Alice was beginning to get to the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, became entangled with this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?"
"There is the writing."
"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."
"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."
"My own seal."
"Imitated."
"My photograph."
"Oh, dear! That is very interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found her more interesting ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case."
"I shall see you at Horsham, then?"
"No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it."
"Then I shall certainly do as you advise."
"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to be married."