakfast when Hayter's butler ran in looking very worried. "Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunninghams'?"

"Another burglary?" asked the colonel, his coffee cup in mid-air.

"Murder, sir!"

The colonel whistled. "By Jove! Who was killed, the father or the son?"

"Neither, sir. It was William, their coachman. Shot through the heart, sir."

"Who shot him?"

"The burglar, sir. Then he ran away and got away. He had just broken through the side door when William arrived and confronted him. William died trying to protect his master's property."

"What time was this?" asked Hayter.

"Around midnight, sir."

"We'll visit this morning to offer our sympathies," said the colonel, sitting back down to his breakfast.

After the butler left, he added, "It's a bad situation. Old Cunningham is a good man, and he'll be very upset about this. William Keegan has worked for him for years and was a loyal servant. These must be the same burglars who broke into Acton's place."

"And stole that strange collection of items," said Holmes. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This might be a simple problem, but it's still a bit strange, isn't it? You'd expect a gang of burglars to rob different areas, not two houses in the same area within a few days. When you talked last night about taking a pistol to your bedroom, Colonel, I thought this was probably the last place in England that thieves would target, which shows I still have much to learn."

"I think it's some local thief," said Hayter. "Acton's and Cunningham's houses are the biggest around here, so they'd be his targets."

"Are Acton and Cunningham both very rich?" I asked.

"They should be, they're both local landowners, but they've been in a legal battle for years. It's cost them a lot of money. Old Acton believes he owns half of Cunningham's land. Cunningham disagrees, and they've both hired expensive lawyers."

I saw a light in Holmes's eyes that I didn't like. It meant he was getting interested.

He saw my worried look and smiled. "Don't worry, Watson. I won't get involved."

At that moment, the door opened. "Inspector Forrester, sir," the butler announced, and a young, fresh-faced police detective entered.

"Good morning, Colonel," he said. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but I heard that Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street is here."

The colonel pointed to my friend, and the inspector bowed. "We thought you might want to help us with something, Mr. Holmes."

"Fate seems to be against you, Watson," laughed Holmes.

As he leaned back in his chair, listening to the inspector, I knew our peaceful break was over.

"The Acton burglary left us with no clues," said Forrester, "but with this latest incident, we have more to go on, and it's clear it was the same person. The man ran away after he shot poor William Keegan, but he was seen. Mr. Cunningham saw him from his bedroom window, and his son Alec saw him from the stairway.

"It started around quarter to twelve last night. Mr. Cunningham had just gone to bed, and Alec was in his dressing room, reading. They both heard Keegan calling for help, and Alec ran down to see what was happening. He saw two men fighting outside through the open back door. One of them fired a shot, the other fell, and then the murderer ran across the lawn and through the hedge.

"Mr. Cunningham saw the man reach the road but lost sight of him. Alec ran to help Keegan, but the killer got away. Keegan died immediately, so Alec couldn't get any information from him. The Cunninghams described the killer as an average-sized man dressed in dark clothing. Apart from that, we know nothing about him, but we're asking around the area. If he's a stranger, someone will have seen him."

"What was Keegan doing there?" asked Holmes.

"He lives in the lodge on the estate with his mother. I guess he heard something at the house and went to check. The Acton break-in has made everyone cautious."

Sherlock Holmes thought about what Forrester had said.

"Did the robber break into the house before Keegan got there?" Holmes asked.

Forrester shook his head. "We think he was trying to open the door when Keegan arrived."

"Did Keegan say anything to his mother before going out?"

"She's very old and deaf. We can't get any information from her. But we did find something important." The inspector took a small piece of torn paper from his notebook and placed it on the table. The paper said, "at quarter to twelve – learn – what – maybe."

"This was found between Keegan's finger and thumb," he said. "It looks like it was torn from a larger piece of paper. You'll notice that the time on it is the same time Keegan was killed. The murderer might have taken the rest of the paper, or Keegan might have torn this piece from the murderer."

Holmes picked up the scrap of paper and studied it.

"It seems like it was for a meeting," continued the inspector. "William Keegan is known as an honest man, but it's possible he was working with the thief."

"What makes you think so?" I asked.

"Keegan might have met the thief there, might even have helped him open the door, and then they argued."

"The writing on this piece of paper is very important," said Holmes, who was examining it closely. "This puzzle is more interesting than I thought."

Inspector Forrester smiled, seeing how his little case had captured the famous detective's attention.

"Your theory," said Holmes, "that the burglar and the coachman were working together is possible, but this writing ..." His voice trailed off, and he fell into deep thought. When he looked up again, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. He jumped to his feet with his old energy.

"This case fascinates me," he said. "Colonel Hayter, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave you with Dr. Watson while I go with the inspector to test some ideas. I'll be back in half an hour."

An hour and a half later, the inspector returned alone. "Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside your house, Colonel," he reported. "He wants all of us to go to the Cunningham place together."

"What for?" asked Hayter.

Forrester shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Between ourselves, I'm not sure Mr. Holmes has fully recovered from his illness yet. He's been acting rather oddly and seems a bit too excited."

"I wouldn't worry too much, Inspector," I said. "Holmes's behavior can seem unusual to those who don't know him, but I've found there's a method to his madness."

"Some might say there's madness in his method," muttered Forrester. "Anyway, he's very eager to start, so if you're ready, we'd best go join him."

We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin down on his chest, his hands in his pockets.

"Watson, your trip to the country has been a great success. I've had a wonderful morning."

"Did you visit the scene of the crime?" asked Hayter.

"Yes, the inspector and I saw some interesting things."

As we walked, he told us what they had discovered.

"We examined the body of poor William Keegan. I can confirm he died from a revolver wound, as reported."

"Did you doubt it?" asked Hayter.

"No, but I always check everything. We also spoke with the Cunninghams—father and son—who showed us where the murderer broke through the hedge when he fled. We tried to talk with Keegan's mother, but she couldn't give us any information because of her age and mental decline."

"What conclusions did you draw from your investigations?" asked the colonel.

"This is a very peculiar crime," said Holmes. "I think we both agree—right, Inspector?—that the piece of paper in the dead man's hand is very important. Whoever wrote that note got William Keegan out of bed at that hour. But where is the rest of the paper?"

"I examined the ground carefully around the body, but found no trace of it," said Forrester.

"It was torn from the dead man's hand," said Holmes. "That suggests someone was eager to get it, probably because it pointed to their guilt."

"It's lucky he didn't notice that a corner of the note stayed in Keegan's grip," said Forrester.

"That was indeed fortunate!" said Holmes. "He probably shoved it in his pocket without checking. If we could find the rest of that note, it would help us solve the mystery."