I recall the experience as if it were yesterday. However, it is not until now that I have decided to put on record the events of that intriguing week in the dismal month of October, 1894.

There are two reasons for which I have not yet recounted the story: Firstly, Sherlock Holmes has not deemed the case worthy of my publication, although I, and several others, disagree. Secondly, and more importantly, the last person involved in the case, excluding investigators, died last Thursday. Now, in 1925, I feel that I can, at last, tell the story that had previously remained only in my notes, without worrying. I am not getting any younger. It is likely that I will soon lay down my pen for good, as I thought I had done thirty-four years ago.

This incident saw Holmes and I in the prime of life, although I was still a little bitter that Holmes had not trusted me when he had decided to fake his own death. That is a different story altogether. This one saw us sharing a rare moment in which we were both breakfasting.

Mrs. Hudson entered, but we hardly noticed that she looked flustered.

"That was excellent," said Holmes, handing her the tray with the crockery on. "Perhaps some more coffee?"

Mrs. Hudson cried, "Oh, Mr. Holmes. I am so sorry. She refuses to listen to reason!"

"Who?"

"The young lady. The lady who has come to see you. I tried to tell her that you were busy, but she just pushed me aside! Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes!"

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes soothingly, as I our offered our landlady a glass of brandy. It almost spilled, as the young lady of Mrs. Hudson's description pushed past.

My first impression of her was that she had the potential to be very beautiful, if she had not covered her face in unnecessarily large quantities of make-up, and done something to her hair that I had not seen before; she had evidently somehow changed the colour from auburn to blonde. This hair was curled, and covered by a small - too small - modern hat.

She spoke with an American accent. "I am so sorry for the untimely intrusion, Mr. Holmes, but I simply must speak to you. I can't be sure that it might not happen today if it has not already."

"My dear lady, what has happened?"

The woman took a sip of Mrs. Hudson's brandy before she spoke. "My name is Lucilla Hobbs. I am the daughter of Fairdale Hobbs. No doubt, you have not heard of him?"

"I fear not."

"He was once a tobacconist, although his business was on the verge of going bust--"

"'Going bust'?" I queried.

"Bankrupt," said Holmes. "Please go on, Miss Hobbs."

She proceeded to do so. "My father sold the business over to a young man named Greg Allerton."

"Ah, yes." I declared, as I held up the tin of tobacco I was using to light my pipe. "Allerton's Tobacco. One of the best brands in London. I use it myself. Holmes, of course, prefers..."

Holmes interrupted me, pointing out that his preferred brand of tobacco was of no consequence.

"Yes," said Lucilla Hobbs quite glumly. "Mr. Allerton has made quite a success of the company, although it has been going downhill a bit recently. To get back to the point, I am worried that I may have murdered my stepmother, and might strike again soon."

I stood up, and took a deep swig of Mrs. Hudson's brandy. The young woman explained to us a case of murder that we had only glimpsed briefly in the papers:

"My mother was Claudia Hobbs. She and my father enjoyed a happily married life for thirty years, until I was fifteen. Following her death, both my father and I were much distraught. We had both been very fond of her. As you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, it came as quite a shock to me when, only three years later, Father announced to me that he intended to remarry.

"This new woman, Elvira St. John, was an Englishwoman, little older than I was at the time, and very beautiful. She was even more beautiful than I am, but her beauty did not accompany her personality. She was very bitter towards me, and, on occasions, beat me violently. At one point she even tried to throttle me. Fortunately, my strength far exceeds her own, and I shook her off. I tried to tell my father, and I knew that he knew that I was telling him the truth.

"However, my father knew he had to marry Elvira St. John. He had given his word to her parents. The wedding ceremony was private, and I still do not remember it clearly.

What I do remember is that this woman, for I refuse to refer to her as my stepmother, was shot dead less than an hour after the ceremony. She was still in her wedding-dress. The assassin was never found.

"That was a decade ago. I will not lie to you, Mr. Holmes: I was shocked but not sad. I hated that woman, and her death came as a relief to me and a release to my father. Nothing more happened until about a month ago.

