Chapter X: Part 10

The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long
recital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some
stimulating medicine. Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown
back and his eyes closed, in an attitude which might seem
listless to a stranger, but which I knew betokened the most
intense self-absorption.

“You statement has been so explicit,” said he at last, “that you
have really left me very few questions to ask. There is one of
the very utmost importance, however. Did you tell any one that
you had this special task to perform?”

“No one.”

“Not Miss Harrison here, for example?”

“No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order and
executing the commission.”

“And none of your people had by chance been to see you?”

“None.”

“Did any of them know their way about in the office?”

“Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it.”

“Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the
treaty these inquiries are irrelevant.”

“I said nothing.”

“Do you know anything of the commissionnaire?”

“Nothing except that he is an old soldier.”

“What regiment?”

“Oh, I have heard—Coldstream Guards.”

“Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. The
authorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not
always use them to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!”

He walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the
drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend
of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me,
for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural
objects.

“There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in
religion,” said he, leaning with his back against the shutters.
“It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our
highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to
rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers our desires,
our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first
instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are
an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only
goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much
to hope from the flowers.”

Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this
demonstration with surprise and a good deal of disappointment
written upon their faces. He had fallen into a reverie, with the
moss-rose between his fingers. It had lasted some minutes before
the young lady broke in upon it.

“Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?”
she asked, with a touch of asperity in her voice.

“Oh, the mystery!” he answered, coming back with a start to the
realities of life. “Well, it would be absurd to deny that the
case is a very abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise
you that I will look into the matter and let you know any points
which may strike me.”

“Do you see any clue?”

“You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must test
them before I can pronounce upon their value.”

“You suspect some one?”

“I suspect myself.”

“What!”

“Of coming to conclusions too rapidly.”

“Then go to London and test your conclusions.”

“Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison,” said Holmes,
rising. “I think, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow
yourself to indulge in false hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a
very tangled one.”

“I shall be in a fever until I see you again,” cried the
diplomatist.

“Well, I’ll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it’s
more than likely that my report will be a negative one.”

“God bless you for promising to come,” cried our client. “It
gives me fresh life to know that something is being done. By the
way, I have had a letter from Lord Holdhurst.”

“Ha! What did he say?”

“He was cold, but not harsh. I daresay my severe illness
prevented him from being that. He repeated that the matter was of
the utmost importance, and added that no steps would be taken
about my future—by which he means, of course, my dismissal—until
my health was restored and I had an opportunity of repairing my
misfortune.”

“Well, that was reasonable and considerate,” said Holmes. “Come,
Watson, for we have a good day’s work before us in town.”

Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were
soon whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in
profound thought, and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed
Clapham Junction.

“It’s a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these
lines which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses
like this.”

I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he
soon explained himself.

“Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above
the slates, like brick islands in a lead-coloured sea.”

“The board-schools.”

“Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with
hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring
the wise, better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps
does not drink?”

“I should not think so.”

“Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into
account. The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep
water, and it’s a question whether we shall ever be able to get
him ashore. What did you think of Miss Harrison?”

“A girl of strong character.”

“Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her
brother are the only children of an iron-master somewhere up
Northumberland way. He got engaged to her when traveling last
winter, and she came down to be introduced to his people, with
her brother as escort. Then came the smash, and she stayed on to
nurse her lover, while brother Joseph, finding himself pretty
snug, stayed on too. I’ve been making a few independent
inquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of inquiries.”

“My practice—” I began.

“Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine—” said
Holmes, with some asperity.

“I was going to say that my practice could get along very well
for a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year.”

“Excellent,” said he, recovering his good-humour. “Then we’ll
look into this matter together. I think that we should begin by
seeing Forbes. He can probably tell us all the details we want
until we know from what side the case is to be approached.”

“You said you had a clue?”

“Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by
further inquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one
which is purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who
profits by it? There is the French ambassador, there is the
Russian, there is whoever might sell it to either of these, and
there is Lord Holdhurst.”

