“Anything else?”
“Well, we have nothing else to go upon—no evidence of any kind.”
“Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?”
“Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that.”
“Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you have told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me. Come along, Watson.”
“Where are we going to now?” I asked, as we left the office.
“We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet minister and future premier of England.”
We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we were instantly shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged with grey, he seemed to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.
“Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes,” said he, smiling. “And, of course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit. There has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call for your attention. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?”