I had intended "The Adventure of the
Abbey Grange" to be the
last of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, which
I should ever communicate to the public. This resolution
of mine
was not due to any lack of material, since I have
notes of many
hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor
was it
caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers
in the
singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable
man.
The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes
has
shown to the continued publication of his experiences.
So long
as he was in actual professional practice the records
of his
successes were of some practical value to him, but
since he has
definitely retired from London and betaken himself
to study and
bee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become
hateful
to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his
wishes in this
matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon
my repre-
senting to him that I had given a promise that "The
Adventure of
the Second Stain" should be published when the times
were
ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate
that this
long series of episodes should culminate in the most
important
international case which he has ever been called upon
to handle,
that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent
that a carefully
guarded account of the incident should at last be
laid before the
public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat
vague in
certain details, the public will readily understand
that there is an
excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade,
that shall be
nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn
we found
two visitors of European fame within the walls of
our humble
room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed,
eagle-eyed,
and dominant, was none other than the illustrious
Lord Bellinger,
twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut,
and elegant,
hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty
of
body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney
Hope,
Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising
statesman in
the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered
settee,
and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious
faces that it
was business of the most pressing importance which
had brought
them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped
tightly
over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt,
ascetic face
looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary
pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with
the seals of
his watch-chain.
"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which
was at eight
o'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime
Minister. It
was at his suggestion that we have both come to you."
"Have you informed the police?"
"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the
quick, decisive
manner for which he was famous. "We have not done
so, nor is
it possible that we should do so. To inform the police
must, in
the long run, mean to inform the public. This is what
we
particularly desire to avoid."
"And why. sir?"
"Because the document in question is of such
immense impor-
tance that its publication might very easily -- I
might almost say
probably -- lead to European complications of the
utmost mo-
ment. It is not too much to say that peace or war
may hang upon
the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with
the utmost
secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all,
for all that is
aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents
should be
generally known."
"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should
be much
obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances
under
which this document disappeared."
"That can be done in a very few words, Mr.
Holmes. The
letter -- for it was a letter from a foreign potentate
-- was received
six days ago. It was of such importance that I have
never left it
in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening
to my house
in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in
a locked
despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am
certain. I
actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner
and saw
the document inside. This morning it was gone. The
despatch-
box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table
all night.
I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both
prepared to
swear that no one could have entered the room during
the night.
And yet I repeat that the paper is gone."
"What time did you dine?"
"Half-past seven."
"How long was it before you went to bed?"
"My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited
up for her. It was
half-past eleven before we went to our room."
"Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain
unguarded?"
"No one is ever permitted to enter that room
save the house-
maid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid,
during
the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants
who have been
with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could
possibly
have known that there was anything more valuable than
the
ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box."
"Who did know of the existence of that letter?"
"No one in the house."
"Surely your wife knew?"
"No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until
I missed the
paper this morning."
The Premier nodded approvingly.
"I have long known, sir, how high is your sense
of public
duty," said he. "I am convinced that in the case of
a secret of
this importance it would rise superior to the most
intimate do-
mestic ties."
The European Secretary bowed.
"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until
this morning I
have never breathed one word to my wife upon this
matter."
"Could she have guessed?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed
-- nor could
anyone have guessed."
"Have you lost any documents before?"
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the
existence of
this letter?"
"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of
it yesterday,
but the pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet
meeting
was increased by the solemn warning which was given
by the
Prime Minister. Good heavens, to think that within
a few hours I
should myself have lost it!" His handsome face was
distorted
with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his
hair. For a
moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive,
ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic
mask was
replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. "Besides
the mem-
bers of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three,
departmental
officials who know of the letter. No one else in England,
Mr.
Holmes, I assure you."
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save
the man who
wrote it. I am well convinced that his Ministers --
that the usual
official channels have not been employed."
Holmes considered for some little time.
"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly
what this docu-
ment is, and why its disappearance should have such
momentous
consequences?"
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance
and the Pre-
mier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.
"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one
of pale blue
colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a
crouching lion.
It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to --"
"I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting
and indeed
essential as these details are, my inquiries must
go more to the
root of things. What was the letter?"
