Holmes was in danger of completely wearing off the nap of the carpet with his nervous pacing. Watson watched him, himself pale and anxious.
"Heaven knows it will not be the first felony I have compounded. That does not trouble my conscience," Holmes muttered, half to himself. "But how am I to put off Lestrade without incriminating another? What can I possibly tell the widow? "
His friend remained silent, his gaze pleading.
Suddenly Holmes whirled around, seized Watson's shoulders, and stared into his eyes. "For the love of God, Watson!" he cried desperately. "Why? Why did you kill him?"
