Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed.  He came back at night weary and unsuccessful.

“I have had a blank day, Watson.  Having got the doctor’s general direction, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side of Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local news agencies.  I have covered some ground.  Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach, and Oakington have each been explored, and have each proved disappointing.  The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardly have been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows.  The doctor has scored once more.  Is there a telegram for me?”

“Yes, I opened it.  Here it is: 

“Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“Oh, it is clear enough.  It is from our friend Overton, and is in answer to a question from me.  I’ll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon, and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn.  By the way, is there any news of the match?”

“Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its last edition.  Oxford won by a goal and two tries.  The last sentences of the description say: 

“’The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirely attributed to the unfortunate absence of the crack International, Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game.  The lack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weakness both in attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.’”

“Then our friend Overton’s forebodings have been justified,” said Holmes.  “Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and football does not come within my horizon.  Early to bed to-night, Watson, for I foresee that to-morrow may be an eventful day.”

I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he sat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe.  I associated that instrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared the worst when I saw it glittering in his hand.  He laughed at my expression of dismay and laid it upon the table.

“No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm.  It is not upon this occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the key which will unlock our mystery.  On this syringe I base all my hopes.  I have just returned from a small scouting expedition, and everything is favourable.  Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr. Armstrong’s trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest or food until I run him to his burrow.”

“In that case,” said I, “we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he is making an early start.  His carriage is at the door.”

“Never mind.  Let him go.  He will be clever if he can drive where I cannot follow him.  When you have finished, come downstairs with me, and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist in the work that lies before us.”