"That is a State secret of the utmost importance,
and I fear
that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary.
If by the
aid of the powers which you are said to possess you
can find
such an envelope as I describe with its enclosure,
you will have
deserved well of your country, and earned any reward
which it
lies in our power to bestow."
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
"You are two of the most busy men in the country,"
said he,
"and in my own small way I have also a good many calls
upon
me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in
this matter,
and any continuation of this interview would be a
waste of
time."
The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick,
fierce gleam of
his deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered.
"I am not
accustomed, sir," he began, but mastered his anger
and resumed
his seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence.
Then the old
statesman shrugged his shoulders.
"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No
doubt you are
right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you
to act unless we
give you our entire confidence."
"I agree with you," said the younger statesman.
"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon
your honour and
that of your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to
your patrio-
tism also, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune
for the
country than that this affair should come out."
"You may safely trust us."
"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign
potentate who has
been ruffled by some recent Colonial developments
of this coun-
try. It has been written hurriedly and upon his own
responsibility
entirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers
know nothing of
the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate
a
manner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative
a charac-
ter, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to
a most danger-
ous state of feeling in this country. There would
be such a
ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within
a week of
the publication of that letter this country would
be involved in a
great war."
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and
handed it to the
Premier.
"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter
-- this letter which
may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions
and the
lives of a hundred thousand men -- which has become
lost in this
unaccountable fashion."
"Have you informed the sender?"
"Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched."
"Perhaps he desires the publication of the
letter."
"No, sir, we have strong reason to believe
that he already
understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and
hot-headed
manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his
country
than to us if this letter were to come out."
"If this is so, whose interest is it that the
letter should come
out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish
it?"
"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions
of high
international politics. But if you consider the European
situation
you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive.
The whole
of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double league
which
makes a fair balance of military power. Great Britain
holds the
scales. If Britain were driven into war with one confederacy,
it
would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy,
whether
they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?"
"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the
enemies of this
potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as
to make a breach
between his country and ours?"
"Yes, sir."
"And to whom would this document be sent if
it fell into the
hands of an enemy?"
"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe.
It is probably
speeding on its way thither at the present instant
as fast as steam
can take it."
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his
chest and groaned
aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his
shoulder.
"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No
one can blame
you. There is no precaution which you have neglected.
Now,
Mr. Holmes, you are in full possession of the facts.
What course
do you recommend?"
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
"You think, sir, that unless this document
is recovered there
will be war?"
"I think it is very probable."
"Then, sir, prepare for war."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes."
"Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable
that it was taken
after eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that
Mr. Hope and
his wife were both in the room from that hour until
the loss was
found out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening between
seven-
thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier
hour, since
whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and
would
naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir,
if a document
of this importance were taken at that hour, where
can it be now?
No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed
rapidly on
to those who need it. What chance have we now to overtake
or
even to trace it? It is beyond our reach."
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes.
I feel that
the matter is indeed out of our hands."
"Let us presume, for argument's sake, that
the document was
taken by the maid or by the valet --"
"They are both old and tried servants."
"I understand you to say that your room is
on the second
floor, that there is no entrance from without, and
that from
within no one could go up unobserved. It must, then,
be some-
body in the house who has taken it. To whom would
the thief
take it? To one of several international spies and
secret agents
whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There are
three who
may be said to be the heads of their profession. I
will begin my
research by going round and finding if each of them
is at his
post. If one is missing -- especially if he has disappeared
since
last night -- we will have some indication as to where
the docu-
ment has gone."
"Why should he be missing?" asked the European
Secretary.
"He would take the letter to an Embassy in London,
as likely as
not."
"I fancy not. These agents work independently,
and their
relations with the Embassies are often strained."
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would
take so
valuable a prize to headquarters with his own hands.
I think that
your course of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile,
Hope, we
cannot neglect all our other duties on account of
this one misfor-
tune. Should there be any fresh developments during
the day we
shall communicate with you, and you will no doubt
let us know
the results of your own inquiries."