“Lord Holdhurst!”

“Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself
in a position where he was not sorry to have such a document
accidentally destroyed.”

“Not a statesman with the honourable record of Lord Holdhurst?”

“It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We
shall see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us
anything. Meanwhile I have already set inquiries on foot.”

“Already?”

“Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper in
London. This advertisement will appear in each of them.”

He handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. On it was scribbled
in pencil:

“£10 Reward.—The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or
about the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter
to ten in the evening of May 23rd. Apply 221B, Baker Street.”

“You are confident that the thief came in a cab?”

“If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in
stating that there is no hiding-place either in the room or the
corridors, then the person must have come from outside. If he
came from outside on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of
damp upon the linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes
of his passing, then it is exceeding probable that he came in a
cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce a cab.”

“It sounds plausible.”

“That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to
something. And then, of course, there is the bell—which is the
most distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell ring?
Was it the thief who did it out of bravado? Or was it some one
who was with the thief who did it in order to prevent the crime?
Or was it an accident? Or was it—?” He sank back into the state
of intense and silent thought from which he had emerged; but it
seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood, that some
new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him.

It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after
a hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland
Yard. Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him
waiting to receive us—a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no
means amiable expression. He was decidedly frigid in his manner
to us, especially when he heard the errand upon which we had
come.

“I’ve heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes,” said he,
tartly. “You are ready enough to use all the information that the
police can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the
case yourself and bring discredit on them.”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “out of my last fifty-three cases
my name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all
the credit in forty-nine. I don’t blame you for not knowing this,
for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in
your new duties you will work with me and not against me.”

“I’d be very glad of a hint or two,” said the detective, changing
his manner. “I’ve certainly had no credit from the case so far.”

“What steps have you taken?”

“Tangey, the commissionnaire, has been shadowed. He left the
Guards with a good character and we can find nothing against him.
His wife is a bad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about this
than appears.”

“Have you shadowed her?”

“We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and
our woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she
could get nothing out of her.”

“I understand that they have had brokers in the house?”

“Yes, but they were paid off.”

“Where did the money come from?”

“That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown any
sign of being in funds.”

“What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when
Mr. Phelps rang for the coffee?”

“She said that her husband was very tired and she wished to
relieve him.”

“Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little
later asleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but
the woman’s character. Did you ask her why she hurried away that
night? Her haste attracted the attention of the police
constable.”

“She was later than usual and wanted to get home.”

“Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at
least twenty minutes after her, got home before her?”

“She explains that by the difference between a ‘bus and a
hansom.”

“Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into
the back kitchen?”

“Because she had the money there with which to pay off the
brokers.”

“She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her
whether in leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about
Charles Street?”

“She saw no one but the constable.”

“Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly.
What else have you done?”

“The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but
without result. We can show nothing against him.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, we have nothing else to go upon—no evidence of any kind.”

“Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?”

“Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand,
whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that.”

“Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you
have told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear
from me. Come along, Watson.”

“Where are we going to now?” I asked, as we left the office.

“We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet
minister and future premier of England.”

We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his
chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we
were instantly shown up. The statesman received us with that
old-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us
on the two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace.
Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his
sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely
tinged with grey, he seemed to represent that not too common
type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.

“Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes,” said he, smiling.
“And, of course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of
your visit. There has only been one occurrence in these offices
which could call for your attention. In whose interest are you
acting, may I ask?”

“In that of Mr. Percy Phelps,” answered Holmes.

“Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinship
makes it the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I
fear that the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon
his career.”

“But if the document is found?”

“Ah, that, of course, would be different.”

“I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord
Holdhurst.”

“I shall be happy to give you any information in my power.”

“Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the
copying of the document?”

“It was.”

“Then you could hardly have been overheard?”

“It is out of the question.”

“Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to
give any one the treaty to be copied?”

“Never.”

