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"What does it mean?" I asked.

Holmes leaned closer to the body and noticed something. He pulled a long, dark thorn from Bartholomew's skin, just above his ear.

"It means murder," said Holmes, holding up the thorn. "This is coated with poison."

Thaddeus stared at his brother in shock. Then he noticed something else.

"The treasure is gone!" he cried, pointing to some stairs under a hole in the ceiling. "That’s the hole where we lowered the treasure yesterday. It was still here when I left last night. I even heard him lock the door behind me."

"What time was that?" Holmes asked.

"Ten o’clock. Now he’s dead, and the police will think I did it."

"Don’t worry, Mr. Sholto," Holmes said. "Go to the police station and tell them what happened. We’ll wait here until you return."

Thaddeus, looking dazed, nodded and left.

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, "how do you think the intruders got in? The door hasn’t been opened since last night."

Holmes walked to the window and checked it. It was locked from the inside. He opened it and looked outside.

"There’s no water pipe or anything to climb on, but someone came in this way. Luckily, it rained last night—they left a muddy trail."

Holmes pointed to a footprint on the windowsill. Next to it was a round mark. Similar marks led into the room.

I studied the round marks. "This isn’t a footprint," I said.

"No," Holmes replied. "It’s the mark of a wooden leg."

"The man with the wooden leg!" I said.

"Exactly," Holmes replied. "But he didn’t do it alone. Someone must have helped him. Look at that rope on the floor. It was lowered down to help him climb up."

"But how did his partner get in?" I asked.

Holmes pointed to the hole in the ceiling. "He came from the roof. Let’s go check."

We climbed up the stairs and into the small room above. There was a trapdoor leading to the roof.

In the dust on the beams, we saw small, sticky footprints. They were black, like they had been made with tar. Holmes bent down to sniff the marks. "Creosote," he said. "It’s used to protect wood. The intruder must have stepped in some."

Back in the room below, Holmes found more of these black footprints. He looked at the position of the body and the hole in the ceiling.

"The thorn that killed him must have dropped straight through that hole," he said.

Just then, we heard footsteps. A large, red-faced man in a suit walked in, followed by a policeman.

"Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes, recognizing the man.

"Ah, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Jones. "The man with all the wild ideas. You’ve been lucky before, but we need facts in this case, not theories. Thaddeus Sholto admitted he argued with his brother. Now his brother is dead, and the treasure is gone. Clearly, Thaddeus is the murderer. The only question is: how did he escape? The door was locked. What about the window?"

"The window was locked," Holmes replied. "But there’s a footprint on the sill."

"If it was locked, that doesn’t matter," Jones said. "There must be another way out. Ah, look! There’s a hole in the ceiling."

Jones climbed the steps and squeezed through the hole. A moment later, he returned, looking proud.

"Facts are better than theories, Mr. Holmes. The trapdoor to the roof is open!"

"That’s because I opened it," said Holmes.

Jones hesitated, then said, "Well, that’s how Thaddeus escaped."

Jones called the policeman to bring Thaddeus Sholto back. As soon as he arrived, Jones arrested him for murder.

"I knew this would happen!" Thaddeus groaned.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "I know who the real killer is." He turned to Jones. "The man’s name is Jonathan Small. He’s tall, has a beard, a wooden right leg, and a scar on the palm of his hand."

"Is that so?" Jones said, raising an eyebrow. He looked impressed but tried to hide it.

"Come, Watson," said Holmes. "Let Mr. Jones investigate while I speak to Mrs. Bernstone. Could you take Miss Morstan home? On your way back, visit my friend Sherman in Lambeth and bring his dog Toby. Toby has the best sense of smell in London. I’d rather have his help than all the detectives in the city."

A few hours later, I returned with Toby. Holmes was waiting outside.

"Look at this," he said, holding a small bag. Inside were more of the black thorns like the one that killed Bartholomew.

"I found it by the drainpipe," he said. "The accomplice must have dropped it while climbing."

Sherlock Holmes held a handkerchief under Toby’s nose. "Smell this, boy!" he said.

"What’s on the handkerchief?" I asked.

"It’s creosote," Holmes replied. "I got it from the footprints we found. It will help Toby track the intruder."

Toby tilted his head, then started pulling on the leash, eager to follow the scent. He led us to part of the outer wall. There, we saw a handprint. It showed where the intruders had climbed over the wall.

As the sun rose, Toby continued leading us along the road. While we walked, I asked Holmes how he knew the man with the wooden leg was Jonathan Small.

"Small was one of the four men who signed Captain Morstan’s map under the symbol they called ‘the sign of four,’" Holmes explained. "These four men believe the Sholto treasure belongs to them, and they’ve been trying to steal it. We know Major Sholto feared a wooden-legged Englishman. Small is the only English-sounding name on that list, so it must be him."

"I think Small was the man Major Sholto saw at the window on the night he died. Small probably searched the house for clues about the treasure and left those words, ‘the sign of four,’ on Sholto’s chest."

"But how do you know Small is tall, has a beard, and has an injured hand?" I asked.

"I guessed his height from the length of his steps," Holmes replied. "Thaddeus said the face at the window was hairy, so I think Small has a beard. As for his hand, there was blood on the rope he used to climb into the room. He must have hurt it."

