The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist - Page 2

She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the
slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction
of the edge of the pedal.

"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something
to do with my visit to you to-day."

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand, and examined it with as
close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would
show to a specimen.

"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as
he dropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that
you were typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music.
You observe the spatulate finger-ends, Watson, which is common
to both professions? There is a spirituality about the face,
however"--she gently turned it towards the light--"which the
typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."

"In the country, I presume, from your complexion."

"Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey."

"A beautiful neighbourhood, and full of the most interesting
associations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that
we took Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has
happened to you, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"

The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the
following curious statement:

"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who
conducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother
and I were left without a relation in the world except one
uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago,
and we have never had a word from him since. When father died,
we were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was
an advertisement in the TIMES, inquiring for our whereabouts.
You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone
had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name
was given in the paper. There we, met two gentlemen, Mr.
Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South
Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he
had died some months before in great poverty in Johannesburg,
and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up his
relations, and see that they were in no want. It seemed strange
to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when he was
alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead,
but Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle
had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt
responsible for our fate."

"Excuse me," said Holmes. "When was this interview?"

"Last December--four months ago."

"Pray proceed."

"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a