Electronic book host

Lestrade had learned by
more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that
razor-like brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to
him. I saw him look curiously at my companion.
"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr,
Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my
constables are at the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting."
The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching
glance at us walked from the room. The officers conducted him
to the cab, but Lestrade remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft
of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest
upon his face.
"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are
there not?" said he, pushing them over.
The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.
"I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the
second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as
print," said he, "but the writing in between is very bad, and
there are three places where I cannot read it at all.


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