“This went on day after day， Mr. Holmes， and on Saturday themanager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for myweek’s work. It was the same next week， and the same the weekafter. Every morning I was there at ten， and every afternoon I leftat two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only onceof a morning， and then， after a time， he did not come in at all. Still，of course， I never dared to leave the room for an instant， for I wasnot sure when he might come， and the billet was such a good one，and suited me so well， that I would not risk the loss of it.
“Eight weeks passed away like this， and I had written aboutAbbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica， andhoped with diligence that I might get on to the B’s before verylong. It cost me something in foolscap， and I had pretty nearlyfilled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the wholebusiness came to an end.”
“To an end？”
“Yes， sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work asusual at ten o’clock， but the door was shut and locked， with a littlesquare of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panelwith a tack. Here it is， and you can read for yourself.”
He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheetof note-paper. It read in this fashion：
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
October 9， 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement andthe rueful face behind it， until the comical side of the affair socompletely overtopped every other consideration that we bothburst out into a roar of laughter.
“I cannot see that there is anything very funny，” cried our client，flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothingbetter than laugh at me， I can go elsewhere.”
“No， no，” cried Holmes， shoving him back into the chair fromwhich he had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for theworld. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is， if you willexcuse my saying so， something just a little funny about it. Praywhat steps did you take when you found the card upon the door？”
“I was staggered， sir. I did not know what to do. Then I calledat the offices round， but none of them seemed to know anythingabout it. Finally， I went to the landlord， who is an accountantliving on the ground-floor， and I asked him if he could tell mewhat had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he hadnever heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. DuncanRoss was. He answered that the name was new to him.
“ ‘Well，’ said I， ’the gentleman at No. 4.’
“ ‘What， the red-headed man？’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Oh，’ said he， ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitorand was using my room as a temporary convenience until his newpremises were ready. He moved out yesterday.’
“ ‘Where could I find him？’
“ ‘Oh， at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes， 17 KingEdward Street， near St. Paul’s.’
“I started off， Mr. Holmes， but when I got to that address it wasa manufactory of artificial knee-caps， and no one in it had everheard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And what did you do then？” asked Holmes.
“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square， and I took the advice ofmy assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could onlysay that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quitegood enough， Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a placewithout a struggle， so， as I had heard that you were good enoughto give advice to poor folk who were in need of it， I came rightaway to you.”
“And you did very wisely，” said Holmes. “Your case is anexceedingly remarkable one， and I shall be happy to look into it.
From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graverissues hang from it than might at first sight appear.”
“Grave enough！” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why， I have lost fourpound a week.”
“As far as you are personally concerned，” remarked Holmes， “Ido not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinaryleague. On the contrary， you are， as I understand， richer by some￡30， to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you havegained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You havelost nothing by them.”
“No， sir. But I want to find out about them， and who theyare， and what their object was in playing this prank—if it was aprank—upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them， for itcost them two and thirty pounds.”
“We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And， first，one or two questions， Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who firstcalled your attention to the advertisement—how long had he beenwith you？”
“About a month then.”
“How did he come？”
“In answer to an advertisement.”
“Was he the only applicant？”
“No， I had a dozen.”
“Why did you pick him？”
“Because he was handy and would come cheap.”
“At half-wages， in fact.”
“Yes.”
“What is he like， this Vincent Spaulding？”
“Small， stout-built， very quick in his ways， no hair on his face，though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon hisforehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “Ithought as much，” said he. “Have you ever observed that his earsare pierced for earrings？”
“Yes， sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when hewas a lad.”
“Hum！” said Holmes， sinking back in deep thought. “He is stillwith you？”
“Oh， yes， sir； I have only just left him.”
“And has your business been attended to in your absence？”
“Nothing to complain of， sir. There’s never very much to do of amorning.”
“That will do， Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinionupon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday，and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”
“Well， Watson，” said Holmes when our visitor had left us， “whatdo you make of it all？”
“I make nothing of it，” I answered frankly. “It is a most mysteriousbusiness.”
“As a rule，” said Holmes， “the more bizarre a thing is the lessmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace， featurelesscrimes which are really puzzling， just as a commonplace face is themost difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”