Red Széll

May I ask what your name is?

No, you may not, said he with decision.

The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best.

Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?

I asked.

He stared at me with amazement.

What have you done with her?

Why have you pursued her?

I insist upon an answer, said I.

The fellow gave a bellow of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger.

I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend.

His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite with a cudgel in his hand and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm which made him leave go his hold.

He stood for an instant, fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack.

Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which I had just come.

I turned to thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway.

''Well, Watson,'' said he, ''a very pretty hash you have made of it.

I rather think you had better come back with me to London by the Night Express.''

An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel.

His explanation of his sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could get away from London, he determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels.

In the disguise of a working man, he had sat in the cabaret, waiting for my appearance.