I've had enough of him. Money's not
everything. I'll have him out of my house before the day is
done."
"Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think that
this affair may be very much more important than appeared at
first sight. It is clear now that some danger is threatening
your lodger. It is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait
for him near your door, mistook your husband for him in the foggy
morning light. On discovering their mistake they released him.
What they would have done had it not been a mistake, we can only
conjecture."
"Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, Mrs. Warren."
"I don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the
door. I always hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after I
leave the tray."
"He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselves
and see him do it."
The landlady thought for a moment.
"Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I could arrange a
looking-glass, maybe, and if you were behind the door--"
"Excellent!" said Holmes. "When does he lunch?"
"About one, sir."
"Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in time. For the present,
Mrs. Warren, good-bye."
At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of Mrs.
Warren's house--a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme
Street, a narrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the
British Museum.
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