“The case has certainly some points of interest,” you say.
“May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that you
are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to
justify your arrest?”
“I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents,
Mr. Holmes; but last night, having to do business very late with
Mr. Jonas Oldacre, I stayed at a hotel in Norwood, and came to
my business from there. I knew nothing of this affair until I was in
the train, when I read what you have just heard. I at once saw the
horrible danger of my position, and I hurried to put the case into
your hands. I have no doubt that I should have been arrested
either at my City office or at my home. A man followed me from
London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt—
Great Heaven, what is that?”
It is a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps uponthe stair. A moment later our old friend Lestrade appears in the
doorway.
“Mr. John Hector McFarlane?” says Lestrade.
“I arrest you for the willful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre,
of Lower Norwood.”
McFarlane turns to us with a gesture of despair, and sinks into his
chair once more like one who is crushed.