“’My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:—­Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion.  I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding.  Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance.  I will call at four o’clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance.  Yours faithfully, st. Simon.’

“It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger,” remarked Holmes as he folded up the epistle.

“He says four o’clock.  It is three now.  He will be here in an hour.”

“Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject.  Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is.”  He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece.  “Here he is,” said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. “’Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.’  Hum!  ’Arms:  Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable.  Born in 1846.’  He’s forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage.  Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration.  The Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.  They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side.  Ha!  Well, there is nothing very instructive in all this.  I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something more solid.”

“I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,” said I, “for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable.  I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters.”

“Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture van.  That is quite cleared up now—­though, indeed, it was obvious from the first.  Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections.”

“Here is the first notice which I can find.  It is in the personal column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back:  ‘A marriage has been arranged,’ it says, ’and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran.  Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.’  That is all.”

“Terse and to the point,” remarked Holmes, stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire.