“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”

“Then we must be silent and wait.”

What a time it seemed! We waited for only an hour and a quarter, but it seemed to me that it was all the night.

Suddenly saw a light. At first it was only a spark on the floor. Then it became a yellow line, and then a hand appeared; a white hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. With a loud noise, one of the broad, white stones turned over on its side and left a hole. I saw a boyish face, which looked about, and then a man drew himself up into the cellar. In another moment he stood at the side of the hole and was helping his companion, small like himself, with a pale face and very red hair.

Sherlock Holmes sprang out and seized the first man by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I saw the first man holding a revolver, but Holmes struck the man’s hand, and the revolver fell on the floor.

“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes. “You have no chance at all.”

“So I see,” the other answered. “But I think that my friend is all right.”

“There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes.

“Oh, indeed! You did your work very thoroughly. I must compliment you.”

“And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new and effective.”

“Do not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked our prisoner as Jones clicked the handcuffs. “You may not know that I have royal blood in my veins. When you address me, always say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’”

“All right,” said Jones. “Well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highness to the police station?”

“That is better,” said John Clay. He bowed to the three of us and walked quietly off.

“Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them from the cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated one of the most dangerous attempts at bank robbery that I have ever heard of.”

“I am repaid by having defeated Mr. John Clay [47] , and by hearing the very remarkable story of the Red-headed League,” said Holmes.

“You see, Watson,” he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, “it was obvious from the first that the only possible object of this fantastic advertisement of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopaedia must be to get this not very clever pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of doing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay by the colour of his accomplice’s hair. The 4 pounds a week is a big sum, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one of them takes an office, the other makes the man apply for the position, and together they have him away from home every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant who came for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive to get the position.”

“But how did you know what the motive was?”

“The man’s business was small, and there was nothing in his house worth such preparations. It must, then, be something out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant’s interest in photography, and his trick of diving into the cellar. The cellar! I made inquiries about this mysterious assistant and found that he was a well-known criminal in London. He was doing something in the cellar – something which took many hours a day for months. What could it be? I could think of nothing else but that he was digging a tunnel to some other building.

“When we went to visit the scene of action I surprised you by striking on the ground with my stick. I wanted to know whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn and dirty they were. They spoke of those hours of digging. I only wished to know what they were digging for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank next to our client’s house, and felt that I had solved my problem.”

“And how could you tell that they would make their attempt tonight?” I asked.

“Well, when they closed their League offices that showed that they did not need Mr. Jabez Wilson’s absence any longer – in other words, that their tunnel was ready. It was important to use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the money might be taken away. It was Saturday, and it gave them two days for their escape. So I expected them to come tonight.”

“Your ideas are brilliant,” I exclaimed in admiration.