Eventually Holmes stood up

Faced with the proferred gift, Emily abandoned her weeping, swallowed her sobs in one huge gulp, and reached out for the lolli­pop. In a moment it was firmly planted in her mouth, and though the tears still coursed down her cheeks she was, at last, silent.

Holmes straightened and tipped his hat again. "Permit me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"Mr. Holmes!" exclaimed the governess, and I could see that she started at the name. "I am Corinthia Grayling, governess to Emily here, who is the daughter of Mr. Fortescue Royston. It is extremely good of you to assist, but I'm sure that Emily's doll does not warrant taking up your time."

"Not at all," said Holmes. "It would be a cruel world in which a consulting detective might not apply his skills to the mys­tery of a little girl's stolen doll."

He squatted to speak to Emily. "Tell me, my dear," he said, was it some ragamuffin child who stole your doll?"

Still sucking vigorously at the lollipop, Emily shook her head firmly. At last she took the sweetmeat from her mouth and said, "No, sir. It was a big man with a silk hat like yours."

I almost felt the thrill I knew Holmes was experiencing at this odd revelation, for I was well aware how much unusual factors of everyday occurrences appealed to my friend.

"A big man in a silk hat," repeated my friend. "And what did he look like, Emily?"

She raised a hand. "He was ever so tall and he had a long coat and a silk hat and a big long moustache." She wrestled with the last word but managed it in the end.

"Emily!" exclaimed Miss Grayling. "She can exaggerate terri­bly sometimes, Mr. Holmes. It was probably some street ruffian."

"No it wasn't," declared Emily. "It was a big man with a moustache and he went that way," and she pointed in the direction we had been heading.

"And do you remember what colour his mous­tache was?" asked Holmes.

"It was brown," said the little girl promptly. Pointing at me, she said, "It was bigger than his mous­tache and brown, but sort of reddish and thick and floppy. I was waiting outside the shop like Miss Gray­ling told me and he came along and said could he look at my nice new dolly, and I let him look and he snatched it and ran away" The recollection brought fresh weeping.

"Emily," said Holmes, "I promise you that I will do my very best to find the man with the brown moustache and recover your doll. What is her name?"

"She's called Beatrice and she can move her head," said the child, and with a little prompting from Holmes she recited a detailed de­scription of the toy.

Eventually Holmes stood up. He smiled at Miss Grayling and said, "If I am to recover Emily's dolly I must be about my business, Miss Grayling. Here is my card. If you will call on me at four o'clock to­morrow, I have no doubt that I shall have news for you."