Thaddeus Sholto

She opened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arms stole round the other's waist, and how motherly was the voice which greeted her.

She was clearly no mere paid dependent, but an honored friend.

I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventure.

I explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with the case.

I began, but the words had a most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute, the door was unbarred and open.

Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man, with a stooping shoulders and a stringing neck, and blue-tinted glasses.

Aye, a friend of Sherlock Holmes is always welcome.

Step in, sir.

This way, sir, if you please.

Mr. Thaddeus Sholto?

Yes, sir?

It's my duty to inform you that anything which you say may be used against you.

Mm-hmm.

"I am close on the track of the Sholto gang."

Right.

"You can come with us if you want to be in at the finish."

And so am I, Mr. Holmes.

But I don't believe I can swing for the job.

I give you my word, I never raised a finger against Mr. Sholto.

It was that little Allon Tongo who chucked one of his darts into him.