Or about how we took her to her aunt’s house. Or about how the police said that Dr. Roylott had died by accident. They said he had been playing with a dangerous pet.

Holmes filled me in on his side of the case. “As soon as I saw that bellpull, I knew,” he said. “It was there for some reason. It did not ring the bell. So it must have something to do with that air vent. Then I remembered. Helen Stoner had said that Julia could smell cigar smoke. So that air vent must go into Dr. Roylott’s room!

“Dr. Roylott had a cheetah and a baboon. Why not a snake too? I was doubly sure as soon as I saw the dish of milk. Roylott had trained the snake to crawl through the vent and down the rope. The snake would come back when he whistled! The clang that Helen heard? That was the safe door closing.

“I knew the doctor would try the snake trick again. This time Helen would be killed. So I waited. When I heard the snake hiss, I hit.”

“You drove the snake back into the other room,” said I.

“Yes,” said Holmes. “I hit the snake so hard it was good and mad. So it turned on its owner. In a way, I was the one who made Dr. Roylott die.”

Holmes sighed and picked up his pipe. “I cannot say that I am very sorry,” he said.

The Red-headed League

Sherlock Holmes still lives in our old rooms at 221B Baker Street. I called upon him there one day last fall.

I found Holmes deep in talk. With him was a fat old man who had bright red hair.

“Come in, Dr. Watson!” Holmes cried. “Meet Mr. J. B.