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arrival was particularly startling, but it appeared to disconcert my friend Holmes. He came to a jerky halt, and the surgeon’s-kit that he was carrying fell to the floor with a clatter of steel against stone that echoed through the great hall.
    â€œHow clumsy of me!” he exclaimed, and then proceeded to be even clumsier by blocking me off as I attempted to retrieve the instruments.
    The man, with a smile, sprang into the breach. “Allow me, sir,” said he, and went to his knees.
    The child reacted almost as quickly. “Let me help you, Papa.”
    The man’s smile glowed. “So you shall, my dear. We’ll help the gentleman together. You may hand me the instruments. But carefully, lest you cut yourself.”
    We watched in silence as the little girl handed the shining implements to her father, one by one. His affection for her was touchingly apparent, his dark eyes hardly bearing to leave her as he swiftly returned the instruments to their proper niches.
    When the business was finished, the man arose. But the little girl continued to scan the flag-stones upon which we stood. “The last one, Papa. Where did it go?”
    â€œIt appears to have been missing, dearest. I don’t think it fell from the case.” He glanced questioningly at Holmes, who came out of the brown study into which he contrived to have fallen.
    â€œIndeed it was missing, sir. Thank you, and pardon my clumsiness.”
    â€œNo harm done. I trust the instruments were not damaged.” He handed the case to Holmes, who took it with a smile.
    â€œHave I, perchance, the honour of addressing Lord Carfax?”
    â€œYes,” the dark man said, pleasantly. “This is my daughter, Deborah.”
    â€œAllow me to present my colleague, Dr. Watson; I am Sherlock Holmes.”
    The name seemed to impress Lord Carfax; his eyes widened in surprise. “Dr. Watson,” he murmured in acknowledgement, but his eyes remained on Holmes. “And you, sir—I am honoured indeed. I have read of your exploits.”
    â€œYour Lordship is too kind,” replied Holmes.
    Deborah’s eyes sparkled. She curtsied and said, “I am honoured to meet you, too, sir.” She spoke with a sweetness that was touching. Lord Carfax looked on proudly. Yet I sensed a sadness in his manner.
    â€œDeborah,” said he, gravely, “you must mark this as an event in your life, the day you met two famous gentlemen.”
    â€œIndeed I shall, Papa,” replied the little girl, solemnly dutiful. She had heard of neither of us, I was quite certain.
    Holmes concluded the amenities by saying, “We called, your Lordship, to return this case to the Duke of Shires, whom we believed to be its rightful owner.”
    â€œAnd you discovered that you were in error.”
    â€œQuite. His Grace thought that it had probably belonged to your deceased brother, Michael Osbourne.”
    â€œDeceased?” It was more of a tired comment than a question.
    â€œThat was what we were given to understand.”
    Sadness appeared clearly in Lord Carfax’s face. “That may or may not be true. My father, Mr. Holmes, is a stern and unforgiving man, which you no doubt surmised. To him, the good name of Osbourne stands above all else. Keeping the Shires escutcheon free of blemish is a passion with him. When he disowned my younger brother some six months ago, he pronounced Michael dead.” He paused to sigh. “I fear Michael will remain dead, so far as Father is concerned, even though he may still live.”
    â€œAre you yourself aware,” asked Holmes, “whether your brother is alive or dead?”
    Lord Carfax frowned, looking remarkably like the Duke. When he spoke, I thought I detected evasiveness in his voice. “Let me say, sir, that I have no actual proof of his death.”
    â€œI see,” replied Holmes. Then he looked down at Deborah Osbourne and smiled. The little girl came forward and put