Lestrade

Lestrade is a well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here.

Lestrade is a well-known detective.

"With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much for a third party to find out," he said.

"There is no clue?" said Gregson. "None at all," chimed in Lestrade.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room while we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner.

"One other thing, Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door: "'Rache,' is the German for 'revenge'; so don't lose your time looking for Miss Rachel."

"The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Lestrade, who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn."

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room.

"The secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely, "was murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock this morning."

Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station.