What was
this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going,
and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced
pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep
game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair, and set the
matter aside until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across
the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were
standing at the door, and, as I entered the passage, I heard the sound of
voices from above. On entering his room, I found Holmes in animated
conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the
official police agent; while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man,
with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock coat.
"Ha! our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket, and
taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you know Mr.
Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is
to be our companion in to-night's adventure."
"We're hunting in couples again, doctor, you see," said Jones, in his
consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him do the running down.
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