Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary Sutherland.  “Yes, I did bang out of the house,” she said, “for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank—­that is, my father—­took it all.  He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away to you.”

“Your father,” said Holmes, “your stepfather, surely, since the name is different.”

“Yes, my stepfather.  I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.”

“And your mother is alive?”

“Oh, yes, mother is alive and well.  I wasn’t best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father’s death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself.  Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines.  They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn’t near as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

“Your own little income,” he asked, “does it come out of the business?”

“Oh, no, sir.  It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland.  It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per cent.  Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest.”

“You interest me extremely,” said Holmes.  “And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way.  I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60 pounds.”

“I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home I don’t wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them.  Of course, that is only just for the time.  Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting.  It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.”

“You have made your position very clear to me,” said Holmes.  “This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself.  Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.”