Also a small packet of technical papers."
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"There we have it at last, Watson! British government--Woolwich.
Arsenal--technical papers--Brother Mycroft, the chain is
complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for
himself."
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was
ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a
suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above
this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its
brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its
lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the
first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the
dominant mind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard--thin
and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some
weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word.
Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an
armchair.
"A most annoying business, Sherlock," said he.
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