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"Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothing
voice. "May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at
all?"
"Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the
police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit
that I could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a
class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less,
having heard your name--"
"Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at
once?"
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your telegram was
dispatched about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and
attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment
of your waking."
Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven
chin.
"You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet.
I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been
running round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to
the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent
was paid up all right and that everything was in order at
Wisteria Lodge."
"Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like my
friend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories
wrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me
know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which
have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and
waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance."
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own
unconventional appearance.
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