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely
from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed
Holmes lit his pipe
in silence and sat for some time lost in the deepest
thought. I had
opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational
crime which had occurred in London the night before,
when my
friend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and
laid his pipe
down upon the mantelpiece.
"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of
approaching it.
The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even
now, if we
could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just
possible that it
has not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it
is a question of
money with these fellows, and I have the British treasury
behind
me. If it's on the market I'll buy it -- if it means
another penny
on the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow
might hold it
back to see what bids come from this side before he
tries his luck
on the other. There are only those three capable of
playing so
bold a game -- there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and
Eduardo
Lucas. I will see each of them."
I glanced at my morning paper.
"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"
"Yes."
"You will not see him."
"Why not?"
"He was murdered in his house last night."
My friend has so often astonished me in the
course of our
adventures that it was with a sense of exultation
that I realized
how completely I had astonished him. He stared in
amazement,
and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was
the
paragraph which I had been engaged in reading when
he rose
from his chair.
MURDER IN WESTMINSTER
A crime of
mysterious character was committed last night
at 16 Godolphin Street,
one of the old-fashioned and se-
cluded rows of eighteenth
century houses which lie between
the river and the Abbey,
almost in the shadow of the great
Tower of the Houses of
Parliament. This small but select
mansion has been inhabited
for some years by Mr. Eduardo
Lucas, well known in society
circles both on account of his
charming personality and
because he has the well-deserved
reputation of being one
of the best amateur tenors in the
country. Mr. Lucas is
an unmarried man, thirty-four years
of age, and his establishment
consists of Mrs. Pringle, an
elderly housekeeper, and
of Mitton, his valet. The former
retires early and sleeps
at the top of the house. The valet
was out for the evening,
visiting a friend at Hammersmith.
From ten o'clock onward
Mr. Lucas had the house to
himself. What occured
during that time has not yet tran-
spired, but at a quarter
to twelve Police-constable Barrett,
passing along Godolphin
Street, observed that the door of
No. 16 was ajar. He knocked,
but received no answer.
Perceiving a light in
the front room, he advanced into the
passage and again knocked,
but without reply. He then
pushed open the door and
entered. The room was in a state
of wild disorder, the
furniture being all swept to one side,
and one chair lying on
its back in the centre. Beside this
chair, and still grasping
one of its legs, lay the unfortunate
tenant of the house. He
had been stabbed to the heart and
must have died instantly.
The knife with which the crime
had been committed was
a curved Indian dagger, plucked
down from a trophy of
Oriental arms which adorned one of
the walls. Robbery does
not appear to have been the motive
of the crime, for there
had been no attempt to remove the
valuable contents of the
room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so
well known and popular
that his violent and mysterious fate
will arouse painful interest
and intense sympathy in a wide-
spread circle of friends.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked
Holmes,
after a long pause.
"It is an amazing coincidence."
"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men
whom we had
named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets
a violent
death during the very hours when we know that that
drama was
being enacted. The odds are enormous against its being
coinci-
dence. No figures could express them. No, my dear
Watson, the
two events are connected -- must be connected. It
is for us to find
the connection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin
Street. They
know -- and shall know -- nothing of Whitehall Terrace.
Only we
know of both events, and can trace the relation between
them.
There is one obvious point which would, in any case,
have
turned my suspicions against Lucas. Godolphin Street,
Westmin-
ster, is only a few minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace.
The
other secret agents whom I have named live in the
extreme West
End. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for
the others to
establish a connection or receive a message from the
European
Secretary's household -- a small thing, and yet where
events are
compressed into a few hours it may prove essential.
Halloa! what
have we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card
upon her salver.
Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed
it over to
me.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will
be kind enough
to step up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already
so distin-
guished that morning, was further honoured by the
entrance of
the most lovely woman in London: I had often heard
of the
beauty of the youngest daughter of the Duke of Belminster,
but
no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless
photo-
graphs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm
and the
beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet
as we saw it
that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would
be the
first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was
lovely but it
was paled with emotion, the eyes were bright, but
it was the
brightness of fever, the sensitive mouth was tight
and drawn in
an effort after self-command. Terror -- not beauty
-- was what
sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor stood
framed for an
instant in the open door.
"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, madam, he has been here."
"Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him
that I came
here." Holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady
to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate
position. I beg
that you will sit down and tell me what you desire,
but I fear
that I cannot make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself
with her back to
the window. It was a queenly presence -- tall, graceful,
and
intensely womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said -- and her white-gloved
hands clasped
and unclasped as she spoke -- "I will speak frankly
to you in
the hopes that it may induce you to speak frankly
in return.
There is complete confidence between my husband and
me on
all matters save one. That one is politics. On this
his lips are
sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware that
there was a
most deplorable occurrence in our house last night.
I know that
a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is
political my
husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence.
Now it
is essential -- essential, I say -- that I should
thoroughly under-
stand it. You are the only other person, save only
these politi-
cians, who knows the true facts. I beg you then, Mr.
Holmes, to
tell me exactly what has happened and what it will
lead to. Tell
me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's
interests
keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests,
if he would
only see it, would be best served by taking me into
his complete
confidence. What was this paper which was stolen?"
"Madam, what you ask me is really impossible."
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
"You must see that this is so, madam. If your
husband thinks
fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it
for me, who has
only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional
secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair
to ask it. It is
him whom you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last
resource. But
without your telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes,
you may
do a great service if you would enlighten me on one
point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband's political career likely to
suffer through this
incident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may
certainly have a
very unfonunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one
whose doubts
are resolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression
which
my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster
I under-
stood that terrible public consequences might arise
from the loss
of this document."
"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it."
"Of what nature are they?"
"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than
I can
possibly answer."
"Then I will take up no more of your time.
I cannot blame
you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused to speak more
freely, and
you on your side will not, I am sure, think the worse
of me
because I desire, even against his will, to share
my husband's
anxieties. Once more I beg that you will say nothing
of my
visit.
She looked back at us from the door, and I
had a last impres-
sion of that beautiful haunted face, the startled
eyes, and the
drawn mouth. Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department,"
said Holmes
with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts
had ended in
the slam of the front door. "What was the fair lady's
game?
What did she really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her
anxiety very
natural. "
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson -- her
manner, her
suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity
in asking
queshons. Remember that she comes of a caste who do
not
lightly show emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with
which she as-
sured us that it was best for her husband that she
should know
all. What did she mean by that? And you must have
observed,
Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her
back. She
did not wish us to read her expression."
"Yes, she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable.
You
remember the woman at Margate whom I suspected for
the same
reason. No powder on her nose -- that proved to be
the correct
solution. How can you build on such a quicksand? Their
most
trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary
conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs.
Good-
morning, Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes, I will while away the morning at Godolphin
Street with
our friends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo
Lucas lies
the solution of our problem, though I must admit that
I have not
an inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital
mistake to
theorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard,
my good
Watson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join
you at lunch if I
am able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes
was in a mood
which his friends would call taciturn, and others
morose. He ran
out and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches
on his
violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at
irregular hours,
and hardly answered the casual questions which I put
to him. It
was evident to me that things were not going well
with him or
his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and it
was from the
papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest,
and the arrest
with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet
of the
deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious
Wilful
Murder, but the parties remained as unknown as ever.
No motive
was suggested. The room was full of articles of value,
but none
had been taken. The dead man's papers had not been
tampered
with. They were carefully examined, and showed that
he was a
keen student of international politics, an indefatigable
gossip, a
remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter writer.
He had been on
intimate terms with the leading politicians of several
countries.
But nothing sensational was discovered among the documents
which filled his drawers. As to his relations with
women, they
appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial.
He had many
acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no
one whom
he loved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive.
His
death was an absolute mystery and likely to remain
so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet,
it was a council of
despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But
no case could
be sustained against him. He had visited friends in
Hammersmith
that night. The alibi was complete. It is true that
he started home
at an hour which should have brought him to Westminster
before
the time when the crime was discovered, but his own
explanation
that he had walked part of the way seemed probable
enough in
view of the fineness of the night. He had actually
arrived at
twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by
the unex-
pected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with
his
master. Several of the dead man's possessions -- notably
a small
case of razors -- had been found in the valet's boxes,
but he
explained that they had been presents from the deceased,
and the
housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. Mitton
had been
in Lucas's employment for three years. It was noticeable
that
Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent with him.