"It was a month ago that I got engaged to Cedric Allerton, the son of the man who bought the business from my father. I could not say what my father thinks of the movement. Four days after our formal announcement, I received a letter in the post. It proposed to be from my father's second wife, and accused me of deliberately killing her. I received several such communications, and then, one day, the seemingly impossible happened.

"I was doing the weeding - we have not got a gardener - one day, and I happened to turn around. I saw the figure of a young woman in a bridal gown standing a fair distance behind me. She was looking at me in a distant and curious manner. I resumed my work, and turned back a few seconds later, and she was gone. I thought it strange, but was not overly concerned. We get lots of strange people hanging about the area.

"Then, it happened again, the next day. I was preparing the luncheon - we have not got a cook - and I happened to glance through the window. The same woman was there, in our garden. I went to the door, and through it I went into the garden. There was no trace of the woman.

"It happened again and again, and I can tell you I was concerned. However, it was when Cedric, Mr. Allerton, came round. I was admitting him - we have not got a housemaid - and I noticed the woman standing on the road behind him. She was closer now, and I realised that she did not have a face. I mean, I could not make out any facial features. I screamed. Cedric turned around, but he saw nothing. The woman was still in my line of sight. Although I could not make out her features, I knew she was smiling, but only I could see her. This is horrible. I am sure that the person is the ghost of my stepmother. I must have killed her and forgotten. She wants revenge. She does not want me to marry Cedric for fear that I will continue my murderous habits."

The young lady broke off, and sobbed into the tissue that Holmes held out to her.

"A singular problem," said Holmes, smoking in a state of satisfaction. "And you believe, Miss Hobbs, that the ghost is real?"

"I know it is. I saw her face."

"But one can mar one's features with the application of make-up."

I think Lucilla Hobbs blushed, but it was difficult to tell. Holmes informed Miss Hobbs that we would call upon her at the address she had provided the next morning at approximately ten o'clock.

"No!" shrieked the woman, rising as Holmes did the same. "Please come now! I am in dreadful fear that I will strike again! I might go round and kill my father for fear that he may stop me marrying Cedric; I know I have it in me."

Holmes was quick to notice the significant phrasing.

"Miss Hobbs," said he, leaning forward. "What did you say?"

"I said 'I know I have it in me', Mr. Holmes."

"No, no." Holmes sounded fussy. "I mean before that."

"I said I might go round and kill my father."

"Why 'go round and kill my father'? Surely you live together?"

"No."

"Why then, Miss Hobbs, did you say 'We have no gardener', 'We have no cook' and 'We have no maid'?"

"What...? Oh, that!" Our new client regarded Holmes with an expression of both admiration and relief. "That is because I reside with my sister."

"Your sister?" It was I who made the surprised outburst. In my eye, Lucilla Hobbs was an only child. "Was she born of the same mother as you?"

The woman scowled at me. "Are you insinuating that my sister was conceived before marriage?"

"No, no." I sat back down, and allowed Holmes to continue.

"What is her name?"

"Arabella."

"Is she older or younger than you?"

"She is eight years my junior."

"Forgive me, Miss Hobbs, but does your sister share your beauty?"

"It is a fair question. To answer it, Arabella is even better looking than I. My sister, I have been told, has the beauty of a thousand angels."

"I look forward to meeting her."

The three of us walked to the door. Fortunately, Holmes and I were already appropriately dressed. Holmes called for Mrs. Hudson, and the three of us were taken aback when the landlady's voice came from a chair in our room. She asked what we wanted. Holmes told her to call for a cab.

"There is no need," said I, smugly, "For Miss Hobbs has come in a cab."

Holmes stopped the young lady from speaking. He replied, "Absolutely not. She arrived by foot."

I put my friend's methods to the test. "But her shoes!" I protested. "When she entered our room, she was fastening the buckle. Evidently, she had taken them off and they had remained so until recently."

