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Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line of
investigation." He took down the great book in which, day by
day, he filed the agony columns of the various London journals.
"Dear me!" said he, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of
groans, cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular
happenings! But surely the most valuable hunting-ground that
ever was given to a student of the unusual! This person is alone
and cannot be approached by letter without a breach of that
absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any
message to reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement
through a newspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately
we need concern ourselves with the one paper only. Here are the
Daily Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. 'Lady with a black
boa at Prince's Skating Club'--that we may pass. 'Surely Jimmy
will not break his mother's heart'--that appears to be
irrelevant. 'If the lady who fainted on Brixton bus'--she does
not interest me. 'Every day my heart longs--' Bleat, Watson--
unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible. Listen
to this: 'Be patient. Will find some sure means of
communications. Meanwhile, this column. G.' That is two days
after Mrs. Warren's lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it
not? The mysterious one could understand English, even if he
could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the trace
again. Yes, here we are--three days later. 'Am making
successful arrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will
pass. G.' Nothing for a week after that. Then comes something
much more definite: 'The path is clearing. If I find chance
signal message remember code agreed--One A, two B, and so on.
You will hear soon. G.' That was in yesterday's paper, and
there is nothing in to-day's. It's all very appropriate to Mrs.
Warren's lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I don't doubt that
the affair will grow more intelligible."
So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on
the hearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete
satisfaction upon his face.
"How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from the
table. "'High red house with white stone facings. Third floor.
Second window left. After dusk. G.' That is definite enough.
I think after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of
Mrs. Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren! what news do you
bring us this morning?"
Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosive
energy which told of some new and momentous development.
"It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "I'll have no
more of it! He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I
would have gone straight up and told him so, only I thought it
was but fair to you to take your opinion first. But I'm at the
end of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my old man
about--"
"Knocking Mr. Warren about?"
"Using him roughly, anyway."
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