“I will order a four-wheeler.  In a quarter of an hour, we shall be at your service.  If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack.  In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it.”

That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak country, in which Dr. Huxtable’s famous school is situated.  It was already dark when we reached it.  A card was lying on the hall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation in every heavy feature.

“The Duke is here,” said he.  “The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study.  Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.”

I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation.  He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long.  His complexion was of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe.  Such was the stately presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable’s hearthrug.  Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, the private secretary.  He was small, nervous, alert with intelligent light-blue eyes and mobile features.  It was he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.

“I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from starting for London.  I learned that your object was to invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case.  His Grace is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him.”

“When I learned that the police had failed——­”

“His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed.”

“But surely, Mr. Wilder——­”

“You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal.  He prefers to take as few people as possible into his confidence.”

“The matter can be easily remedied,” said the brow-beaten doctor; “Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train.”

“Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that,” said Holmes, in his blandest voice.  “This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may.  Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you to decide.”

I could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.