He calls attention， and with reason， to the discrepancy about hisfather having signalled to him before seeing him， also to his refusalto give details of his conversation with his father， and his singularaccount of his father’s dying words. They are all， as he remarks，very much against the son.”
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself outupon the cushioned seat. “Both you and the coroner have been atsome pains，” said he， “to single out the very strongest points in theyoung man’s favour. Don’t you see that you alternately give himcredit for having too much imagination and too little？ Too little，if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him thesympathy of the jury； too much， if he evolved from his own innerconsciousness anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat， andthe incident of the vanishing cloth. No， sir， I shall approach thiscase from the point of view that what this young man says is true，and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And nowhere is my pocket Petrarch， and not another word shall I say ofthis case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon，and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes.”
It was nearly four o’clock when we at last， after passing throughthe beautiful Stroud Valley， and over the broad gleaming Severn，found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean，ferret-like man， furtive and sly-looking， was waiting for us uponthe platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leatherleggingswhich he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings， Ihad no difficulty in recognising Lestrade， of Scotland Yard. Withhim we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had alreadybeen engaged for us.
“I have ordered a carriage，” said Lestrade as we sat over a cupof tea. “I knew your energetic nature， and that you would not behappy until you had been on the scene of the crime.”
“It was very nice and complimentary of you，” Holmes answered.
“It is entirely a question of barometric pressure.”
Lestrade looked startled. “I do not quite follow，” he said.
“How is the glass？ Twenty-nine， I see. No wind， and not a cloudin the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking，and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotelabomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use thecarriage to-night.”
Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You have， no doubt， alreadyformed your conclusions from the newspapers，” he said. “Thecase is as plain as a pikestaff， and the more one goes into it theplainer it becomes. Still， of course， one can’t refuse a lady， and sucha very positive one， too. She has heard of you， and would haveyour opinion， though I repeatedly told her that there was nothingwhich you could do which I had not already done. Why， bless mysoul！ here is her carriage at the door.”
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room oneof the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life.
Her violet eyes shining， her lips parted， a pink flush upon hercheeks， all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpoweringexcitement and concern.
“Oh， Mr. Sherlock Holmes！” she cried， glancing from one to theother of us， and finally， with a woman’s quick intuition， fasteningupon my companion， “I am so glad that you have come. I havedriven down to tell you so. I know that James didn’t do it. I knowit， and I want you to start upon your work knowing it， too. Neverlet yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each othersince we were little children， and I know his faults as no one elsedoes； but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge isabsurd to anyone who really knows him.”
“I hope we may clear him， Miss Turner，” said Sherlock Holmes.
“You may rely upon my doing all that I can.”
“But you have read the evidence. You have formed someconclusion？ Do you not see some loophole， some flaw？ Do you notyourself think that he is innocent？”
“I think that it is very probable.”
“There， now！” she cried， throwing back her head and lookingdefiantly at Lestrade. “You hear！ He gives me hopes.”
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleaguehas been a little quick in forming his conclusions，” he said.
“But he is right. Oh！ I know that he is right. James never did it.
And about his quarrel with his father， I am sure that the reasonwhy he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I wasconcerned in it.”
“In what way？” asked Holmes.
“It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father hadmany disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxiousthat there should be a marriage between us. James and I havealways loved each other as brother and sister； but of course heis young and has seen very little of life yet， and—and—well， henaturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there werequarrels， and this， I am sure， was one of them.”
“And your father？” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of such aunion？”
“No， he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was infavour of it.” A quick blush passed over her fresh young face asHolmes shot one of his keen， questioning glances at her.
“Thank you for this information，” said he. “May I see yourfather if I call to-morrow？”
“I am afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”
“The doctor？”
“Yes， have you not heard？ Poor father has never been strongfor years back， but this has broken him down completely. He hastaken to his bed， and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and thathis nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only manalive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria.”
“Ha！ In Victoria！ That is important.”
“Yes， at the mines.”
“Quite so； at the gold-mines， where， as I understand， Mr. Turnermade his money.”
“Yes， certainly.”
“Thank you， Miss Turner. You have been of material assistanceto me.”
“You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt youwill go to the prison to see James. Oh， if you do， Mr. Holmes， dotell him that I know him to be innocent.”
“I will， Miss Turner.”