Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. “But our expedition of to-night will solve them all. There is no other injustice in her case that you know of.” “There are difficulties there are certainly difficulties,” said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive.

What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin immediately after Sholto’s death, unless it is that Sholto's heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?” “But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. Within a week of his death Captain Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London. The only person in London whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. I have just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882.” “I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests.” “No? You surprise me. I have discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. “The facts appear to admit of only one explanation.” “What! you have solved it already?” “Well, that would be too much to say. “There is no great mystery in this matter,” he said, taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. He was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,-a mood which in his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression. Chapter Three In Quest of a Solution It was half-past five before Holmes returned.

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