"Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing
that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for
we have just passed the pawnbroker's. Would go in, Watson? Your
appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney
Square funeral takes place to-morrow."

The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was
to be at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, no
mystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal forms
have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they
have little to fear. Well, there's nothing for it now but a
direct frontal attack. Are you armed?"

"My stick!"

"Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed who
hath his quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for the
police or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can
drive off, cabby. Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck
together, as we have occasionally in the past."

He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the
centre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the
figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.

"Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us
through the darkness.

"I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes.