I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband.

Here we are.

Whoa, there, whoa!" We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds.

A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and springing down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house.

As we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists.