As I approached the wide front door of the inn, a dog cart drew up in front of it. Two men were on the box, one of whom immediately sprang down with an appearance of great haste. I recognized him at once as Captain Reid. The other man I had not seen before. He was tall and lithe, with a sallow complexion and a thin moustache. I quickened my pace, followed Reid in through the inn door and caught him up in the hall, where we shook hands. I explained that Holmes had been absent all morning, but might have returned, and led him upstairs to the residents’ sitting room. There, in a chair beside the fireplace, Holmes was sitting smoking his pipe, the blue smoke curling in lazy spirals above his head. He appeared deep in thought as we entered, but sprang to his feet in a moment.

“Captain Reid!” said he, shaking his client by the hand. “I am glad you have been able to return so promptly. I have much news to impart. And Watson! I was wondering where you had got to, old fellow!”

“Ranworth and I came as quickly as we could,” responded Reid. “We caught the very first train from Rye this morning, but the connections were a little difficult. I am keen to hear your news, Mr Holmes, for I understand from your wire that you have discovered something that sheds light on the troubles I have had.”

Much to my surprise, Holmes shook his head. “No,” said he, “I have not discovered something, Captain Reid; I have discovered everything. I am now in a position to offer an explanation of every little incident that has puzzled you and caused you distress, from the broken window at Oakbrook Hall shortly before you left for India, to the white feather you received last week.”

“I am amazed and thrilled to hear it,” returned Reid. “But there is one thing, at least, that you cannot know.”

“What is that, pray?”

“That another window has been broken at Oakbrook, in mysterious circumstances.”

“What!” cried Holmes in surprise. “When did this occur?”

“Last night, apparently. Ranworth and I went straight to Oakbrook from the railway station this morning, and have just come from there now. The window that was broken is in a small dressing room that adjoins my bedroom. It must have occurred very late in the night, for no one heard it. Northcote was up late, working in the upstairs study, but that is at the other side of the house, and he says he heard nothing. The sound would have been slight in any case, for the panes of glass in that window are small ones, and whoever was responsible had smeared treacle on the glass and covered it with scraps of cloth, to muffle the noise and hold the pane together when it broke.”

Holmes’s keen, hawk-like features assumed a look of the most intense concentration, and it was clear that this news had surprised him. Then, with a groan, he slapped his hand to his forehead. “Of course!” cried he. “What a fool I have been! I should have expected such a development. An intruder has been in your dressing room, Captain Reid.”

“That is evident,” returned the other. “My travelling-trunk, which was in there, has been rifled.”

“Is there any evidence of how the intruder might have gained access to the window? Is there a ladder anywhere about?”

Reid shook his head. “That would not have been necessary. Just below the window is the low roof of a pantry, from which it is very easy to climb through the window. I have climbed in there myself many times, as a boy.”

“I see. Has anything been taken?”

“A small leather satchel containing my most private papers – diaries I kept while on active service, letters, copies of official dispatches and a few pencil sketches I made of the terrain around Candahar.”

Holmes nodded. “When was the theft discovered?”

“Not until Ranworth and I reached Oakbrook a short while ago. I was attempting to speak to my father – with no great success, I am afraid – and Ranworth had gone up to my bedroom to look for a book of his, which I had borrowed from him the last time he was here and had left in my room. The door to the dressing room was open, and he at once observed the broken glass on the floor and the rifled trunk. The break-in could not have occurred earlier than last night, incidentally, for the maid was in my room yesterday, dusting the furniture, and she says she saw nothing amiss then. Do you believe this incident has any connection with any of the other matters that have occurred, Mr Holmes?”

“Indeed it has, Captain Reid. It follows with iron logic from all that has gone before,” returned Holmes. “Where is Captain Ranworth now?”

“He is waiting for me in the trap, outside.”

“Very good. We shall not keep him long. Now, if you will be seated here, I shall give you a sketch of what I have been able to discover – I shall provide a more detailed account later this afternoon – and then I shall explain to you a specific task, which I should like you to perform later this afternoon. First, however, there is a small point I wish to clear up. Do you recall losing a cufflink, some time during the summer of ’78?”

“Why, yes, I do,” returned Reid. “Of course, it seems such a long time ago now. I remember wondering if Major French or Captain Ranworth, who were staying here then, had taken it by mistake, as they both had similar cufflinks, but they said they had not. In the end I decided I must have dropped it in the orchard somewhere. We were helping with the apple-picking at the time, and I had rolled my shirt sleeves up and slipped the cufflinks into my waistcoat pocket. I suppose it must have fallen out as I was bending down. How on earth did you hear about it, Mr Holmes? Don’t tell me the cufflink has turned up!”

“Indeed it has,” returned Holmes, “although not, I’d wager, in a place you would expect. But, all things in order. You will appreciate the significance of the cufflink when I describe to you all that has happened here since you left these shores.”

At twenty to three that afternoon, Sherlock Holmes and I took the trap from the White Hart to keep our appointment with Colonel Reid at Oakbrook Hall. At the top of the high street, as we passed the long curving wall of the churchyard, I saw Noah Blogg, our curious acquaintance from the Willow Pool, in the company of a squat, grey-bearded elderly man. They were just turning in at the gate of the vicarage, and I lost sight of them as we passed on at a clatter. About halfway to Oakbrook Hall we passed a rustic-looking figure striding out along the road, and I recognized John Dickens, brother of the dead girl. Holmes, meanwhile, spoke not a word during the journey, and I could see from the tense, strained expression upon his features that he was in a state of heightened expectancy.

Shortly before three o’clock we arrived before the front door of Oakbrook Hall. It was a broad, symmetrical building, built of red brick. Standing before it and dominating the approach to the house was a very tall and spreading cedar, beneath the curving branches of which our trap halted.

We were shown into a large square room to the right of the front door. From the bureaux it contained, and the shelves of books that lined the walls, I took it to be the study of which Captain Reid had spoken. Almost in the very centre of the room stood a broad desk, and upon this, on a heavy wooden stand, rested a very large globe. On one wall, flanked on either hand by bookshelves, was a pair of French windows, through which I could see the neat and attractive garden at the side of the house. After a few moments, we heard footsteps approaching, and a tall young man strode briskly into the room. He had sallow skin, and dark hair and moustache, and I recognized him as the man I had seen in the trap outside the White Hart earlier in the day. He introduced himself as Captain Ranworth.

“The others will be along in a minute,” said he. “While we are waiting, I’ll show you the pantry roof, from which someone must have climbed into Reid’s room last night.”