There he called a cab and drew
Mycroft's paper from his pocket.
"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said
he. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention."
The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green
lawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog
was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A
butler answered our ring.
"Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died this
morning."
"Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he die?"
"Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother,
Colonel Valentine?"
"Yes, we had best do so."
We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant
later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man
of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild
eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden
blow which had fallen upon the household. He was hardly
articulate as he spoke of it.
"It was this horrible scandal," said he.
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