Sherlock Holmes sighed deeply. "Surely, she had taken the shoes off very recently - indoors. Would she not have put them on in the carriage? Naturally, her feet were aching from the pressure put onto them when she was walking, or there was a stone in the shoe that she had to remove. Of course, Miss Hobbs walked here, a deduction strengthened by the fact that when she came in, she was out of breath. Would one be out of breath after a peaceful ride and a mere quibble with a landlady?"

Still, I looked dubious, until our client declared that Holmes was correct. While Mrs. Hudson was downstairs arranging for the cab, Holmes asked Miss Hobbs one last question:

"Where does your father reside, Miss Hobbs?"

"He has lodgings in Great Orme Street, under the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Warren. Father decided to move out when Arabella reached the age of eighteen, that's two years ago. He felt that as two young women, we needed space to ourselves. We still have a financial agreement, by which our Father gives us each a shilling a week."

An hour later, we arrived at the home of Lucilla and Arabella Hobbs. Arabella was, indeed, strikingly beautiful. We were introduced to her in the drawing room, and she volunteered a dashing smile - a gesture she repeated, when she introduced us to Cedric Allerton, a handsome young man who came round to meet the Hobbs sisters, with a box of cigars. He explained that these were for Fairdale Hobbs. The women graciously thanked him, and offered him the chance to stay and make our acquaintance further.

I found Cedric Allerton to be a thoroughly likable fellow, and congratulated Lucilla Hobbs on a good choice of husband. Throughout the afternoon, Holmes seemed very ratty and impatient. He, evidently, was not very fond of Mr. Allerton.

During our visit, we learned much information about the Allertons, who were neighbours to the Hobbs sisters.

Gregory Allerton, born in 1826, had never left London. He had married Caroline Stoner in '71, and it was by Allerton that the lady had had the child Cedric later that year.

The wealthy Caroline had taken her own life in 1893, when she had heard that Cedric wished to marry Lucilla Hobbs, a woman whom Caroline had always despised. Overcome by grief, Gregory Allerton had followed her example. In each case, the person had used a sharp-edged razor belonging to the young Mr. Allerton to cut his or her own throats.

It still pained Allerton to recount the story, and it took three hours for us to get as much as I have mentioned out of him.

Holmes and I said our goodbyes, and left the house. However, we had not so much as walked down the footpath, when a man on his way to the house halted us. The man was tall, although he walked in a crooked manner, and his grey face was long. He had a slight moustache, but it was apparent that he had not shaved for about a week. As he made his way through the gate, he leant on a battered stick, and wheezed slightly.

"Mr. Holmes?" said he.

"I am Holmes," my companion replied.

The man said, "My name is Fairdale Hobbs," and I detected an American accent in his quiet, almost snake-like voice. His blue eyes shone as he conversed with us. "I should very much like to speak to you."

"And I to you," said Holmes.

We duly settled ourselves in a quiet place, and Fairdale Hobbs began almost immediately to speak.

"Mr. Holmes, you will help my daughter, will you not?" Holmes nodded. "Good. I fear not only for her, but for myself and the young man she intends to marry. My daughter, it pains me to say, is dangerous."

Holmes and I looked at each other. I was struck by a sudden thought. I asked:

"After your wife had been shot... Oh, forgive me, I am so sorry."

The aging American smiled slightly. "When I began the tobacco business, I taught myself to be quite ruthless. I have also taught myself to allow nothing much to upset or unnerve me. The death of my wife, though tragic and alarming, can hardly be of consequence to the world."

The man bewildered me. I did not know exactly what to to make of the remark. After a few moments, I asked: "When the unfortunate incident had occurred, was the gun discovered?"

"Oh yes, it had been flung carelessly into a pot of white lilies that stood in the doorway of the church."

"Did you recognise it?"

"Certainly. It was my revolver!"

Holmes suddenly became very interested, and leaned forward. "Had you noticed it missing?" he asked.

Fairdale Hobbs smiled a second time. "I very seldom have cause to use it," he remarked. "I purchased it for the simple reason that when I arrived in this country, it seemed obligatory for every Englishman to possess a firearm. I did not want to seem to conspicuous or untrustworthy, so I quickly bought a revolver."

