He smiled and laid the doll on his desk

Sherlock Holmes was still in a bright mood on the following morning, eating a hearty breakfast and sitting down afterwards to draft a long telegram. After it was dispatched he rose with a satisfied expression and took up the parcel which he had brought home from his shopping expedition on the previous day.

As he unwrapped it at the table I saw that it contained a doll which exactly matched the description given to us by Emily Royston. "You have found it!" I exclaimed. "Surely that is Emily's doll?"

He shook his head. "I have found poor Beatrice's twin," he said, "after visiting six West End shops yesterday afternoon. Now it is necessary to put her into the same state as her kid­napped sister."

He took the doll firmly by the torso and slid his fingers into the bright curls. Grasping the toy's head he turned it forcibly, so that it came away in his hand. He peered into the neck aperture for a moment, then replaced the head firmly.

"What on earth are you doing?" I asked.

"I am making sure," he said, "that this simulated Beatrice has been treated as Miss Grayling treated the original when she con­cealed the telegram inside the doll."

"It occurs to me," I said, "that the rigmarole with the doll was rather unnecessary. Why could she not simply have passed the document to Florez?"

"Because," he said, "she had a narrow escape from justice in the Cullington affair. The last person in England she would want to be seen with is Maximilian Florez."

I pointed to the doll. "But when she calls-if she calls-she will know that this is not the original doll," I protested.

"Perhaps so, Watson. Perhaps so." He smiled and laid the doll on his desk, covering it with some loose papers.

Though Sherlock Holmes could be a whirlwind of energy when in hot pursuit or a brooding storm of impatience when he had nothing to occupy his intellect, he had the patience of a cat by a mousehole when he was awaiting the outcome of one of his strata­gems. He passed that day in conversation and in playing light airs upon his violin as though he had no serious thought in his mind, while I considered the questions that still teemed in my mind and did not ask them because I knew he would answer me either ellipti­cally or not at all.