“You are certain of that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and
nobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thief’s
presence in the room was purely accidental. He saw his chance and
he took it.”

The statesman smiled. “You take me out of my province there,”
said he.

Holmes considered for a moment. “There is another very important
point which I wish to discuss with you,” said he. “You feared, as
I understand, that very grave results might follow from the
details of this treaty becoming known.”

A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. “Very
grave results indeed.”

“And have they occurred?”

“Not yet.”

“If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian
Foreign Office, you would expect to hear of it?”

“I should,” said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.

“Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been
heard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the
treaty has not reached them.”

Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.

“We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the
treaty in order to frame it and hang it up.”

“Perhaps he is waiting for a better price.”

“If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The
treaty will cease to be secret in a few months.”

“That is most important,” said Holmes. “Of course, it is a
possible supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness—”

“An attack of brain-fever, for example?” asked the statesman,
flashing a swift glance at him.

“I did not say so,” said Holmes, imperturbably. “And now, Lord
Holdhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable
time, and we shall wish you good-day.”

“Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it
may,” answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door.

“He’s a fine fellow,” said Holmes, as we came out into Whitehall.
“But he has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from
rich and has many calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots
had been resoled. Now, Watson, I won’t detain you from your
legitimate work any longer. I shall do nothing more to-day,
unless I have an answer to my cab advertisement. But I should be
extremely obliged to you if you would come down with me to Woking
to-morrow, by the same train which we took yesterday.”

I met him accordingly next morning and we travelled down to
Woking together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he
said, and no fresh light had been thrown upon the case. He had,
when he so willed it, the utter immobility of countenance of a
red Indian, and I could not gather from his appearance whether he
was satisfied or not with the position of the case. His
conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon system of
measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic admiration of the
French savant.

We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse,
but looking considerably better than before. He rose from the
sofa and greeted us without difficulty when we entered.

“Any news?” he asked, eagerly.

“My report, as I expected, is a negative one,” said Holmes. “I
have seen Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one
or two trains of inquiry upon foot which may lead to something.”

“You have not lost heart, then?”

“By no means.”

“God bless you for saying that!” cried Miss Harrison. “If we keep
our courage and our patience the truth must come out.”

“We have more to tell you than you have for us,” said Phelps,
reseating himself upon the couch.

“I hoped you might have something.”

“Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which
might have proved to be a serious one.” His expression grew very
grave as he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up
in his eyes. “Do you know,” said he, “that I begin to believe
that I am the unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy,
and that my life is aimed at as well as my honour?”

“Ah!” cried Holmes.

“It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy
in the world. Yet from last night’s experience I can come to no
other conclusion.”

“Pray let me hear it.”

“You must know that last night was the very first night that I
have ever slept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better
that I thought I could dispense with one. I had a night-light
burning, however. Well, about two in the morning I had sunk into
a light sleep when I was suddenly aroused by a slight noise. It
was like the sound which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a
plank, and I lay listening to it for some time under the
impression that it must come from that cause. Then it grew
louder, and suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic
snick. I sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt what the
sounds were now. The first ones had been caused by some one
forcing an instrument through the slit between the sashes, and
the second by the catch being pressed back.

“There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person
were waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I
heard a gentle creaking as the window was very slowly opened. I
could stand it no longer, for my nerves are not what they used to
be. I sprang out of bed and flung open the shutters. A man was
crouching at the window. I could see little of him, for he was
gone like a flash. He was wrapped in some sort of cloak which
came across the lower part of his face. One thing only I am sure
of, and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. It looked to
me like a long knife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he
turned to run.”

“This is most interesting,” said Holmes. “Pray what did you do
then?”

“I should have followed him through the open window if I had been
stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It
took me some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and
the servants all sleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that
brought Joseph down, and he roused the others. Joseph and the
groom found marks on the bed outside the window, but the weather
has been so dry lately that they found it hopeless to follow the
trail across the grass. There’s a place, however, on the wooden
fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as
if some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in
doing so. I have said nothing to the local police yet, for I
thought I had best have your opinion first.”