"That sounds fair," remarked Sherlock Holmes. "You have no doubt that it was your daughter who killed her stepmother?"

Hobbs spoke in a confidential whisper:

"Mr. Holmes, from the moment I saw the blood on Elvira's pure snowy-white gown, I knew who was responsible. I had even heard my daughter state only the evening before that she would like nothing better than, and I quote, to 'blow that awful woman's brains out'."

"Could anyone have witnessed the remark and used it to their own advantage?"

"Well, the Allertons, the elderly ones, were there, not Cedric, for he was far too young, and so were several servants, but I really can not imagine anyone but my daughter carrying out the foul deed. Besides, how could one of the Allertons get at my revolver?"

"How indeed."

"And why use that in preference to a tennis-racket or something else?"

"For effect, my dear fellow, effect." Holmes struck a match to light a pipe, and Hobbs instinctively forbade him.

"Never!" he remarked. "Never in my presence!"

Holmes and I departed.

Outside, Holmes burst into childish hysterics.

"Did you hear him? 'Never in my presence'! Fancy that, Watson - a tobacconist who doesn't smoke!"

"An ex-tobacconist, Holmes."

"Yes, Watson, yes. An ex-tobacconist."

Back in Baker Street, we reflected the day's events. As Holmes remarked at one point, this case certainly was of singular interest.

When I awoke early the next morning, I found Holmes sitting in his chair by the fireplace, surrounded by the usual cloud of smoke that emitted itself from his pipe, as if he had slept not a wink all night.

"Is there anything the matter, old boy?"

"Certainly not, my dear doctor. I am beginning to develop a theory; one that satisfies me, but I have not yet got enough data. It needs some fine-tuning."

My eyebrows rose very slightly, and Holmes snapped, "You have got to rid yourself of that odious habit, Watson!"

I apologised. We sat in silence, as if awaiting another unorthodox entry. We received none, and paid Fairdale Hobbs a visit.

We were showed to his room by Mr. Warren, who, with his wife, provided lodgings, generally for the upper class.

Hobbs's room was spacious, and lavishly furnished. The upholstery was of high quality, the cupboards roomy and expensive, and a large screen stood in the corner, concealing the drinks cabinet.

Holmes admired the room. Hobbs offered us both a seat. We accepted the invitation, and he asked Mr. Warren, who stood in the doorway, to send up some tea.

When Warren had left, Hobbs asked what he could do for us. Holmes seemed decidedly vague, as he replied: "Oh, nothing much. My friend here fancied that you might not be alive." I began to protest, but Holmes put out a hand to stop me. "I just wanted to prove him wrong."

Hobbs seemed slightly amused. He looked at me and slowly said: "I am alive, Dr. Watson. I am very much alive."

"That was all, really." We left, brushing past the maid, who carried the teapot and three cups and saucers on a tray.

"What," I asked, when we were outside, "Was the meaning of that, Holmes? I most decidedly did not say that that obscure American was dead."

Holmes silenced me, and stood solitary, thinking, as if he had not heard my question at all.

He spoke not one more word, until we were home at 221B Baker Street, when he had finished his regular recital on the violin.

"Why?" he cried, exasperated, slinging down his bow. "Why should they?" After a silence of a few minutes, he snapped his fingers. "Of course! Greed, my dear doctor, is a very nasty thing."

I agreed, although I had not the faintest notion what he was talking about. Before I knew what was happening, Holmes had flung aside his violin-case, thrown on his coat and hat and hurried outside, calling for me to follow.

Holmes hurried us into a hansom cab, thrust the driver a handful or sovereigns and directed him to Great Orme Street, muttering all the time.

We had not travelled two miles, when we caught sight of a young woman walking down the footpath, and my friend sharply ordered the driver to stop.

We stepped out and stopped the lady.

"Miss Hobbs!" said Holmes.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Holmes. Good morning, Dr. Watson."

"Good afternoon, Miss Hobbs."

She glanced at her wristwatch. "How amusing; the time passed the hour as I spoke." She turned to Holmes. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Holmes, it was you I was making my way to see."

