Sir Andrew ceased reading, but, as though still under the influence of the book, sat looking blankly into the open fire. For a brief space no one moved until the baronet withdrew his eyes and, with a sudden start of recollection, felt anxiously for his watch. He scanned its face eagerly, and scrambled to his feet.
The voice of the American instantly broke the silence in a high, nervous accent.
“And yet Sherlock Holmes himself,” he cried, “could not decipher the mystery which to-night baffles the police of London.”
At these unexpected words, which carried in them something of the tone of a challenge, the gentlemen about the table started as suddenly as though the American had fired a pistol in the air, and Sir Andrew halted abruptly and stood observing him with grave surprise.
The gentleman with the black pearl was the first to recover.
“Yes, yes,” he said eagerly, throwing himself across the table. “A mystery that baffles the police of London.
“I have heard nothing of it. Tell us at once, pray do—tell us at once.”
The American flushed uncomfortably, and picked uneasily at the tablecloth.