‘I guess you’re going to take me to the police-station,’ he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. ‘My cab’s at the door. If you’ll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’m not so light to lift as I used to be.’ Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances, as if they thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosed the towel which he had bound round his ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully-built man; and his dark, sun-burned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was as formidable as his personal strength. ‘If there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you are the man for it,’ he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. ‘The way you kept on my trail was a caution.’ ‘You had better come with me,’ said Holmes to the two detectives.