Toby finally led us to a wooden dock on the south side of the Thames River. There, he stopped and whined, looking toward the water.

"They must have taken a boat from here," Holmes said.

Nearby, we saw a small house with a sign outside: Mordecai Smith: Boats for Hire. Holmes knocked on the door. A stout, red-faced woman opened it.

"If you’re here to rent a boat, I’m sorry," she said. "My husband isn’t here right now."

"That’s too bad," said Holmes. "I wanted to rent his steam launch."

"I’m sorry," the woman said, "but he took the steam launch early yesterday morning. To be honest, I’m getting worried. I didn’t like the look of the wooden-legged man who woke him up and asked to use it."

"Was this wooden-legged man alone?" Holmes asked.

"I’m not sure. I didn’t see anyone else, but it was very dark."

Holmes asked her more questions, and we learned the boat was black with two red stripes and was called the Aurora.

After we said goodbye, I suggested, "Why don’t we rent a boat and look for it?"

"That would be almost impossible," Holmes replied. "There are hundreds of docks along the river."

"Then maybe we should put an ad in the paper," I said.

"If we do that, Jonathan Small will know we’re chasing him, and he’ll escape. No, this is a job for the Baker Street Irregulars."

"The who?" I asked.

"Don’t worry, Watson. You’ll see soon enough."

We returned Toby to his owner and went back to Baker Street. After an hour of sleep and a bath, I came downstairs to find breakfast ready and Holmes pouring coffee. He showed me the morning newspaper.

The headline said: "Mystery Death at Upper Norwood." The article talked about the discovery of Sholto’s body and the missing treasure.

It added: "Thanks to the brilliant work of Detective Athelney Jones, Thaddeus Sholto, the housekeeper Mrs. Bernstone, and the porter Mr. McMurdo have already been arrested."

"Isn’t that amazing!" Holmes laughed. "What do you think?"

"I think we’re lucky we haven’t been arrested, too!" I replied.

"Exactly," Holmes said. "But this helps us. Jonathan Small will think he’s safe now."

Suddenly, we heard noise downstairs and Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, shouted in surprise.

"Holmes," I said, "I think the police really are here to arrest us!"

"Don’t worry, Watson," Holmes said with a smile. "It’s not the police. It’s the Baker Street Irregulars. I use them to help me gather information."

As he spoke, the sound of bare feet grew louder. A group of dirty, ragged children ran into the room and lined up, looking at us with eager faces.

The oldest boy stepped forward. "We got your message, sir," he said. "What do you need?"

"I need you to find a steamboat called the Aurora, Wiggins," said Holmes, handing him some money. "It’s black with two red stripes. It’s somewhere along the river. Come back as soon as you find anything."

"Yes, sir!" Wiggins said, and the children ran off.

"I’m sure they’ll find it before the day is over," Holmes said as he watched the group disappear down the street.

Even though Holmes was confident, Wiggins came back in the evening and said there was no sign of the Aurora. Holmes hardly slept that night. I heard him walking back and forth in his room. At breakfast the next morning, he looked tired and pale.

"You don’t look well," I said.

"This case is driving me crazy," he admitted. "I know who we’re looking for, and I know the boat they used. We’ve searched the river on both sides and found nothing. I can’t believe they sank the boat on purpose. I’m sure we’ll hear something soon."

But we didn’t. Another day and night passed without any news. The next morning, I woke up to find Holmes already dressed to go out.

"I’m going down to the river, Watson," he said. "I have one more idea to try."

"Should I come with you?" I asked.

"No, I need you to stay here in case Wiggins brings any news."

I stayed at the flat all day, but nothing happened. The next morning, the newspapers gave an update on the Upper Norwood case: "New evidence shows Thaddeus Sholto was not involved in his brother’s death. He has been released."

At three in the afternoon, Athelney Jones visited me. He seemed very different from the confident detective I had met before. Now, he looked sad and unsure of himself.

"Sherlock Holmes isn’t here, is he?" he asked.

"That’s right," I said. "I don’t know when he’ll be back, but you’re welcome to wait."

"Thank you. I’d like that."

After I gave him a seat and something to drink, he explained what had happened.

"Thaddeus Sholto has witnesses saying he was somewhere else when his brother died. My whole case against him has fallen apart. This case is much harder than I thought. My reputation is on the line, and I really need help. Your friend Holmes may have unusual methods and quick ideas, but he always finds answers. He sent me a message this morning, asking me to wait for him here. He says he’s close to finding the Sholto gang."

As he finished speaking, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Holmes walked in.

"Ah, you got my message," Holmes said to Jones. "How’s the case going?"

"It's not going well," said Jones. "I had to let one of my prisoners go, and I have no proof against the other two."

"Don't worry," said Holmes. "I'll give you two new prisoners to take their place. You can take the credit for solving the case, as long as you follow my instructions."

"Of course," Jones replied. "Just tell me what to do."

"Can you arrange for a fast police boat to meet us at Westminster wharf at seven o'clock tonight? We'll need two policemen onboard in case of trouble."

"That's easy. Anything else?"

"I'd like a private talk with Jonathan Small after we catch him."

"You identified him, so I can't say no," said Jones.

"Perfect."

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