“I stopped, in a daze, by some shops and looked about me. I was hot and my head was beginning to ache, so I loosened my collar and tie. As I did so, I saw that the nearby butcher’s shop, George Lubbock and Son, was still open, although most of the other shops were now closed. This was undoubtedly the shop from which my wife purchased our meat. Perhaps if I explained the situation to the butcher, he could vouch for me and help me to prove that it was not me but the woman in the house that was lying. I put my head in at the shop doorway. There was a man there, scrubbing the chopping block. I coughed to attract his attention and he looked round.

“‘I’m closing up,’ said he, ‘so you’ll have to be quick! What do you want?’

“‘Are you Mr Lubbock?’ I asked.

“‘Yes, I’m Lubbock. Why do you want to know?’

“‘You don’t know me,’ I began.

“‘That’s true,’ replied he in a curt fashion, and returned to his scrubbing.

“‘No, I mean, we haven’t been introduced, but I believe you know my wife. She trades here.’

“The butcher paused in his scrubbing and eyed me curiously. ‘Oh?’ said he after a moment. ‘Where does she live?’

“‘Kendal Terrace.’

“‘A tall woman, with spectacles?’

“‘No.’

“‘Well, then, a small woman, with ginger hair?’

“‘No, medium-sized, with medium-brown hair.’

“Again the butcher looked at me for a moment.

“‘I know your game,’ said he at last. ‘If you think you’re going to walk out of here with a pair of lamb chops unpaid for on the strength of your supposed connection with a woman I’ve never seen, then you’ve got another think coming!’

“‘No, no,’ I said quickly, seeing the way his mind was working. ‘I don’t want to buy anything.’

“‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said he. ‘You’re one of those types that always wants something for nothing.’

“‘No, you misunderstand me,’ I persisted. ‘I don’t require meat at all.’

“‘Oh, don’t you? Well, you can clear off, then! Or perhaps you didn’t notice that this is a butcher’s shop.’

“‘If you will just allow me to explain myself,’ said I, raising my voice in desperation. ‘I would like you to help me establish my identity.’

“‘I’ll help you establish a thick ear!’ returned he in a menacing tone, making his way round the counter, his large scrubbing brush in his hand. I waited no longer to discover what his intentions might be, but admitted defeat, turned and ran once more. No one, it seemed, had any interest in my sad plight.

“Thus I found myself wandering the streets alone, friendless and unrecognized, in what had, but a few hours previously, been my home. Slowly, I made my way back to the centre of town, unable to think what I could do in these changed circumstances. I called in at the offices of the Commercial Fire and Accident, on the off-chance that there might be someone there that knew me, but, as I had expected, the building was all closed up for the night and everyone had gone home. Onward then I wandered, aimless and hopeless, until, as I passed along the Strand, I saw a group of cabbies standing in conversation by a water-trough. On a sudden whim I stopped and asked them if they knew of any private detective who might be able to help an innocent man cast down by mysterious circumstances. After a brief consultation, their collective opinion was that you, Mr Holmes, were the man I should seek out.”

“I am glad they reached that conclusion,” responded Holmes after a moment. “Your story interests me greatly, Mr Claydon.”

“You do believe, then, that what I have told you is true?” asked Claydon in an imploring tone.

“I do not doubt it for an instant.”

“Thank the Lord for that! What has happened to me is so strange and terrible that I had begun to doubt that I could ever persuade anyone to believe it! The circumstances must surely be unique!”

Holmes shook his head. “There you are mistaken,” said he. “There was an almost identical case reported from Brussels only last year, and something very similar in Copenhagen the year before that.”

“Oh?” said Claydon in surprise. “What was the outcome in those cases?”

“As to the Copenhagen case, I am not certain,” returned Holmes, “but I believe the house burned down.”

“Good Lord!”

“In the Brussels case, however, the rightful occupant of the house, having been denied access at the front door, succeeded in forcing his way into the house through a rear window.”

“Good for him!”

“Yes, he displayed a certain enterprise. Unfortunately, having succeeded in entering the house, he was then set upon by the villains within and badly beaten.”

“Lord preserve us!”

“Sometimes, as it is said, discretion is indeed the better part of valour. You have taken the wisest course, Mr Claydon, in seeking me out. I, in turn, shall waste no time in enlisting the help of the official force.”

“What! The police? Judging by the specimen I encountered, they will not be very interested.”

Holmes shook his head. “All the cards were against you earlier,” said he, ticking the points off on his fingers. “In the first place, the woman was in possession of the house while you were out on the street. In the second, she was no doubt neatly attired while you were in a state of unaccustomed disarray. And in the third, she spoke with a firmness and authority which you, shocked as you were by these unprecedented events, could not match.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Claydon ruefully.

“I am known to some of the senior men at Brixton Police Station,” continued Holmes, “and I am confident they will listen to what I have to say. If we run down there now and give them a sober account of what has happened, I have no doubt that someone will accompany us to Kendal Terrace and help to see that justice is done. Our most immediate need, you see, is not for analytical subtlety, but simply to gain entry to your house, and in such circumstances the presence of a couple of burly policemen must add immeasurably to our side of the argument.”

“I understand, sir, and I must say you fill me with hope!” cried Claydon, his eyes shining. “Words cannot express the relief I feel at having unburdened myself of the matter to you. Are you confident of getting to the bottom of it?”

“We shall do our best,” replied Holmes with a friendly smile. “Now, if you would care to wash the blood and grime from your face, and to neaten yourself up a little before we set off, Dr Watson would, I am sure, be delighted to show you where you could do it!”

When I returned to the sitting room, Holmes was still seated where I had left him, staring moodily into the hearth.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I am concerned about Claydon’s wife,” replied my friend.

“You think she may be in danger?”

“That is certainly a possibility, but it is not my chief concern. More likely, I fear, is that she is implicated in the matter in some way. If so, Claydon’s day of unpleasant surprises may not yet have run its course.”

“Do the other cases you mentioned suggest as much?”

“The testimony of the other cases is inconclusive on the point. In one, the wife did indeed turn out to have been behind the whole business. In the other, she was perfectly innocent of any involvement, but the outcome was still not entirely satisfactory.”

“What do you mean?”

“The wife was murdered.”

“Good God!”

“You will appreciate why I did not wish to expound on those cases in the presence of my client. However, to return to the present business: the crucial point, it seems to me, is that Mr Claydon was not expected to return home this evening. According to his own testimony, today was to have been the first time in six weeks that he would be absent from the house. It is also the day when strangers appear to have taken over the house. If these two events were purely coincidental the odds against their joint occurrence would be fairly long. It therefore seems likely that they are not simply coincidental, but are linked in some way.”