We saw the cold
winter sun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and the
long, sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever associate
with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the earlier days of
our career. After a long and weary journey, we alighted at a
small station some miles from Chatham. While a horse was
being put into a trap at the local inn, we snatched a hurried
breakfast, and so we were all ready for business when we at last
arrived at Yoxley Old Place. A constable met us at the garden
gate.
"Well, Wilson, any news?"
"No, sir -- nothing."
"No reports of any stranger seen?"
"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger
either came or went yesterday."
"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?"
"Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for."
"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might
stay there or take a train without being observed. This is the
garden path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word
there was no mark on it yesterday."
"On which side were the marks on the grass?"
"This side, sir.
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