Sometimes
he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton
was left in
charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,
she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If
her master
had a visitor he had himself admitted him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained,
so far as I could
follow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept
his own
counsel, but, as he told me that Inspector Lestrade
had taken him
into his confidence in the case, I knew that he was
in close touch
with every development. Upon the fourth day there
appeared a
long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the
whole
question.
A discovery
has just been made by the Parisian police
[said the Daily
Telegraph] which raises the veil which hung
round the tragic
fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his
death by violence
last Monday night at Godolphin Street,
Westminster. Our
readers will remember that the deceased
gentleman was found
stabbed in his room, and that some
suspicion attached
to his valet, but that the case broke down
on an alibi. Yesterday
a lady, who has been known as
Mme. Henri Fournaye,
occupying a small villa in the Rue
Austerlitz, was
reported to the authorities by her servants as
being insane. An
examination showed she had indeed de-
veloped mania of
a dangerous and permanent form. On
inquiry, the police
have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye
only returned from
a journey to London on Tuesday last,
and there is evidence
to connect her with the crime at
Westminster. A comparison
of photographs has proved
conclusively that
M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas
were really one
and the same person, and that the deceased
had for some reason
lived a double life in London and
Paris. Mme. Fournaye,
who is of Creole origin, is of an
extremely excitable
nature, and has suffered in the past
from attacks of
jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. It
is conjectured that
it was in one of these that she committed
the terrible crime
which has caused such a sensation in
London. Her movements
upon the Monday night have not
yet been traced,
but it is undoubted that a woman answering
to her description
attracted much attention at Charing Cross
Station on Tuesday
morning by the wildness of her appear-
ance and the violence
or her gestures. It is probable, there-
fore, that the crime
was either committed when insane, or
that its immediate
effect was to drive the unhappy woman
out of her mind.
At present she is unable to give any
coherent account
of the past, and the doctors hold out no
hopes of the reestablishment
of her reason. There is evi-
dence that a woman,
who might have been Mme. Fournaye,
was seen for some
hours upon Monday night watching the
house in Godolphin
Street.
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read
the account
aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from
the table and
paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering,
but
if I have told you nothing in the last three days,
it is because
there is nothing to tell. Even now this report from
Paris does not
help us much."
"Surely it is final as regards the man's death."
"The man's death is a mere incident -- a trivial
episode -- in
comparison with our real task, which is to trace this
document
and save a European catastrophe. Only one important
thing has
happened in the last three days, and that is that
nothing has
happened. I get reports almost hourly from the government,
and
it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any
sign of trouble.
Now, if this letter were loose -- no, it can't be
loose -- but if it
isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it
held back?
That's the question that beats in my brain like a
hammer. Was it
indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death
on the
night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter
ever reach him?
If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad
wife of his
carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in
Paris? How could
I search for it without the French police having their
suspicions
aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law
is as
dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's
hand is against
us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should
I bring it to
a successful conclusion, it will certainly represent
the crowning
glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the
front!" He
glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed
in. "Hal-
loa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of
interest. Put
on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together
to
Westminster."
It was my first visit to the scene of the crime
-- a high, dingy,
narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like
the century
which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed
out at us
from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when
a big
constable had opened the door and let us in. The room
into
which we were shown was that in which the crime had
been
committed, but no trace of it now remained save an
ugly,
irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a
small square
drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a
broad expanse
of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square
blocks, highly
polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy
of weap-
ons, one of which had been used on that tragic night.
In the
window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail
of the
apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings,
all pointed to
a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
"Our French friends seem to have touched the
spot this time.
No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the
door -- surprise
visit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight
compartments -- he
let her in, couldn't keep her in the street. She told
him how she
had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another,
and
then with that dagger so handy the end soon came.
It wasn't all
done in an instant, though, for these chairs were
all swept over
yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried
to hold her
off with it. We've got it all clear as if we had seen
it."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"And yet you have sent for me?"
