But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustleoutside， and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robustand official-looking individuals， one of whom was well known tous as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard， an energetic， gallant，and， within his limitations， a capable officer. He shook hands withHolmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes， of theSurrey Constabulary.
“We are hunting together， Mr. Holmes， and our trail lay in thisdirection.” He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. “Are youMr. John Scott Eccles， of Popham House， Lee？”
“I am.”
“We have been following you about all the morning.”
“You traced him through the telegram， no doubt，” said Holmes.
“Exactly， Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing CrossPost-Office and came on here.”
“But why do you follow me？ What do you want？”
“We wish a statement， Mr. Scott Eccles， as to the events whichlet up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia， of WisteriaLodge， near Esher.”
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge 1091
Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colourstruck from his astonished face.
“What do you mean？”
“Dead？ Did you say he was dead？”
“Yes， sir， he is dead.”
“But how？ An accident？”
“Murder， if ever there was one upon earth.”
“Good God！ This is awful！ You don’t mean—you don’t mean thatI am suspected？”
“A letter of yours was found in the dead man’s pocket， and weknow by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house.”
“So I did.”
“Oh， you did， did you？”
Out came the official notebook.
“Wait a bit， Gregson，” said Sherlock Holmes. “All you desire is aplain statement， is it not？”
“And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be usedagainst him.”
“Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered theroom. I think， Watson， a brandy and soda would do him no harm.
Now， sir， I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to youraudience， and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as youwould have done had you never been interrupted.”
Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour hadreturned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector’snotebook， he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement.
“I am a bachelor，” said he， “and being of a sociable turn Icultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the familyof a retired brewer called Melville， living at Abermarle Mansion，Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a youngfellow named Garcia. He was， I understood， of Spanish descentand connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfectEnglish， was pleasing in his manners， and as good-looking a man asever I saw in my life.
“In some way we struck up quite a friendship， this young fellowand I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first， and withintwo days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thingled to another， and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a fewdays at his house， Wisteria Lodge， between Esher and Oxshott.
Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement.
“He had described his household to me before I went there.
He lived with a faithful servant， a countryman of his own， wholooked after all his needs. This fellow could speak English and didhis housekeeping for him. Then there was a wonderful cook， hesaid， a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels， who could1092 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
serve an excellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what aqueer household it was to find in the heart of Surrey， and that Iagreed with him， though it has proved a good deal queerer than Ithought.
“I drove to the place—about two miles on the south side ofEsher. The house was a fair-sized one， standing back from theroad， with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreenshrubs. It was an old， tumble-down building in a crazy state ofdisrepair. When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive infront of the blotched and weather-stained door， I had doubts as tomy wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly. He openedthe door himself， however， and greeted me with a great show ofcordiality. I was handed over to the manservant， a melancholy，swarthy individual， who led the way， my bag in his hand， to mybedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our dinner was têtea-tête， and though my host did his best to be entertaining， histhoughts seemed to continually wander， and he talked so vaguelyand wildly that I could hardly understand him. He continuallydrummed his fingers on the table， gnawed his nails， and gave othersigns of nervous impatience. The dinner itself was neither wellserved nor well cooked， and the gloomy presence of the taciturnservant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you that manytimes in the course of the evening I wished that I could inventsome excuse which would take me back to Lee.
“One thing comes back to my memory which may havebearing upon the business that you two gentlemen areinvestigating. I thought nothing of it at the time. Near the end ofdinner a note was handed in by the servant. I noticed that aftermy host had read it he seemed even more distrait and strangethan before. He gave up all pretence at conversation and sat，smoking endless cigarettes， lost in his own thoughts， but he madeno remark as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go to bed.
Some time later Garcia looked in at my doo—the room was darkat the time—and asked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. Heapologized for having disturbed me so late， saying that it was nearlyone o’clock. I dropped off after this and slept soundly all night.
