“Me?” returned the other in surprise. “You must excuse me,” he added, rubbing his eyes again. “I have been asleep.” He pulled a small card from his breast pocket and handed it to the policeman. “Falk of the Standard,” said he.

“Well, Mr Linton Falk,” said Inspector Spencer, reading from the card, “just what are you doing here?”

Again the other man looked about him. “I can’t tell you what I’m doing here,” he returned at last, “for, to be honest, I don’t know where I am. But I can tell you what I was doing earlier.”

“We are all ears,” said the policeman, whereupon Falk explained that he had received a letter that morning at the newspaper office. This had informed him that if he wanted to learn something of very great public interest, he should come to 14, Kendal Terrace, North Clapham, at five o’clock in the afternoon.

“Who sent the letter?” interrupted Holmes.

“A woman calling herself ‘Mrs Robson’, although she admitted that that was not her real name.”

“Do you get many such letters?”

“A few. It is usually fairly easy to detect if the writer is simply a crank, with nothing of interest to say. This letter was different, and I thought it might be worth looking into, as did my chief.”

“Do you have the letter with you?”

“I should have,” replied the newspaperman, feeling in his pockets, “but it’s gone. Someone must have taken it.”

“Very well. Pray, continue with your account.”

“I arrived at the address given a little after the time stated, and was admitted into the parlour by a maid. Several minutes passed before the lady of the house entered the room. She was a tall woman, with strong features. She seemed very agitated, and was breathing very heavily, but I put this down to nervousness. She identified herself as the ‘Mrs Robson’ who had written to me, and said that another guest she had been expecting had been delayed and would not be arriving for a further ten minutes. She would rather not go into the matter until this other person arrived, she said, at which point I privately began to wonder if she was not perhaps, after all, a deranged crank with no information of interest. However, there was something in her manner and speech, some refinement or education, which persuaded me to at least wait until this other person arrived before making a decision as to whether to leave or not. In my profession, one encounters a large number of strangers, and one learns instinctively to assess them and to assess the information they might possess. In this case, I was convinced that ‘Mrs Robson’, as she continued to call herself, was sincere, and that her intentions were considered and serious.

“A few moments after ‘Mrs Robson’ had entered the parlour, the maid returned with a tea tray, which she set down on a little table. She poured out the tea and handed me a cup, as ‘Mrs Robson’ began to ask me about parliamentary reporting in general, and whether I had ever found that the private lives of Members of Parliament impinged upon their public duties.”

The newspaperman paused. “Do you know,” he said after a moment: “I can’t remember anything I said to her. It has all quite gone from my head. All I remember is hearing her voice, going on at some length, although I cannot recall what she was saying, either. I do remember her taking the teacup and saucer from my hand, but after that, all is a blank, until your arrival just now woke me up. I can only suppose that I fell asleep as she was speaking to me, incredible though that seems. I feel rested enough now, anyhow,” he continued in a more vigorous tone, rubbing his hands together, “and ready for anything! But you haven’t told me who you are, nor what you are doing here. I can see that this gentleman is a policeman, but what is happening? And where are we?”

“One moment,” said Holmes. “Did you find that the tea you were given was somewhat bitter?”

“Why, yes, it was,” returned Falk in surprise. “She explained that the maid had made it a little too strong, and offered me more sugar, which I took. Even then it was not the best cup of tea I have ever had, but I drank it out of politeness.”

“I think it likely that a few drops of chloral, or something similar, had been added to your cup before it was brought into the room. Would you agree, Watson?”

“Definitely,” I replied. “Just a few drops of chloral are generally sufficient to induce a deep, refreshing sleep, and it does have a decidedly bitter taste. A chemical analysis of the remains in the teacup will no doubt confirm the matter if necessary.”

“Quite so,” said Holmes. “As to where we are,” he continued, turning to Falk, “we are in the garden of the house you called at earlier, 14, Kendal Terrace. This gentleman is Mr Claydon, whose house it is. He arrived home from work today to find that his wife and servants had disappeared and strangers had taken over the house. No doubt the woman you saw, who called herself ‘Mrs Robson’, was one of them. We have only recently arrived and have found a dead man in one of the downstairs rooms.”

“What!” cried Falk.

“What do you know of the matter?” demanded the policeman fiercely.

“Nothing whatever, I assure you. My whole connection with the place is as I described to you. During the short time that I was in the house, I never saw any man, just the lady and her maid.”

“Come and take a look at him,” said Holmes, “and you can tell us if it is anyone you know.”

“Certainly,” returned Falk, “although I should think it highly unlikely.”

Claydon went to make a quick survey of the rest of the house as we followed Holmes back into the dining room. The newspaperman leaned down and scrutinized the dead man’s face for a moment, then I saw his mouth fall open with surprise.

“Do you recognize him?” asked Holmes.

“I cannot be certain,” returned Falk, frowning, “but I think it may well be Percival Slattery, Member of Parliament for New Bromwich in the Midlands.”

“You must be right,” said Holmes, nodding his head, “for the initials P. S. are on his cufflinks.”

“Good Lord!” I cried. “What on earth is a Member of Parliament doing here?”

“You know something of him?” Holmes asked Linton Falk.

“A little. We have never been personally introduced, but I have heard him deliver a speech or two. As you may know, he has a reputation for being extremely radical. When he was first elected, he announced that he would be ‘the New Broom from New Bromwich’, and declared that it was his intention to sweep away ‘the cobwebs of history which the centuries have bequeathed us’. He has made a great show of supporting those whom he considers to be downtrodden or oppressed, which is no doubt admirable, but there has always lurked the suspicion that he has done so more with a view to drawing public attention to himself than in order to actually alleviate anyone else’s hardship. His speeches have always been very flowery and have certainly roused his audiences, but their content has often been slight, so that his opponents generally refer to him as ‘the New Bombast from New Bromwich’.”

Claydon returned from his survey of the house as Falk finished speaking. He shook his head when Holmes asked if he had found anything more amiss. “Everything seems in order upstairs,” said he, “but of my wife and servants there is no sign.”

“Did you notice if the woman who denied you entry earlier had a Midlands accent?” Holmes asked him.

“I do not think so,” replied Claydon with a shake of the head. “I am familiar with most Midlands accents, and hers was quite different. I could not quite place it.”

“I would agree with that,” interjected Falk. “The woman I saw – if it was the same woman – certainly did not have a Midlands accent. Besides, if you are thinking of a possible connection with Slattery’s Midlands constituency, you are barking up the wrong tree, for he himself does not come from those parts, and had probably never been there before he became MP for New Bromwich. As far as I remember, he was born and bred in Australia.”