"Ah, yes, that's another matter -- a mere trifle,
but the sort of
thing you take an interest in -- queer, you know,
and what you
might call freakish. It has nothing to do with the
main fact --
can't have, on the face of it."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort
we are very
careful to keep things in their position. Nothing
has been moved.
Officer in charge here day and night. This morning,
as the man
was buried and the investigation over -- so far as
this room is
concerned -- we thought we could tidy up a bit. This
carpet. You
see, it is not fastened down, only just laid there.
We had
occasion to raise it. We found --"
"Yes? You found -- "
Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.
"Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a
hundred years
what we did find. You see that stain on the carpet?
Well, a great
deal must have soaked through, must it not?"
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there
is no stain on
the white woodwork to correspond."
"No stain! But there must --"
"Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains
that there
isn't."
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand
and, turning it
over, he showed that it was indeed as he said.
"But the under side is as stained as the upper.
It must have
left a mark."
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled
the famous
expert.
"Now, I'll show you the explanation. There
is a second stain,
but it does not correspond with the other. See for
yourself." As
he spoke he turned over another portion of the carpet,
and there,
sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square
white
facing of the old-fashioned floor. "What do you make
of that,
Mr. Holmes?"
"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did
correspond,
but the carpet has been turned round. As it was square
and
unfastened it was easily done."
"The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes,
to tell them
that the carpet must have been turned round. That's
clear enough,
for the stains lie above each other -- if you lay
it over this way.
But what I want to know is, who shifted the carpet,
and why?"
I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he
was vibrating
with inward excitement.
"Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable
in the
passage been in charge of the place all the time?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully.
Don't do it
before us. We'll wait here. You take him into the
back room.
You'll be more likely to get a confession out of him
alone. Ask
him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone
in this
room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for
granted. Tell
him you know someone has been here. Press him. Tell
him that a
full confession is his only chance of forgiveness.
Do exactly
what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of
him!" cried
Lestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments
later his
bullying voice sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes with frenzied
eagerness.
All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind
that listless
manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore
the drugget
from the floor, and in an instant was down on his
hands and
knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath
it. One
turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge
of it. It hinged
back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity opened
beneath
it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it and drew
it out with a
bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!"
The wooden lid
was replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn
straight
when Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He
found
Holmes leaning languidly against the mantelpiece,
resigned and
patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible
yawns.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can
see that you
are bored to death with the whole affair. Well, he
has confessed,
all right. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen
hear
of your most inexcusable conduct."
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled
into the room.
"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young
woman came to
the door last evening -- mistook the house, she did.
And then we
got talking. It's lonesome, when you're on duty here
all day."
"Well, what happened then?"
"She wanted to see where the crime was done
-- had read
about it in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable,
well-spoken young woman, sir, and I saw no harm in
letting her
have a peep. When she saw that mark on the carpet.
down she
dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead.
I ran to the
back and got some water, but I could not bring her
to. Then I
went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy,
and by
the time I had brought it back the young woman had
recovered
and was off -- ashamed of herself, I daresay, and
dared not face
me."
"How about moving that drugget?"
"Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly,
when I came back.
You see, she fell on it and it lies on a polished
floor with nothing
to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
"It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive
me, Constable
MacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt
you thought
that your breach of duty could never be discovered,
and yet a
mere glance at that drugget was enough to convince
me that
someone had been admitted to the room. It's lucky
for you my
man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourseif
in
Queer Street. I'm sorry to have called you down over
such a
petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point
of the
second stain not corresponding with the first would
interest
you."
"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this
woman only been
here once, constable?"
"Yes, sir, only once."
"Who was she?"
"Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an
advertisement
about typewriting and came to the wrong number --
very pleas-
ant, genteel young woman, sir."
"Tall? Handsome?"
"Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman.
I suppose you
might say she was handsome. Perhaps some would say
she was
very handsome. 'Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!'
says she.
She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and
I thought
there was no harm in letting her just put her head
through the
door.
"How was she dressed?"
"Quiet, sir -- a long mantle down to her feet."
"What time was it?"
"It was just growing dusk at the time. They
were lighting the
lamps as I came back with the brandy."
"Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I
think that we
have more important work elsewhere."
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the
front room
while the repentant constable opened the door to let
us out.
Holmes turned on the step and held up something in
his hand.
The constable stared intently.
"Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement
on his face.
Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand
in his breast
pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the
street.
"Excellent!" said he. "Come, friend Watson, the curtain
rings
up for the last act. You will be relieved to hear
that there will be
no war, that the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will
suffer
no setback in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet
Sovereign
will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that
the Prime
Minister will have no European complication to deal
with, and
that with a little tact and management upon our part
nobody will
be a penny the worse for what might have been a very
ugly
incident."
My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary
man.
"You have solved it!" I cried.
"Hardly that, Watson. There are some points
which are as
dark as ever. But we have so much that it will be
our own fault if
we cannot get the rest. We wiil go straight to Whitehall
Terrace
and bring the matter to a head."
When we arrived at the residence of the European
Secretary it
was for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes
in-
quired. We were shown into the morning-room.
"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was
pink with her
indignation. "This is surely most unfair and ungenerous
upon
your part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep
my visit to you
a secret, lest my husband should think that I was
intruding into
his affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here
and so
showing that there are business relations between
us."
"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative.
I have
been commissioned to recover this immensely important
paper. I
must therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to
place it in
my hands."
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour
all dashed in an
instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed --
she tottered -- I
thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort
she rallied
from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation
chased every other expression from her features.
"You -- you insult me, Mr. Holmes."
"Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up
the letter."
She darted to the bell.
"The butler shall show you out."
"Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all
my earnest
efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give
up the letter
and all will be set right. If you will work with me
I can arrange
everything. If you work against me I must expose you."
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure,
her eyes fixed
upon his as if she would read his very soul. Her hand
was on the
bell, but she had forborne to ring it.
"You are trying to frighten me. It is not a
very manly thing,
Mr. Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You
say that
you know something. What is it that you know?"
"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself
there if you
fall. I will not speak until you sit down. Thank you."
"I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."
"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your
visit to Eduardo
Lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious
return to the room last night, and of the manner in
which you
took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet."
She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped
twice before
she could speak.
"You are mad, Mr. Holmes -- you are mad!" she
cried, at
last.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his
pocket. It was
the face of a woman cut out of a portrait.
"I have carried this because I thought it might
be useful,"
said he. "The policeman has recognized it."
She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back
in the chair.
"Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The
matter may still
be adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to
you. My duty
ends when I have returned the lost letter to your
husband. Take
my advice and be frank with me. It is your only chance."
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would
not own
defeat.
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are
under some
absurd illusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done
my best for
you. I can see that it is all in vain."
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very
good, I shall
wait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind
him when Lady
Hilda was down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her
hands
outstretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet
with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded,
in a
frenzy of supplication. "For heaven's sake, don't
tell him! I love
him so! I would not bring one shadow on his life,
and this I
know would break his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam,
that you
have come to your senses even at this last moment!
There is not
an instant to lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked
it, and drew out
a long blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I
had never seen
it!"
"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick,
quick,
we must think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?"
"Still in his bedroom."
"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring
it here!"
A moment later she had appeared with a red
flat box in her
hand.
"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate
key? Yes,
of course you have. Open it!"
From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn
a small key.
The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes
thrust the
blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between
the
leaves of some other document. The box was shut, locked,
and
returned to the bedroom.
"Now we are ready for him," said Holmes. "We
have still
ten minutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda.
In return
you will spend the time in telling me frankly the
real meaning of
this extraordinary affair."
"Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything," cried
the lady. "Oh,
Mr. Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I
gave him a
moment of sorrow! There is no woman in all London
who loves
her husband as I do, and yet if he knew how I have
acted -- how I
have been compelled to act -- he would never forgive
me. For his
own honour stands so high that he could not forget
or pardon a
lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness,
his
happiness, our very lives are at stake!"
"Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet
letter
written before my marriage -- a foolish letter, a
letter of an
impulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he
would have
thought it criminal. Had he read that letter his confidence
would
have been forever destroyed. It is years since I wrote
it. I had
thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then
at last I heard
from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his
hands, and that
he would lay it before my husband. I implored his
mercy. He
said that he would return my letter if I would bring
him a certain
document which he described in my husband's despatch-box.
