It was the third Wednesday of October 1892 when Mrs Penleaf, widowed sister of the late Lady Trunch of Wimbledon, drove up to Baker Street in a small black brougham.
"My sister died on Tuesday, Mr Holmes, after a slow heart-trouble of three years. Her codicil, drawn at the very end of August, leaves three thousand pounds to a Miss Cardew - a companion-nurse who joined the household six weeks ago. The family contests; the nephew defends the girl with a warmth I had not expected of him. There was always something of the watchful in Stephen."
We drove out to Wimbledon. At the corner of the lane stood an iron-grey-suited tradesman, the printer's apron half-folded under his arm, broken-nosed and very still beneath a low hat; he watched our brougham turn and was gone before the gates were past.
Lady Trunch's villa stood among lawns and old chestnuts. The household was a small one: the dead woman, the housekeeper, the companion-nurse, and the nephew, who had come down from his City lodgings on the Monday evening at his aunt's request and had not yet returned.