When we returned to Mrs Warren's rooms, the gloom of a London winter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone of colour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from the darkened sitting-room of the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high up through the obscurity.

"Someone is moving in that room," said Holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I can see his shadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Now he is peering across. He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. Now he begins to flash. Take the message also, Watson, that we may check each other. A single flash-that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should mean T. AT-that's intelligible enough. Another T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. Now, then-TENTA. Dead stop. That can't be all, Watson? ATTENTO gives no sense. Nor is it any better as three words AT, TEN, TO, unless T. A. are a person's initials. There it goes again! What's that? ATTE-why, it is the same message over again. Curious, Watson, very curious. Now he is off once more! AT-why he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTO three times! How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. He has withdrawn from the window. What do you make of it, darling?"

"A message… Attento… I've heard it somewhere… that man who works in the café near us."

"Luna, are you sure?" I asked, not seeing how what the café owner could link in with the case.

"Yes… He said it last week when we went for lunch with Mary… Attento… It's Italian! When I went to eat the pasta, he said ' Attento, it's very hot.'" She explained.

My companion stared at my sister, a smile making its way onto his face though luckily, no kiss took place. " Angelo… I can always count on him. Attento translates to 'beware' or 'careful'. What do you think Watson?"

"I believe you have both hit the mark."

"Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to make it more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit, he is coming to the window once more."

Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk of the small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. They came more rapidly than before-so rapid that it was hard to follow them.

"PERICOLO-pericolo-eh, what's that, Watson? 'Danger,' isn't it? Yes, by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what on earth-"

The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window had disappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the lofty building, with its tiers of shining casements. That last warning cry had been suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The same thought occurred on the instant to all three of us. Holmes sprang up from where he crouched by the window.

"This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is some devilry going forward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? I should put Scotland Yard in touch with this business-and yet, it is too pressing for us to leave."

"Shall I go for the police?"

"We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bear some more innocent interpretation. Come along darling, my dear Watson, let us go across ourselves and see what we can make of it."

As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at the building which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. He started as the hall-light fell upon our faces.

"Holmes!" he cried.

"Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the Scotland Yard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings. What brings you here?"

"The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How you got on to it I can't imagine."

"Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've been taking the signals."

"Signals?"

"Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing this business."

"Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice, Mr Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel stronger for having you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe."

"Who is he?"

"Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr Holmes. You must give us best this time." He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr Sherlock Holmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr Leverton, of Pinkerton's American Agency."

"The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes.

"Yes love. I'm very pleased to meet you sir." Luna told him, offering her hand to the man. The American, a quiet, business like young man, with a clean-shaven, hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation but accepted her hand never the less, shaking it a few times then releasing her though he showed no inappropriate interest. Well, no interest that Sherlock may have found deemed as inappropriate.

"I am on the trail of my life now, Ma'am, Mr Holmes," said he. "If I can get Gorgiano-"

"What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?" My sister inquired, interrupting the officer but seeming all the more impressed by him. Sometimes, I believe Holmes' bad habits were rubbing off on her which was slightly frustrating at times. Ladies shouldn't interrupt… or brawl… or have to memorise criminals.

"Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned all about him in America. We KNOW he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from New York, and I've been close to him for a week in London, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr Gregson and I ran him to ground in that big tenement house, and there's only one door, so he can't slip us. There's three folk come out since he went in, but I'll swear he wasn't one of them."

"Mr Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, he knows a good deal that we don't."

In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appeared to us. The American struck his hands together with vexation.

"He's on to us!" he cried.

"Why do you think so?"

"Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending out messages to an accomplice-there are several of his gang in London. Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right away if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr Holmes?"

"How about we go up there now and see for ourselves?" Luna suggested, gesturing to the window but all the American did was chuckle at her, seeing the situation humorous no doubt but it wasn't.

"Look, sweetheart, you might not be able to understand this but we have no warrant for his arrest."

"He is currently in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," she explained. "That's more than enough for the moment as it gives us grounds to investigate. After, we can arrest him and take him to interrogate. When we have him in the station, we can see if New York can help us keep him so please sir, don't laugh and think I know nothing for I've had to read up on it for the last three years!" To say the man looked shocked would be an understatement. If I had to describe him right now, I would say that he had no idea where to put himself as he nervously shuffled around.

"I'll take the responsibility of arresting him now." Gregson offered. Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of courage.

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