our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.
'I think that you might offer me a cigar too,' he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
'Holmes!' I exclaimed. 'You here! But where is the old man?'
'Here is the old man,' said he, holding out a heap of white hair. 'Here he is—wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.'
'Ah, you rogue!' cried Jones, highly delighted. 'You would have made an actor and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily, you see.'
