"Two days ago some repairs were begun in my room, and I had to move into the bedroom where my sister died — the very bed in which she slept. Last night I lay awake, thinking of her fate, and suddenly I heard in the silence of the night the low whistle that had been the sign of her own death. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but I saw nothing in the room. I was too frightened to go back to bed, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped out and drove to the station. That is my whole story." Holmes sat in silence for a while. Then a heavy step sounded on the stairs, and a huge man filled the doorway. His face was burned yellow by the sun and marked with every evil passion. "Which of you is Holmes?" he roared. "I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott of Stoke Moran. Do not meddle in my affairs." He seized the steel poker from the fireplace and bent it into a curve with his great brown hands. Then he threw it down and walked out.