"By foot again!"

The girl looked surprised. "Why not?"

For the first time in some time, Holmes seemed lost for an answer. We enjoyed the walk back to the home of Lucilla and Arabella Hobbs, talking jovially all the way.

At the place, we found young Allerton, chatting in a most laid-back manner with Arabella. Upon seeing Lucilla, he rose, happily.

"Dear Lucilla, I came round to see you."

The couple kissed and embraced. Holmes and I decided they would prefer to be alone, so we led Arabella Hobbs into another room, where we spoke to her.

"Perhaps," said Holmes as he sat down by the coffee table, "We might have some tea?"

"Certainly," Arabella Hobbs replied, "Just allow me to go into the kitchen and prepare some; we have not got a maid."

"Yes, your sister mentioned that. Not to worry, Dr. Watson will prepare it."

It was two seconds before I realised that Holmes was referring to me. "Will I?"

"Of course you will, doctor!"

I stood up and paused by the door. "I know how you take it, or course, Holmes, but how do you have your tea, Miss Hobbs?"

It was Sherlock Holmes who spoke: "Milk and no sugar, is it not, Miss Hobbs?"

"Why certainly, I never like the taste of... How ever could you possibly have guessed that, Mr. Holmes?"

"I never guess."

She laughed pleasantly. "I suppose Lucilla told you."

"Certainly not!"

Arabella seemed a trifle set back, as she asked that old question half the country must have asked by now.

"How did you know?"

Holmes rested a hand on the coffee table. "Observe that on this table there are four objects: The daily paper, two cups and saucers and a sugar bowl. One cup contains a dark fluid and the other contains a light fluid. There is a smudge of red lipstick on the cup that contains the light fluid. I hardly believe that Cedric Allerton, with whom you must have been drinking the tea, for your sister has been out for over an hour and the tea has not yet cooled, would wear such a thing. Obviously, you used that cup, Miss Hobbs."

"And the sugar?"

"There is a teaspoon on Mr. Allerton's saucer, but not on yours, there are no sugar-tongs, and there are specks of tea in the sugar-bowl. Evidently, only one person uses the sugar, and he uses a spoon rather than tongs - by simple deductive reasoning, it must be Mr. Allerton."

"That was brilliant, Mr. Holmes. You make it seem so simple."

I went into the kitchen and began to prepare the tea. When that was done, and the three of us sat, each with a cup of tea, by the table, Holmes asked a few questions.

"Miss Hobbs, what do you think of your sister?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Holmes," said she. "I do not understand."

"I mean, simply, do you think she may be experiencing hallucinations or memory-loss?"

"You mean those ghosts she claims to have seen, I suppose?"

"I believe she did see something."

Arabella was astounded, as was I. "Surely, Mr. Holmes," she asked. "You do not believe in such things as ghosts, do you?"

"I said," said Holmes, slowly, "That I believe she saw something. What that something could have been, I did not say."

"Ah." Arabella sat back. "So you think she is elaborating from the sight of a piece of cloth fluttering in the wind, or something similar?"

Holmes did not speak. His eyes seemed to convey to me: "That wretched woman is attempting to elude my question." He asked the question a second time.

To this, Miss Hobbs replied, "I am sure I do not know, Mr. Holmes. I believe my sister is very delicate - mentally. I suppose, gentlemen, you are aware that she once tried to murder me."

I jumped from my seat in surprise, but Holmes did not seem to be in the least affected by the news.

"Really?" he asked, sounding uninterested, as he lit a cigar. "Why?"

"Presumably because I protested her marriage to Mr. Allerton."

"They have been engaged for some time now, have they not?"

"Fourteen months, almost to the day, now, Mr. Holmes. As it happens, the wedding ceremony will be held in four days."

"Thank you." Holmes seemed highly interested at the announcement. "I am going to be very impertinent, Miss Hobbs. Are you and your sister very rich?"

She smiled knowingly and spoke automatically: "My father is very rich, for he sold his tobacco business to Cedric's father several years ago for a considerably large sum of money, and has spent little of it. However," she added, "My sister and I both receive a small but generous income from him every month."