This tale of our client’s appeared to have an extraordinary
effect upon Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced
about the room in uncontrollable excitement.

“Misfortunes never come single,” said Phelps, smiling, though it
was evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.

“You have certainly had your share,” said Holmes. “Do you think
you could walk round the house with me?”

“Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come,
too.”

“And I also,” said Miss Harrison.

“I am afraid not,” said Holmes, shaking his head. “I think I must
ask you to remain sitting exactly where you are.”

The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Her
brother, however, had joined us and we set off all four together.
We passed round the lawn to the outside of the young
diplomatist’s window. There were, as he had said, marks upon the
bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and vague. Holmes stopped
over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t think any one could make much of this,” said he. “Let us
go round the house and see why this particular room was chosen by
the burglar. I should have thought those larger windows of the
drawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions for
him.”

“They are more visible from the road,” suggested Mr. Joseph
Harrison.

“Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might have
attempted. What is it for?”

“It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is
locked at night.”

“Have you ever had an alarm like this before?”

“Never,” said our client.

“Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract
burglars?”

“Nothing of value.”

Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and
a negligent air which was unusual with him.

“By the way,” said he to Joseph Harrison, “you found some place,
I understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a
look at that!”

The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the
wooden rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood was
hanging down. Holmes pulled it off and examined it critically.

“Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does
it not?”

“Well, possibly so.”

“There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side.
No, I fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the
bedroom and talk the matter over.”

Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his
future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and
we were at the open window of the bedroom long before the others
came up.

“Miss Harrison,” said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity
of manner, “you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing
prevent you from staying where you are all day. It is of the
utmost importance.”

“Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes,” said the girl in
astonishment.

“When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and
keep the key. Promise to do this.”

“But Percy?”

“He will come to London with us.”

“And am I to remain here?”

“It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!”

She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.

“Why do you sit moping there, Annie?” cried her brother. “Come
out into the sunshine!”

“No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is
deliciously cool and soothing.”

“What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?” asked our client.

“Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight
of our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you
would come up to London with us.”

“At once?”

“Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour.”

“I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help.”

“The greatest possible.”

“Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?”

“I was just going to propose it.”

“Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will
find the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and
you must tell us exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you
would prefer that Joseph came with us so as to look after me?”

“Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he’ll
look after you. We’ll have our lunch here, if you will permit us,
and then we shall all three set off for town together.”

It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused
herself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes’s
suggestion. What the object of my friend’s manœuvres was I could
not conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps,
who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect of
action, lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes had a still
more startling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying
us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly
announced that he had no intention of leaving Woking.

“There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear
up before I go,” said he. “Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some
ways rather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would
oblige me by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend
here, and remaining with him until I see you again. It is
fortunate that you are old schoolfellows, as you must have much
to talk over. Mr. Phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and
I will be with you in time for breakfast, for there is a train
which will take me into Waterloo at eight.”

“But how about our investigation in London?” asked Phelps,
ruefully.

“We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be
of more immediate use here.”

“You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back
to-morrow night,” cried Phelps, as we began to move from the
platform.

“I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae,” answered Holmes, and
waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station.

Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us
could devise a satisfactory reason for this new development.

“I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last
night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don’t believe it was an
ordinary thief.”

“What is your own idea, then?”

“Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but
I believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around
me, and that for some reason that passes my understanding my life
is aimed at by the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd,
but consider the facts! Why should a thief try to break in at a
bedroom window, where there could be no hope of any plunder, and
why should he come with a long knife in his hand?”

“You are sure it was not a house-breaker’s jimmy?”

“Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite
distinctly.”

“But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?”

“Ah, that is the question.”

“Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his
action, would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if
he can lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night
he will have gone a long way towards finding who took the naval
treaty. It is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of
whom robs you, while the other threatens your life.”

