It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station and taken our places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and I to listen.  Holmes drew a note from his pocket, and read aloud: 

Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, 3:30 A.M.  My dear Mr. Holmes: 

I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case.  It is something quite in your line.  Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.  Yours faithfully, Stanley Hopkins.

“Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons has been entirely justified,” said Holmes.  “I fancy that every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for much which I deplore in your narratives.  Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations.  You slur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader.”

“Why do you not write them yourself?” I said, with some bitterness.

“I will, my dear Watson, I will.  At present I am, as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume.  Our present research appears to be a case of murder.”

“You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?”

“I should say so.  Hopkins’s writing shows considerable agitation, and he is not an emotional man.  Yes, I gather there has been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection.  A mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me.  As to the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy.  We are moving in high life, Watson, crackling paper, ‘E.B.’ monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address.  I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning.  The crime was committed before twelve last night.”

“How can you possibly tell?”

“By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time.  The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me.  All that makes a fair night’s work.  Well, here we are at Chiselhurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest.”