He
had some spy in the office who had told him of its
existence. He
assured me that no harm could come to my husband.
Put your-
self in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"
"Take your husband into your confidence."
"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the
one side
seemed certain ruin, on the other, terrible as it
seemed to take
my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics
I could not
understand the consequences, while in a matter of
love and trust
they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes!
I took an
impression of his key. This man, Lucas, furnished
a duplicate. I
opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed
it to
Godolphin Street."
"What happened there, madam?"
"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened
it. I followed
him into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind
me, for I
feared to be alone with the man. I remember that there
was a
woman outside as I entered. Our business was soon
done. He
had my letter on his desk, I handed him the document.
He gave
me the letter. At this instant there was a sound at
the door. There
were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turned back
the drug-
get, thrust the document into some hiding-place there,
and cov-
ered it over.
"What happened after that is like some fearful
dream. I have a
vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice,
which screamed
in French, 'My waiting is not in vain. At last, at
last I have
found you with her!' There was a savage struggle.
I saw him
with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers.
I rushed from
the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next
morning in
the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night
I was happy,
for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the
future would
bring.
"It was the next morning that I realized that
I had only
exchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish
at the
loss of his paper went to my heart. I could hardly
prevent myself
from there and then kneeling down at his feet and
telling him
what I had done. But that again would mean a confession
of the
past. I came to you that morning in order to understand
the full
enormity of my offence. From the instant that I grasped
it my
whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting
back my
husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had
placed it, for it
was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the
room. If it
had not been for her coming, I should not have known
where his
hiding-place was. How was I to get into the room?
For two days
I watched the place, but the door was never left open.
Last night
I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded,
you have
already learned. I brought the paper back with me,
and thought
of destroying it, since I could see no way of returning
it without
confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear
his step
upon the stair!"
The European Secretary burst excitedly into
the room.
"Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.
"I have some hopes."
"Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant.
"The Prime
Minister is lunching with me. May he share your hopes?
He has
nerves of steel, and yet I know that he has hardly
slept since this
terrible event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister
to come
up? As to you, dear, I fear that this is a matter
of politics. We
will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room."
The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but
I could see by
the gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony
hands that
he shared the excitement of his young colleague.
"I understand that you have something to report,
Mr. Holmes?"
"Purely negative as yet," my friend answered.
"I have in-
quired at every point where it might be, and I am
sure that there
is no danger to be apprehended."
"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot
live forever
on such a volcano. We must have something definite."
"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I
am here. The more
I think of the matter the more convinced I am that
the letter has
never left this house."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"If it had it would certainly have been public
by now."
"But why should anyone take it in order to
keep it in his
house?"
"I am not convinced that anyone did take it."
"Then how could it leave the despatch-box?"
"I am not convinced that it ever did leave
the despatch-box."
"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed.
You have my
assurance that it left the box."
"Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?"
"No. It was not necessary."
"You may conceivably have overlooked it."
"Impossible, I say."
"But I am not convinced of it. I have known
such things to
happen. I presume there are other papers there. Well,
it may
have got mixed with them."
"It was on the top."
"Someone may have shaken the box and displaced
it."
"No, no, I had everything out."
"Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the
Premier. "Let us
have the despatch-box brought in."
The Secretary rang the bell.
"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is
a farcical
waste of time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy
you, it shall
be done. Thank you, Jacobs, put it here. I have always
had the
key on my watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see.
Letter
from Lord Merrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, memoran-
dum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German grain
taxes,
letter from Madrid, note from Lord Flowers -- Good
heavens!
what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from
his hand.
"Yes, it is it -- and the letter is intact.
Hope, I congratulate
you."
"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my
heart. But
this is inconceivable -- impossible. Mr. Holmes, you
are a wiz-
ard, a sorcerer! How did you know it was there?"
"Because I knew it was nowhere else."
"I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to
the door.
"Where is my wife? I must tell her that all is well.
Hilda!
Hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling
eyes.
"Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this
than meets the
eye. How came the letter back in the box?"
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny
of those
wonderful eyes.
"We also have our diplomatic secrets," said
he and, picking
up his hat, he turned to the door. |