"But how can we get inside the criminal's pocket before we catch the criminal?" wondered Forrester.

"That will be difficult," said Holmes. "And there's something else bothering me. Why would a burglar risk writing such a note? It could be found by one of the Cunninghams. Why not just speak to Keegan? This suggests that the burglar and the writer of the note are two different people. Do we know who brought the note to the meeting or if it came by mail?"

"I spoke to the postman," said Forrester. "William Keegan got a letter in yesterday's afternoon mail. I checked the ashes in Keegan's fireplace and saw that he had burned the envelope."

"Excellent!" cried Holmes, patting the inspector on the back. "It's a pleasure to work with such a professional."

We passed through the gates of the Cunningham estate. After passing the lodge where Keegan had lived, we walked up an oak-lined avenue to the old house. Holmes and Forrester led us around the house until we came to a side door guarded by a constable. A stretch of lawn lay between here and the hedge bordering the property.

"This is where the fight between Keegan and the murderer took place," said Holmes. "Please open the door." The constable did so, and Holmes pointed to a staircase inside. "It was on those stairs that young Alec Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling."

Then Holmes pointed upward. "Meanwhile, old Mr. Cunningham was at that window—the second from the left—and he saw the man escape across the lawn." Holmes now turned and indicated a small break in the hedge. "That's where he saw him push through to the road. The ground is very hard, so there are no footprints to guide us."

As Holmes spoke, two men came around the corner of the house. One was elderly with a deeply-lined face and heavy eyes. The other was a young man with a cheerful smile. They must be the Cunninghams.

"Still working on the mystery then?" Alec said to Holmes. "I thought you people from London were supposed to be very smart. You don't seem to be so quick after all."

"Ah, you must give us a little more time," said Holmes with a smile.

"Sure," said Alec, "but I don't see that the burglar left you any clues at all."

"Actually, there is one," said Forrester. "If we could only find—Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What's the matter?"

My friend had suddenly collapsed face first on the ground. I rushed to his side. "Holmes, what's the matter?"

He could only groan deeply in response.

Horrified by the sudden and serious attack, we carried him into the kitchen and laid him in a large chair. Here, he sat for a few minutes until he could speak again. "Watson will tell you that I've only just recovered from a severe illness," he explained. "I'm afraid I'm still vulnerable to these sudden attacks."

"Would you like a ride home in my carriage?" offered old Cunningham.

Holmes shook his head and stood up. His recovery seemed as quick as his collapse. "While I'm here," he said, "I would like to share a new idea with you."

"By all means," said Mr. Cunningham.

"Do you think it's possible that the burglar had already been in the house when he had his fight with your coachman, William Keegan? We all seem to think that, although the door was forced, the robber never got in. But how can we be sure of that?"

"It's obvious to me that he didn't get inside the house," said Mr. Cunningham. "My son Alec hadn't yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard anyone moving around downstairs."

"Where were you exactly?" Holmes asked Alec.

"I was reading in my dressing room."

"Which window is that?"

"The last one on the left, next to my father's."

"And the lamps in your dressing room and bedroom were both on?"

"Of course."

"Isn't it strange that a burglar, especially an experienced one, would break into a house when he could see that the family was still awake because of the lights?" Holmes asked.

"He must have been very bold," said Alec. "And your idea that he robbed the house before William fought him is ridiculous. Wouldn't we have found the house in a mess, with things missing?"

"It depends on what was taken," said Holmes. "Remember, we are dealing with a very unusual burglar. Look at what he took from Acton's—a ball of string, a paperweight, and other small things."

"We are in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said old Mr. Cunningham. "If you or the inspector need anything, just let us know."

"First of all, I think you should offer a reward for information leading to the capture of the burglar," said Holmes. "I've written down the wording for the poster here. Could you sign it?" He handed a piece of paper and a pencil to Mr. Cunningham. "Fifty pounds should be enough, don't you think?"

"I'd gladly give five hundred to see that murderer caught," said Mr. Cunningham. "However, this isn't quite right," he added after looking at the document. "You wrote that the crime happened at a quarter to one on Tuesday morning. It was actually at a quarter to twelve."

Holmes blushed. "My apologies. I wrote it quickly."

Inspector Forrester raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Alec Cunningham burst out laughing.

I felt very sorry for my friend at that moment because I knew how much he cared about being accurate. Clearly, his recent illness had affected him, and he was still not at his best.

