“You stated that Mr Townsend was careful with his money.”

“Well, it seems likely, does it not, that some misfortune has befallen Mr Townsend’s usual cigar case? That he does not have a spare one that is presentable, and has thus had to press this very battered old specimen into service, indicates that he is a man who does not spend his money unnecessarily. No doubt the father’s profligacy made a deep impression upon his mind when he was younger and has produced an opposite inclination in the son.

“As for his reason for calling upon me, it must be presumed that he has had some puzzling experience. Save only yourself, no one calls upon me who has not. That he should have had a puzzling experience, and have also lost the use of his own cigar case, probably within the same twenty-four hours, would be something of a coincidence were the two matters unrelated, and it therefore seems a fair conjecture that the two incidents are connected.”

“You are suggesting, then,” said I, chuckling, “that Mr Townsend wishes to commission you to find his missing cigar case?”

“You laugh, Watson, but it may well be so. I cannot pretend that it is a very exciting prospect, but let us wait and see. Many a memorable case has had an equally unpromising beginning. We shall soon know the truth of the matter, for that is probably his ring at the bell now.”

A moment later, Mr Godfrey Townsend was shown into my friend’s sitting room. A man of middling size, he was about fifty years of age, with a broad, pleasant face and bright eyes. He took the chair Holmes indicated, then glanced in my direction.

“Dr Watson has been good enough to assist me on a great many occasions,” said Holmes, by way of introduction. “His presence can only benefit our enquiries. Your property, I believe,” he continued, holding out the old cigar case.

“Thank goodness!” cried Townsend, his eyes lighting up as he took the case. “I was wondering where I had left it!”

“It is not the only such object you have lost lately, I think,” remarked Holmes.

“Indeed not. It is the loss of my own cigar case that has obliged me to use this old one of my father’s, God rest his soul! It has seen better days,” he added as he slipped the case into his pocket. “I have only delayed buying a new one in the hope that you can help me find the one I have lost.”

“What were the circumstances in which you lost it?” asked Holmes.

“Bizarre, sir! Bizarre and puzzling! Nay, more than that, downright inexplicable! I not only lost a cigar case yesterday, but gained an experience I could well have done without!”

“You have our full attention,” said Holmes in a tone of interest. “Pray, let us have the details.”

“By all means,” said Townsend. “It is soon enough told – though not so soon forgotten. I am, you should know, an importer of Venetian glassware, for which the appetite of the country seems, I am glad to say, insatiable. You may have heard of the firm of Zeffirelli and Townsend. If you own any Venetian glassware, it is more than likely that it was imported into the country by our firm. These business activities have made me a man of very regular habits. Yesterday, for the first time in many years, these habits were altered, and the consequences were exceedingly unfortunate! I am not at all a superstitious man, under normal circumstances, but I cannot help noting in passing that yesterday was Friday the thirteenth, which is said by some to be an unlucky day. While this is hardly an adequate explanation of the series of misfortunes that befell me yesterday, it is scarcely more ridiculous than any other explanation I have been able to devise.

“I am a bachelor, and live at 34, Gloucester Terrace, where I occupy a set of rooms on the top floor. Each day I leave the house at precisely eight-thirty-seven, and take a cab to my office. Yesterday, however, I awoke at five o’clock with severe toothache, and after suffering for three hours I sent a note round to my dentist, whose surgery is nearby. I received a reply that he could see me at half past eleven. I also sent a note to my office to inform them that I should not be in until the afternoon.

“I left my rooms at ten o’clock, as there were one or two small matters I wished to attend to before my appointment. As I was descending the stair, a door opened on the landing below and a man emerged, wearing a hat and coat. I recognized him as Mr Smith, who has the rooms on the floor below mine. He is a very private man and our paths seldom cross. I doubt if I have seen him twice in six months. Now, my usual routine having been altered by the toothache, I welcomed this opportunity to renew our very slight acquaintance.

“‘Good morning,’ I called as I descended the stair.

“He looked round quickly as he was closing his door, an expression of suspicion upon his face.

“‘We don’t often see each other,’ I continued in a lighthearted, friendly tone.

“‘What of it?’ he responded gruffly. Then, without another word, he went back inside his room again and slammed the door shut behind him.

“I was surprised at such discourtesy and felt quite put out for some time afterwards. But it was a pleasant morning, and as I walked down to the Park and on towards Oxford Street, I managed to shake off the feeling of despondency with which the encounter had left me.

“At eleven o’clock I was leaving Waterlow’s, the Oxford Street tobacconist’s, when I observed a man standing in the open doorway. He was tall and thin, with a sallow face and a large black moustache, waxed at the tips. As I passed him, he raised his hat and introduced himself as Inspector Porter of the Detective Division of Scotland Yard. His voice was polite, but tinged with an odd accent, so that I wondered if he came from the north.

“‘Excuse me, sir,’ said he. ‘I am sorry to trouble you, but would you mind stepping this way a moment?’

“‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘What is it about?’

“‘We wish to ask you a few questions,’ said he. ‘Let us go somewhere quieter for a minute,’ he continued, leading me across the pavement to where a small closed carriage stood at the kerb.

“‘It will not take long, I hope,’ I remarked as I climbed in. ‘I have a dentist’s appointment at eleven-thirty.’

“He did not reply, but climbed in beside me and closed the door. There was another man already in the carriage, a massive, giant of a fellow, who occupied the whole of the other side. His chest was like a barrel, his arms appeared about to burst apart the sleeves of his jacket, and his neck was, I think, the thickest that I have ever seen on a human being.

“Inspector Porter called something to the driver, and we rattled off in the direction of Marble Arch. He then leaned back in his seat, folded his arms and pursed his lips.

“‘I understood that you wished to ask me some questions,’ said I, puzzled by his silent manner. He turned and looked at me.

“‘What is your name?’ said he after a moment.

“‘Townsend.’

“The two men exchanged glances, then Porter turned to me again.

“‘If you remain silent,’ said he, ‘you will not be harmed.’ There was a note of menace in his voice which I did not much care for.

“‘Whatever do you mean?’ I demanded. ‘Why should I remain silent?’

“Before I could speak another word, the giant opposite abruptly leaned across the carriage and grabbed my arms tightly. The man beside me then took a small medicine bottle from his pocket, poured a few drops of liquid from it onto a piece of rag, then clapped the rag over my nose and mouth. For a moment, I was aware of a very sweet smell and a ringing in my ears, then I had lost all consciousness.

“How long I remained insensible I do not know, but as I came to my senses, the carriage was drawing to a halt. The man calling himself Inspector Porter opened the door and sprang out, and the other man took my arm, pulled me roughly to my feet and propelled me out onto the ground. I felt quite dizzy and sick, but I had little time to feel sorry for myself. I was quickly marched across a dirty, rubbish-strewn yard, and in through an open doorway. As if in a dream, we passed through a deserted kitchen, along a bare, uncarpeted hallway, and up a dark flight of stairs, all festooned with dusty cobwebs. At last I was led into a large empty room and forcibly seated upon the bare boards of the floor, my back against the damp and discoloured wall by the window. The shutters of the window were closed, but they were not very tight fitting, and a narrow beam of daylight entered through a gap between them and cast a little illumination into the bare and dusty room. The thin man closed the door and consulted his watch, then the two of them began to speak animatedly in a strange, foreign tongue. It was clear that I was the subject of their discussion, for they glanced or gestured in my direction several times, and I caught the words ‘Townsend’ and ‘Gloucester Terrace’ once or twice in their otherwise unintelligible conversation.