Holmes imitated her smile. "Now I am going to ask an even more impertinent question, Miss Hobbs. I do hope you raise no objection. Has your sister made a last will and testament?"

"Undoubtedly. I think all of us have had wills drawn up. Why, yes, I remember our solicitor, Mr. Peryltink, coming round to help her a few months ago, though I can not say that I know what she said in it."

"I would guess that she left everything to Mr. Allerton. After all, she is going to marry him." I interjected.

"No, no, no! My dear Watson!" cried Holmes in despair. "If she is going to marry someone, all the money will go to her spouse."

"Unless she has made a will already, or she might not intend to marry."

It was that remark that I came back to outside.

"Holmes! It has occurred to me that Lucilla Hobbs may have invented these sightings in order to be deemed insane, so she would not have to be committed to Allerton."

Holmes laughed. "I wondered if that idea would occur to you. However," he hailed a passing cab. "That raises the obvious question - why come to me? Why not go to the police, with whom she would have a better chance of being believed? Besides, I know what I saw in her eyes. She believes her own story. No, no, your theory just will not hold water."

We got into the cab and directed the driver to Baker Street. When we were there, Holmes got immediately to work, drawing what appeared to be childish sketches on pieces of paper, rejecting them and starting.

"What," I asked, "Are you doing?"

"I am trying to draw a floor-plan of the Hobbs sisters' house. Why else do you think we visited them?"

"To escort Lucilla home."

"No, no, Watson." He clucked impatiently. He lifted his pen, stood up triumphantly and gave a cry of success. He thrust a large sheet of paper into my hand. I looked at it. On first glance, it could easily have been an estate agent's plan.

"What are we going to do with this?"

"Search the house tonight. What else?"

"Holmes!" cried I, astonished. "You suggest that we break into the house like common burglars."

"We could hardly ask Miss Hobbs for permission first. It is five and twenty past three. I suggest, Watson, that you go to sleep now, for we have a busy night ahead of us!"

I awoke from my slumber at a quarter to eight. Holmes was still fast asleep and I had not the heart to awaken him. He rose at twenty minutes past ten.

Before leaving, Holmes picked two blooming flowers from the vase by the door. He placed one on a piece of paper on which he scrawled a brief note of apology, and another in his pocket.

I asked again what he was doing.

"This is cover, doctor, a cover."

I was now more confused than ever, yet I felt it best not to press the matter. Still, I had my qualms when we crept like cat burglars through the streets to the building in question. When we arrived there, it was half past midnight.

Holmes glanced at his pocket-watch and sighed satisfactorily. I asked for perhaps the fifth time what he intended to find in the house.

"A motive for murder, Watson."

"Holmes, you have got to stop this tendency for melodrama. It could get you into trouble some day." Said I. "I've no doubt that you are serious in what you say, but must you speak in such a tone?"

"You should know, doctor, that that is how I work best," replied Holmes with full acidity. He then proceeded to draw from his pocket a pipe cleaner. This he injected into the door, and after some work at the lock, it clicked open.

I started to speak, but Holmes hushed me. We silently crept in, and began work in the drawing room. Every room on the lower floor was searched meticulously and we got through four candles and at least twenty matches.

When we hailed a cab back to Baker Street, the sun had already begun to rise.

"Well! We gained nothing from that!"

"On the contrary, Watson, we learned that Lucilla Hobbs has left all her money to Cedric Allerton."

"I saw no will."

Holmes laughed. "That is because you knew not where to look. While you were in the kitchen, raising floorboards, I was in the study, looking through the cupboards."

"And the flower?"

He did not understand to what I referred for some time. "Oh, that! It was for Miss Hobbs, in the case of us being discovered. Did I not say it was our cover?" He tossed the flower aside.

When we got back, it was little after eight o' clock, and Mrs. Hudson had not yet arisen.

Holmes destroyed both the note and the flower in the fireplace, slipped on his dressing gown and started to smoke.

