McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative:

"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid out. Afterwards, Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, which had been open all this time."

"Was the blind down?" asked Luna.

"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I could not find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy, I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the morning."

"Anything more that you would like to ask, ?" said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation.

"You know what, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I cannot think of a single question." she answered simply.

"And you, Holmes?"

"Not until I have been to Blackheath."

"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.

"Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at my companion.

"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.

My sister had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will -encouraged by some silent instruction from Holmes no doubt - and was reading through them while Sherlock looked at them over shoulder with the keenest interest upon his face.

"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?" said he, turning his head to face the detective.

The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.

"I can read the first few lines and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print," said he, "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where I cannot read it at all."

"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.

"Well, what do YOU make of it?"

"Better yet," Sherlock began, slipping his hands down to squeeze Luna's waist. "What do you make of it, love?"

Holmes had developed that habit since his return; during his 'death', my sister rarely 'exercised' her deductive reasoning and observations so he had taken it upon himself to refocus them as he was the cause of their lack state.

"That it was probably written on a train. His handwriting is legible every time the train stopped at a station but unreadable as it moved and disgraceful as they passed over points."

Smiling, the consultant detective pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

"A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points."

"Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge."

Lestrade began to laugh.

"The pair of you are too much for me when you begin with your theories, Mr and Mrs Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?"

"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday."

"It's curious, is it not Inspector?" Luna asked, moving from Sherlock's lap - much to his obvious annoyance - to stand in front of the window, looking down on the street. "That a man should draw up so important a document in such a haphazard fashion. It suggests that he did not believe it was going to be much of practical importance. If, for instance, a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective, he might not take as much care and do it so."

"Well, he drew up his own death warrant at the same time," said Lestrade.

"Oh, you think so?" Holmes asked, his lips twitching upwards at the corners before moving behind my sister, spinning her playfully before embracing her tightly from behind.

"Don't you?"

"Well, it is quite possible, but the case is not clear to me yet."

"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what COULD be clear? Here is a young man who learns suddenly that, if a certain older man dies, he will succeed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night."

"He then waits until the only other person in the house is all safe and sound in bed, and then in the solitude of the man's room, he murders him, burns his body in the wood pile and departs to a neighbouring hotel." She continued, earning a kiss on the cheek from her partner.

"The blood-stains in the room and also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his death-"

"Traces which, for some reason, must have pointed the finger at him; Is not all of this a little bit obvious?"

"No, Mrs Holmes, it most certainly is not."

"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other great qualities, but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young man, would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body, and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely."

"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminal is often flurried, and does such things, which a cool man would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory that would fit the facts."

"I could very easily give you half a dozen," said Holmes. "Here for example, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a free present of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evident value. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning the body."

"Why should the tramp burn the body?"

"Well, my dear inspector…" My sister murmured, escaping her love's hold to go stand beside the police inspector, her hand moving to rest lightly on her shoulder which forced her partner to tense up, his eyes narrowing in on the friendly touch. "Why ever should McFarlane?"

"To hide some evidence."

"Ah, but possibly the tramp wished to hide that any murder at all had actually been committed."

"And why did the tramp take nothing?"

"Because they were papers that he could not negotiate." My future brother in law answered, sitting back in his chair though his eyes remained on my sister. I had noticed that, since he returned, he was more protective than before which I did not believe was possible until I witnessed it with my own eyes.

Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was less absolutely assured than before.

"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show which is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know, none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law, and would come into them in any case."

My friend seemed struck by this remark.

"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that there are other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Good-morning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on."

When the detective departed, my friend rose and made his preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial task before him.

"My first movement Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frockcoat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath."

"And why not Norwood?"

"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the heels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident—the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in the evening, I will be able to report that I have been able to do something for this unfortunate youngster, who has thrown himself upon my protection."