Old Mr. Cunningham corrected the mistake and handed the paper back to Holmes. "I think it's an excellent idea," he said. "Please get the poster printed as soon as possible."

Holmes put the slip of paper into his pocketbook. Then he looked at the door. It was clear from the marks on the wood that a chisel or strong knife had been used to open it. "Do you have a guard dog, Mr. Cunningham?" he asked.

"Yes, but he is kept chained on the other side of the house."

"And what time do the servants go to bed?"

"Around ten."

"Then why was Keegan awake so late?" Holmes asked.

"I have no idea," replied Mr. Cunningham.

"Thank you," said Holmes. "Now, may I suggest we all go around the house together and make sure this unusual burglar didn't take anything with him?"

"My dear fellow," Mr. Cunningham protested, "I really can't see how this is necessary."

"Please indulge me," said Holmes with a charming smile.

With some reluctance, Mr. Cunningham led us through the stone-flagged passageway and up a wooden staircase to the first floor. We came out on a landing opposite a more decorative stairway that led up from the front hall. Off this landing were the drawing room and several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son.

Holmes walked slowly, noting every detail. I could tell from his expression that he had noticed something, but I didn't know what it was or where it was leading him.

"That's my room at the top of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. But you can't think the thief came up here without us hearing it," said Mr. Cunningham.

"Unless you think we were burgled by a ghost," his son said with a smile.

"Please be patient for a little longer," said Holmes. "Can we check the views from your bedroom windows?"

Without waiting for permission, Holmes pushed open Alec's bedroom door and walked in. He pointed to another door. "Is that your dressing room?" He opened the second door and glanced inside.

"Are you satisfied now?" asked Alec, gritting his teeth.

"Quite satisfied, thank you," said Holmes. "I've seen all I need to here."

"Then shall we go into my room?" suggested Mr. Cunningham.

"If it's not too much trouble."

The old man led the way into his own room and to the window. Holmes and I stayed at the back of the group. Near the foot of the bed was a bowl of oranges and a jug of water. As we passed it, Holmes leaned in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over.

The glass jug broke into many pieces, water spilled on the rug, and the fruit scattered around the room.

"You've really done it this time, Watson," Holmes said calmly. "Look at the mess."

Confused, I started picking up the fallen oranges, not understanding why Holmes wanted me to take the blame for the accident.

The others helped, and soon we had the room back in order.

"Where's Holmes gone?" Colonel Hayter suddenly asked.

We looked around, but Holmes had vanished.

"I think he's acting strangely," said Alec Cunningham. "Wait here. Father and I will find him."

They hurried out, leaving the inspector, the colonel, and me puzzled.

"I agree with young Mr. Cunningham," said Forrester. "It might be because of his illness, but it seems to me that—"

He stopped short as we heard a scream: "Help! Murder!"

Recognizing Holmes's voice, I ran onto the landing. The cries were coming from Alec's bedroom. I rushed in and then into the dressing room.

I found the Cunninghams holding Holmes down. Alec was grabbing his throat, and his father was twisting his wrist.

We pulled them off, and Holmes got up, coughing and holding his throat. "Arrest them, Inspector," he gasped.

"What for?" asked Forrester.

"For murdering their coachman, William Keegan."

Forrester looked at Holmes in confusion. "Mr. Holmes, you can't possibly think—"

"Quiet, just look at them!" cried Holmes.

We all looked, and I must say I'd never seen a clearer confession of guilt written on two human faces. The father looked sullen, defeated, and full of self-pity. The son had lost all his previous jauntiness, and a ferocious anger now distorted his handsome features.

Forrester said nothing. He simply walked over to the door and blew his whistle. Two of his constables soon came hurrying in.

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to arrest you, Mr. Cunningham," said Forrester. "I hope this will all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see that—Ah, now really? Drop it, young man!"

Forrester struck Alec Cunningham's wrist hard with his hand, and the gun the young man had pulled out clattered to the floor.

The constables seized the Cunninghams and placed handcuffs on their wrists.

"Keep this," said Holmes, handing the gun to Forrester. "I'm sure it's the one he used to kill Keegan. You'll find it useful at the trial. But this is what I really wanted." He held up a crumpled piece of paper.

"The remainder of the note!" cried Forrester. "Where was it?"

"Where I was sure it had to be," said Holmes. "I'll explain everything to you shortly. But first, I think Colonel Hayter and Dr. Watson should return to the colonel's house while the inspector and I have a word with the prisoners. I'll see you both back there in time for lunch."