"There is much yet to do," said he. "First, we must instruct Mrs. Hudson to buy us some more matches. This is my last one. It looks like I need some more tobacco, as well."

"Splendid!" I declared. "Maybe Mr. Allerton will let us have some cheap."

"I do not like Allerton's Tobacco, Watson."

I changed the subject by asking if he had glimpsed the answer to the problem in hand. He replied that he had.

"Why will you not tell me that answer?" My voice was impatient. "And why will you not put an end to it? It could be a matter of life and death, as the young lady herself suggested."

"Undoubtedly it is."

"Holmes. You are insufferable!"

My friend looked me straight in the eyes. "Tonight. The net is not yet ready to be tightened. If we try now, everything will escape through the holes in the netting."

I ignored this, and tried my own hand at thinking out the incidents of the past days, with unsatisfactory results.

We did very nearly nothing for the rest of the day, except dine on a delicious lobster. It was in the late evening that Holmes cried those old lines:

"Grab your coat and hat, Watson. The game is afoot!"

We made our way to Great Orme Street.

"Are we seeing Fairdale Hobbs?"

"Yes, yes," replied Holmes distantly. Excuse me." With that, he jumped out of the moving cab, calling out: "I'm fine!"

Dazed and confused, I told the cab to stop at the end of Great Orme Street, paid the cabbie and made my way to the place where Hobbs resided. I let myself in, for the door was naturally unlocked, mounted the staircase and found the room that, if my memory served me correctly, Hobbs was renting.

My memory did serve me correctly. I knocked on the door. It was opened slowly and cautiously. The electricity was not being used and few candles were lit. Mr. Hobbs seemed slightly relieved to see me and beckoned me in hastily.

"Good evening, Mr. Hobbs. I am sorry to disturb you at so late an hour, but I am acting for Mr. Sherlock--"

"Indeed?" said Hobbs in his slow drawl. We have little time. I am expecting a visitor and you cannot be seen. Hide! Hide behind that chair!"

"Perhaps," I ventured. "The cupboard would be a more suitable place to hide."

The old man fairly jumped up in protest. "No!" cried he. "Not there. I have private possessions there. Behind the chair! Quickly! My guest is arriving!" As footsteps approached the door, he whispered to me that I should not move or speak under any condition. I agreed, with several unanswered questions buzzing in my head.

The handle turned and the door swung open.

"Good morning, Mr. Hobbs." Said the young man who stood in the doorway.

"Why, Mr. Allerton! I did not expect you."

I loosened my collar, worrying that Allerton would have to share my hiding place.

"Well?" Hobbs was saying. "What did you want?"

"Call me 'Cedric', please Mr. Hobbs."

"You will be able to call me 'Stepfather' this time next week, I hear."

"I think not." Allerton drew out a glinting blue firearm. "It's loaded."

At this, I jumped up and tried to wrestle the gun out of his grip. We were both shouting at the tops of our voices. The gun went off and Allerton fell to the floor.

I felt for his pulse. There was none. The old man sighed.

"I told you, Watson, not to move!" spoke the voice of Sherlock Holmes.

"Holmes!"

The man removed his wig, moustache and pinz-nez. He stood up to his full height and wiped his face.

"There is nothing to worry about, now, Mr. Hobbs. You can come out, now."

The cupboard door opened slowly and the real Fairdale Hobbs walked out.

"I can hardly apologise enough, Mr. Hobbs, for the inconvenience."

"Not at all, Mr. Holmes. You have saved my life! You have my eternal gratitude."

"Not all, Mr. Hobbs."

"What about me, Holmes?" I asked indignantly. "Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on? Did Allerton try to kill Mr. Hobbs?"

Holmes nodded.

"But why?"

The sound of approaching footsteps prevented. These footsteps were faster and daintier than those of Cedric Allerton. A woman's hand lay on the door. The woman stopped in the doorway and screamed.

"My God!" cried she, looking down at the lifeless body of her lover. "You've killed him! You've killed Cedric!"

"I am sorry, Miss Hobbs," replied Holmes, not sounding sorry at all. "But when one gets involved in murder, one is not to expect peace and happiness all the way."

