“I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid out.  Afterwards, Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe.  This he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together.  It was between eleven and twelve when we finished.  He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper.  He showed me out through his own French window, which had been open all this time.”

“Was the blind down?” asked Holmes.

“I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down.  Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window.  I could not find my stick, and he said, ’Never mind, my boy, I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.’  I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table.  It was so late that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the morning.”

“Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?” said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation.

“Not until I have been to Blackheath.”

“You mean to Norwood,” said Lestrade.

“Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have meant,” said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile.  Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him.  I saw him look curiously at my companion.

“I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said he.  “Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting.”  The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room.  The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.

Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.

“There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?” said he, pushing them over.

The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.

“I can read the first few lines and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end.  Those are as clear as print,” said he, “but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where I cannot read it at all.”

“What do you make of that?” said Holmes.

“Well, what do you make of it?”

“That it was written in a train.  The good writing represents stations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points.  A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points.  Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge.”