After Lestrade left, I tried hard to think of some other
way of explaining what I had seen that night. I had
seen Holmes cutting up the body, but I had not seen
him kill the girl. How could my dear friend possibly be
this terrible killer? Perhaps it was all part of some
clever plan that I did not understand.
For some days I thought I had found an answer to
the problem, but then a telegram arrived from
Holmes, who was now in Switzerland. It said, 'M is no
more. Returning Saturday. Holmes.'