"Murder? You mean that this lady was involved?"

"Surely you know by now, Watson."

I professed that I was still in the dark. Here was the world's most unlikely murderer. Here was Arabella Hobbs.

"I can not believe it!"

"Hush, doctor. All will be explained when we get home. For now, the police must take charge. You can come out now, Inspector."

I looked astonished as the representative of Scotland Yard stepped out from behind the screen.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Not at all, Inspector Coleman."

Arabella Hobbs was escorted away, kicking and screaming. The body was tidied away and Fairdale Hobbs assured us that he would be at no further risk. Holmes and I politely took our leave.

Once we were home, I asked for the tenth time for an explanation. This time, Holmes granted my request with a lengthy narrative, the abridgement of which follows.

"The Hobbs saga began in 1881, when Claudia Hobbs, the beloved of Fairdale, died. Three years later, the latter was due to remarry. At this time, Arabella Hobbs was seven years old and Cedric Allerton was twelve or thirteen. Being a handsome child, he had no difficulty attracting the attention of Arabella. She had severe hero-worship for him and would do anything.

"Allerton easily managed to persuade her that Elvira St. John was pure evil. He made her hate her and encouraged her to shoot her to death.

"His exact motive as of yet is unclear, but we may safely assume that it concerned money. Knowing that Miss St. John had left her money to Fairdale Hobbs, who would not be likely to spend it, Allerton had only to wait ten years until both he and Arabella were old enough to marry.

"They wanted the tobacco business, and, seeing it go downhill, they needed it themselves. That is why Allerton murdered his parents, using the engagement as a cover up. The phrase is, I believe, 'there is no smoke without fire'. The engagement was to hide the motives. One does not kill one's self if one's son is going to marry someone one disapproves of!

"He became impatient and in need of money to keep the business alive, when he was of age but she was not and became engaged instead to the other Miss Hobbs - Lucilla. Arabella was not furious, because she knew that she was still Allerton's genuine love. She also knew that her sister would mysteriously die, having married Allerton and inherited large sums from her dead father.

"When Lucilla announced that she wanted to marry in a matter of days, I knew that Cedric Allerton and Arabella Hobbs would have to act quickly. As we rode to Great Orme Street, I jumped out to impose on the kindness of a friend of mine, who allowed me to make myself up as Fairdale Hobbs. Then, I simply tore down to his lodgings - watching a ninety year-old running athletically must have given the locals a fright! - and quickly explained to him the situation. He and a policeman I had grabbed on the way hid, while I gave my performance. That is why I was so impatient with you. I do apologise."

"What about the ghost sightings?"

"Childishly simple. Remember that on every occasion, Lucilla Hobbs was alone, except on one occasion when she was with Allerton. He claimed to see nothing. That put any doubt out of my mind."

"You mean you had an idea before we left Baker Street?"

"Of course."

"So was the 'haunting bride' real?"

"Yes and no. Yes, in that our client saw what she said she saw. No, as in, the woman in that dress was none other than Arabella Hobbs. It had to be her. Only she could know the dress to wear and only she could forge the appearance of her late stepmother. Also, she boasted a similar age and appearance as the woman she shot.

"The object was to lead Lucilla into believing she was insane. That way, she might kill her father and, if all went well, herself. The scheming couple would not need to carry out the deeds themselves. In preparation, they even persuaded her to make a new will favouring her fiancé, just in case she should happen to die before the marriage. They did not count on her hiring my services. Still, they were clever, but not quite clever enough."

I asked what would happen now to Fairdale Hobbs.

"I doubt that he will be Mr. And Mrs. Warren's lodger for much longer. He will probably move in with his daughter. I refer, of course, to Lucilla, rather than Arabella, who will doubtless hang."

"How upsetting," said I.

"Indeed."

Sherlock Holmes picked up his pipe, opened his newspaper and scanned the pages for articles of interest. He placed it on the coffee table, sighing.

"Nothing! I anticipate, Watson, that we have months of boredom ahead of us. How tedious life is!"