The adventure of the speckled band.
We were lucky at Waterloo station. We found a train for Leatherhead. When we arrived we took a carriage from the station and went for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey countryside. It was a perfect day. The sun was bright and there were one or two white clouds in the sky. The trees on the side of the road had their first green leaves, and the air smelled fresh.
To me it was strange to be investigating such a dark business on such a lovely day. My friend sat in the front of the carriage. His hat was over his eyes, and his chin was on his chest. He was thinking. Suddenly, he sat up and pointed over the fields.
"Look there!" he said.
There were lots of trees on a small hill. There were more trees on the top of the hill. Through the branches you could see the high grey roof of a very big old house.
"That is Stoke Moran."
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