earnest young man with regular features and a suit and waistcoat which had seen better days. He pumped our hands with a nervous zest. “Gentlemen. I am indebted to you for your interest in this matter. Arabella promised that she would enlist your help. I counselled her against making an approach, knowing that you, Mr Holmes, had given up your investigative work. But I am doubly grateful, for her persistence and your willingness to give up time to be of assistance to me. God knows, I need help from somewhere.”
He pushed a hand through a thatch of fair hair. His face was pale and his manner was distracted, but I still had an impression of natural, unaffected charm. I could readily understand why Arabella Pyemont had chosen him as a soul-mate in preference to the cordial but ageing Noone.
“How many letters have been circulated?” Holmes asked.
Cropper sighed. “By my calculation, nine. The latest reached one of our clients this morning. I am supposed to have disclosed certain confidential information about their business plans. It is nonsense, of course, and I think my long-suffering employer has convinced them of that, but it would hardly be surprising if their confidence in my discretion was not damaged by this episode. Bit by bit, gentlemen, my career is being wrecked.”
“And your employer’s response?”
Cropper blushed. “Just as I have been luckier in love than I deserve, so too I have been supremely fortunate in my chosen employment. To think that I was so naive as to believe that I had outgrown my position here! The Greeks have a word for it, do they not? Hubris. I owe Mr Follett everything. He has permitted me to build up a practice and now, when I am at my lowest ebb, he has been willing not only to retain my services, but to offer me new terms, with a token increase in remuneration.”
He pointed to a legal document on his desk. Holmes picked it up and leafed through the pages of closely printed verbiage.
“The proposed salary is nonetheless modest,” my friend remarked.
Cropper flushed. “I have learned my lesson, Mr Holmes. Better to be paid at one’s worth than to be out of work.”
The door opened and a small fussy man wearing pince-nez appeared. “Out of work, William?” he enquired in a puzzled, high- pitched voice.
“Ah, Mr Follett, may I introduce you? Arabella you already know, of course. And this is Mr Sherlock Holmes and his companion, Dr Watson. Gentlemen, this is my employer, Mr Charles Follett.”
“The celebrated detective!” Follett’s eyebrows shot up. “I have read in the newspapers of your move to this county, Mr Holmes, but I did not expect to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance!”
As we shook hands with the newcomer, Cropper explained our purpose. Follett nodded soberly.
“The past month has been extremely trying for us, Mr Holmes, as no doubt you can imagine. For a professional man, his reputation is everything. The goodwill built up over long years of intense labour can disappear in the blink of an eye if doubt is cast upon his integrity.”
Holmes turned to Arabella and her fiance. “Would you excuse us for a little while? There are matters that I wish to discuss with Mr Follett in confidence.”
Arabella coloured and there was a mutinous set to her jaw, but Cropper nodded feverishly and ushered her back to his room as Follett led us to his office. It was at least not as cramped as his subordinate’s, although the window commanded a view of the railway line that was far from alluring. On his desk was a photograph and I recognised the attractive, if plump, features of Miss Lotty Bicknell.
“Your fiancee, I believe?” I said. “I saw a poster outside the theatre on the way here.”
Follett beamed. “We met only a short time ago when I introduced myself at the stage door, but I had the greatest of good fortune when she consented to become my wife. Gentlemen, please be seated. Now, what can I do for you?”
“How long have you employed
He pushed a hand through a thatch of fair hair. His face was pale and his manner was distracted, but I still had an impression of natural, unaffected charm. I could readily understand why Arabella Pyemont had chosen him as a soul-mate in preference to the cordial but ageing Noone.
“How many letters have been circulated?” Holmes asked.
Cropper sighed. “By my calculation, nine. The latest reached one of our clients this morning. I am supposed to have disclosed certain confidential information about their business plans. It is nonsense, of course, and I think my long-suffering employer has convinced them of that, but it would hardly be surprising if their confidence in my discretion was not damaged by this episode. Bit by bit, gentlemen, my career is being wrecked.”
“And your employer’s response?”
Cropper blushed. “Just as I have been luckier in love than I deserve, so too I have been supremely fortunate in my chosen employment. To think that I was so naive as to believe that I had outgrown my position here! The Greeks have a word for it, do they not? Hubris. I owe Mr Follett everything. He has permitted me to build up a practice and now, when I am at my lowest ebb, he has been willing not only to retain my services, but to offer me new terms, with a token increase in remuneration.”
He pointed to a legal document on his desk. Holmes picked it up and leafed through the pages of closely printed verbiage.
“The proposed salary is nonetheless modest,” my friend remarked.
Cropper flushed. “I have learned my lesson, Mr Holmes. Better to be paid at one’s worth than to be out of work.”
The door opened and a small fussy man wearing pince-nez appeared. “Out of work, William?” he enquired in a puzzled, high- pitched voice.
“Ah, Mr Follett, may I introduce you? Arabella you already know, of course. And this is Mr Sherlock Holmes and his companion, Dr Watson. Gentlemen, this is my employer, Mr Charles Follett.”
“The celebrated detective!” Follett’s eyebrows shot up. “I have read in the newspapers of your move to this county, Mr Holmes, but I did not expect to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance!”
As we shook hands with the newcomer, Cropper explained our purpose. Follett nodded soberly.
“The past month has been extremely trying for us, Mr Holmes, as no doubt you can imagine. For a professional man, his reputation is everything. The goodwill built up over long years of intense labour can disappear in the blink of an eye if doubt is cast upon his integrity.”
Holmes turned to Arabella and her fiance. “Would you excuse us for a little while? There are matters that I wish to discuss with Mr Follett in confidence.”
Arabella coloured and there was a mutinous set to her jaw, but Cropper nodded feverishly and ushered her back to his room as Follett led us to his office. It was at least not as cramped as his subordinate’s, although the window commanded a view of the railway line that was far from alluring. On his desk was a photograph and I recognised the attractive, if plump, features of Miss Lotty Bicknell.
“Your fiancee, I believe?” I said. “I saw a poster outside the theatre on the way here.”
Follett beamed. “We met only a short time ago when I introduced myself at the stage door, but I had the greatest of good fortune when she consented to become my wife. Gentlemen, please be seated. Now, what can I do for you?”
“How long have you employed
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