The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs.Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later shebrought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmesravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression."Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes, uncovering adish of curried chicken. "Her cuisine is a little limited, but she hasas good an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman. What have you there,Watson?"

　　"Ham and eggs," I answered.

　　"Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps-curried fowl oreggs, or will you help yourself?"

　　"Thank you. I can eat nothing," said Phelps.

　　"Oh, come! Try the dish before you."

　　"Thank you, I would really rather not."

　　"Well, then," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle, "I supposethat you have no objection to helping me?"

　　Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream andsat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which helooked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder ofblue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, andthen danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom andshrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an armchair, solimp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandydown his throat to keep him from fainting.

　　"There! there!" said Holmes soothingly, patting him upon theshoulder. "It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watsonhere will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic."Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless you!" he cried."You have saved my honour."

　　"Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. "I assure you itis just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you toblunder over a commission."

　　Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocketof his coat.