Norman Shelley

I knew you had spit it.

My brother will be delighted to have you, I know.

Tomorrow, then, at 126B Corporation Street, Birmingham.

Have I missed anything out, Mr. Holmes?

Your memory goes further than figures, Mr. Picar.

Well, Watson, what do you think of that?

Extraordinary good fortune, I'd say.

What sort of a fellow was this Pinar?

Well, a middle-sized, black beard, bit of a hook to his nose, you know, brisk sort of way with him.

Yes, I can see it.

But now, Mr. Picar, tell Watson what happened the next day when you got to Birmingham to keep your appointment.

Yes.

Well...

126B Corporation Street turned out to be a passage between two big shops.

It led to a flight of stairs with the names of a lot of companies painted on the wall at the bottom.

I read them all, but there wasn't a Franco-Midland Hardware Company among them.

But while I was standing there wondering what to do next, a man came up and introduced himself as Harry Pinner.

We haven't got a name up yet, Mr. Parkoff, as you see.

They're only temporary premises, sir.

We only got them last week.