Despite his reassurances, we were not offered an explanation on board the train; Holmes had been morose and even deeper in thought than before.

And, when we alighted from the train, the same was true for the growler Holmes flagged down. I became concerned at his reticence. Holmes and our client sat next to each other and both were uncomfortably quiet. I passed the time watching them both and trying to use Holmes' methods to ascertain what he was thinking at any one time.

The confusion became greater when, inexplicably, we transferred to a little wooden two-wheel trap and headed off into the great Sussex Downs. As we bounced across the white-veiled countryside, I could contain myself no longer.

"Holmes," I cried, startling the Captain whose contemplation bordered on comatose, "Is this trip at all necessary? After all, a woman's life may be at stake even now!"

"Watson, do not fret," the great detective reassured with a smile," You should know by now that our facts must be secured before action is necessitated. We would be wasting time otherwise. Besides, I believe that the young lady is in no immenent danger." "But, Holmes," I persisted as a wheel hit an exceptionally deep rut, "Why the Downs?"

He turned slowly toward me. "Tell me, Watson," and gave a brief smile. "When you noticed the Oil of Jasmine on the letter, did you notice anything else?"

"Why no, Holmes. I did not." He smiled wickedly. "Tactile, my friend, tactile. We are in pursuit of a jar of honey."