The funny side of his story made us forget ourselves. We laughed until we roared.

“I can’t see that it’s very funny,” cried Mr. Wilson. His face turned as red as his hair. “If you’re going to make fun of me, I’ll leave.”

“No, no. Don’t go,” said Holmes. “I very much want to hear your story. I have a feeling it could be something very important.”

“Why, of course it’s important,” said Mr. Wilson. “I have lost four pounds a week!”

“Come, come, Mr. Wilson,” said Holmes. “You have lost nothing. You are thirty-two pounds richer than you thought you would be. To say nothing of what you now know about things starting with A.”

“But I want to know what it was all about!” Mr. Wilson said. “That’s why I came to you, Mr. Holmes. Can you find out for me?”

“I will do my best,” said Holmes. “But first—a question. This Vincent Spaulding. This helper of yours. What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s small. But very quick and strong. About thirty years old. He has a patch of very white skin on his face.”

Holmes sat up straight. He was very excited. “That’s enough, Mr. Wilson,” he said. “You may go home now. Today is Saturday.