Inspector Lestrade was ushered in by the boy in buttons. He had a dirty white bundle under his arm and a slightly frustrated look upon his ferret-like features. He greeted us both with that subdued and polite manner he acquired when his cases were not going well.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I can scarcely recall any case I've ever had that presented less to go on," he remarked in aggrieved tones as he opened his bundle for Holmes's inspection. "Clothing can tell you something about a person; sometimes it can even be traced. I've seen you do some remarkable things with pocket-linings, I know; but this poor lady has neither pocket-linings nor pockets to line."

"This sheet, I take it, was the garment referred to in the papers," said Holmes, taking it up and beginning to examine it closely. "Well, negative evidence can sometimes be suggestive all the same." He carried it over to the window. "It is a rather common article, is it not? Of a size and grade suitable to a hospital cot. You have, I take it, checked out the most obvious possibility, that this unfortunate woman has escaped from some institution?"

"I've had men out since yesterday morning. I believe we've covered every public and private hospital and asylum in town-my Lord, and there are a number of 'em-but none of them seem to be missing a lady of this description."

"These bloodstains-what were the woman's injuries?"

"Not too much-a cut and a scrape or two. She hasn't been beaten, she hasn't been tied up, and the doctor at Bart's tells me she hasn't been assaulted, either."

"What a lot of negatives. What about drugs?"

"That was what sent me off to the hospitals. She has a number of needle marks; she's clearly been a patient somewhere, unless she's been feeding a private addiction, a theory I've been coming around to."