It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives.
And now， Doctor， we can do nothing until the answers to thoseletters come， so we may put our little problem upon the shelf forthe interim.”
I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend’s subtlepowers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I feltthat he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easydemeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which hehad been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him tofail， in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adlerphotograph； but when I looked back to the weird business of theSign of Four， and the extraordinary circumstances connected withthe Study in Scarlet， I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeedwhich he could not unravel.
I left him then， still puffing at his black clay pipe， with theconviction that when I came again on the next evening I would findthat he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to theidentity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.
A professional case of great gravity was engaging my ownattention at the time， and the whole of next day I was busy at thebedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o’clock thatI found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and driveto Baker Street， half afraid that I might be too late to assist at thedénouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone，however， half asleep， with his long， thin form curled up in therecesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and testtubes，with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid， toldme that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was sodear to him.
“Well， have you solved it？” I asked as I entered.
“Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.”
“No， no， the mystery！” I cried.
“Oh， that！ I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.
There was never any mystery in the matter， though， as I saidyesterday， some of the details are of interest. The only drawback isthat there is no law， I fear， that can touch the scoundrel.”
“Who was he， then， and what was his object in deserting MissSutherland？”
The question was hardly out of my mouth， and Holmes had notyet opened his lips to reply， when we heard a heavy footfall in thepassage and a tap at the door.
“This is the girl’s stepfather， Mr. James Windibank，” said Holmes.
“He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in！”
The man who entered was a sturdy， middle-sized fellow， somethirty years of age， clean-shaven， and sallow-skinned， with abland， insinuating manner， and a pair of wonderfully sharp andpenetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us，placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard， and with a slight bowsidled down into the nearest chair.
“Good-evening， Mr. James Windibank，” said Holmes. “I thinkthat this typewritten letter is from you， in which you made anappointment with me for six o’clock？”
“Yes， sir. I am afraid that I am a little late， but I am not quitemy own master， you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland hastroubled you about this little matter， for I think it is far better notto wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my wishesthat she came， but she is a very excitable， impulsive girl， as youmay have noticed， and she is not easily controlled when she hasmade up her mind on a point. Of course， I did not mind you somuch， as you are not connected with the official police， but it isnot pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad.
Besides， it is a useless expense， for how could you possibly findthis Hosmer Angel？”
“On the contrary，” said Holmes quietly； “I have every reason tobelieve that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.”
Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. “Iam delighted to hear it，” he said.
“It is a curious thing，” remarked Holmes， “that a typewriter hasreally quite as much individuality as a man’s handwriting. Unlessthey are quite new， no two of them write exactly alike. Some lettersget more worn than others， and some wear only on one side. Now，you remark in this note of yours， Mr. Windibank， that in everycase there is some little slurring over of the ‘e，’ and a slight defectin the tail of the ‘r.’ There are fourteen other characteristics， butthose are the more obvious.”
“We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office，and no doubt it is a little worn，” our visitor answered， glancingkeenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.
“And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study，Mr. Windibank，” Holmes continued. “I think of writing anotherlittle monograph some of these days on the typewriter and itsrelation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted somelittle attention. I have here four letters which purport to comefrom the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case， notonly are the ‘e’s’ slurred and the ‘r’s’ tailless， but you will observe，if you care to use my magnifying lens， that the fourteen othercharacteristics to which I have alluded are there as well.”
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. “Icannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk， Mr. Holmes，” hesaid. “If you can catch the man， catch him， and let me know whenyou have done it.”
“Certainly，” said Holmes， stepping over and turning the key inthe door. “I let you know， then， that I have caught him！”
“What！ where？” shouted Mr. Windibank， turning white to hislips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.
“Oh， it won’t do—really it won’t，” said Holmes suavely. “Thereis no possible getting out of it， Mr. Windibank. It is quite tootransparent， and it was a very bad compliment when you said thatit was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That’s right！
Sit down and let us talk it over.”
Our visitor collapsed into a chair， with a ghastly face and a glitterof moisture on his brow. “It—it’s not actionable，” he stammered.