“But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae.”

“I have known him for some time,” said I, “but I never knew him
do anything yet without a very good reason,” and with that our
conversation drifted off on to other topics.

But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his
long illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous.
In vain I endeavoured to interest him in Afghanistan, in India,
in social questions, in anything which might take his mind out of
the groove. He would always come back to his lost treaty,
wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what Holmes was doing,
what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, what news we should have in
the morning. As the evening wore on his excitement became quite
painful.

“You have implicit faith in Holmes?” he asked.

“I have seen him do some remarkable things.”

“But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?”

“Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which presented fewer
clues than yours.”

“But not where such large interests are at stake?”

“I don’t know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on
behalf of three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital
matters.”

“But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow
that I never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is
hopeful? Do you think he expects to make a success of it?”

“He has said nothing.”

“That is a bad sign.”

“On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he
generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite
absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most
taciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can’t help matters by making
ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed
and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow.”

I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice,
though I knew from his excited manner that there was not much
hope of sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay
tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange
problem, and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more
impossible than the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why
had he asked Miss Harrison to remain in the sick-room all day?
Why had he been so careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae
that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until
I fell asleep in the endeavour to find some explanation which
would cover all these facts.

It was seven o’clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for
Phelps’s room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless
night. His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.

“He’ll be here when he promised,” said I, “and not an instant
sooner or later.”

And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed
up to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the
window we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and
that his face was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but
it was some little time before he came upstairs.

“He looks like a beaten man,” cried Phelps.

I was forced to confess that he was right. “After all,” said I,
“the clue of the matter lies probably here in town.”

Phelps gave a groan.

“I don’t know how it is,” said he, “but I had hoped for so much
from his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that
yesterday. What can be the matter?”

“You are not wounded, Holmes?” I asked, as my friend entered the
room.

“Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,” he
answered, nodding his good-mornings to us. “This case of yours,
Mr. Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have ever
investigated.”

“I feared that you would find it beyond you.”

“It has been a most remarkable experience.”

“That bandage tells of adventures,” said I. “Won’t you tell us
what has happened?”

“After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed
thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has
been no answer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we
cannot expect to score every time.”

The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs.
Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she
brought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes
ravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of
depression.

“Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,” said Holmes, uncovering
a dish of curried chicken. “Her cuisine is a little limited, but
she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have
you here, Watson?”

“Ham and eggs,” I answered.

“Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps—curried fowl or
eggs, or will you help yourself?”

“Thank you. I can eat nothing,” said Phelps.

“Oh, come! Try the dish before you.”

“Thank you, I would really rather not.”

“Well, then,” said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, “I suppose
that you have no objection to helping me?”

Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream,
and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon
which he looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little
cylinder of blue-grey paper. He caught it up, devoured it with
his eyes, and then danced madly about the room, pressing it to
his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back
into an armchair so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that
we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.

“There! there!” said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the
shoulder. “It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but
Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the
dramatic.”

Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. “God bless you!” he cried.
“You have saved my honour.”

“Well, my own was at stake, you know,” said Holmes. “I assure you
it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you
to blunder over a commission.”

Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost
pocket of his coat.

“I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further,
and yet I am dying to know how you got it and where it was.”

Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his
attention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and
settled himself down into his chair.

“I’ll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it
afterwards,” said he. “After leaving you at the station I went
for a charming walk through some admirable Surrey scenery to a
pretty little village called Ripley, where I had my tea at an
inn, and took the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a
paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until evening,
when I set off for Woking again, and found myself in the
high-road outside Briarbrae just after sunset.

“Well, I waited until the road was clear—it is never a very
frequented one at any time, I fancy—and then I clambered over the
fence into the grounds.”

“Surely the gate was open!” ejaculated Phelps.

“Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the
place where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I
got over without the least chance of any one in the house being
able to see me. I crouched down among the bushes on the other
side, and crawled from one to the other—witness the disreputable
state of my trouser knees—until I had reached the clump of
rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom window. There I
squatted down and awaited developments.

“The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss
Harrison sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past
ten when she closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired.

“I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had
turned the key in the lock.”

“The key!” ejaculated Phelps.

“Yes; I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on
the outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She
carried out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and
certainly without her co-operation you would not have that paper
in your coat-pocket. She departed then and the lights went out,
and I was left squatting in the rhododendron-bush.

“The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of
course it has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman
feels when he lies beside the water-course and waits for the big
game. It was very long, though—almost as long, Watson, as when
you and I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the
little problem of the Speckled Band. There was a church-clock
down at Woking which struck the quarters, and I thought more than
once that it had stopped. At last however about two in the
morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed
back and the creaking of a key. A moment later the servants’ door
was opened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the
moonlight.”

“Joseph!” ejaculated Phelps.

“He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his
shoulder so that he could conceal his face in an instant if there
were any alarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall,
and when he reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife
through the sash and pushed back the catch. Then he flung open
the window, and putting his knife through the crack in the
shutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open.

“From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room
and of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles which
stood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back
the corner of the carpet in the neighbourhood of the door.
Presently he stopped and picked out a square piece of board, such
as is usually left to enable plumbers to get at the joints of the
gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of fact, the T joint
which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath.
Out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper,
pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the
candles, and walked straight into my arms as I stood waiting for
him outside the window.

“Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for,
has Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to
grasp him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had
the upper hand of him. He looked murder out of the only eye he
could see with when we had finished, but he listened to reason
and gave up the papers. Having got them I let my man go, but I
wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. If he is quick
enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly
suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all
the better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for
one, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather
that the affair never got as far as a police-court.

“My God!” gasped our client. “Do you tell me that during these
long ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very
room with me all the time?”

“So it was.”

“And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!”

“Hum! I am afraid Joseph’s character is a rather deeper and more
dangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. From what
I have heard from him this morning, I gather that he has lost
heavily in dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do
anything on earth to better his fortunes. Being an absolutely
selfish man, when a chance presented itself he did not allow
either his sister’s happiness or your reputation to hold his
hand.”

Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. “My head whirls,” said he.
“Your words have dazed me.”

“The principal difficulty in your case,” remarked Holmes, in his
didactic fashion, “lay in the fact of there being too much
evidence. What was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was
irrelevant. Of all the facts which were presented to us we had to
pick just those which we deemed to be essential, and then piece
them together in their order, so as to reconstruct this very
remarkable chain of events. I had already begun to suspect
Joseph, from the fact that you had intended to travel home with
him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing
that he should call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well,
upon his way. When I heard that some one had been so anxious to
get into the bedroom, in which no one but Joseph could have
concealed anything—you told us in your narrative how you had
turned Joseph out when you arrived with the doctor—my suspicions
all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made on
the first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the
intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house.”

“How blind I have been!”

“The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are
these: this Joseph Harrison entered the office through the
Charles Street door, and knowing his way he walked straight into
your room the instant after you left it. Finding no one there he
promptly rang the bell, and at the instant that he did so his
eyes caught the paper upon the table. A glance showed him that
chance had put in his way a State document of immense value, and
in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and was gone. A
few minutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy
commissionnaire drew your attention to the bell, and those were
just enough to give the thief time to make his escape.

“He made his way to Woking by the first train, and having
examined his booty and assured himself that it really was of
immense value, he had concealed it in what he thought was a very
safe place, with the intention of taking it out again in a day or
two, and carrying it to the French embassy, or wherever he
thought that a long price was to be had. Then came your sudden
return. He, without a moment’s warning, was bundled out of his
room, and from that time onward there were always at least two of
you there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. The
situation to him must have been a maddening one. But at last he
thought he saw his chance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled
by your wakefulness. You remember that you did not take your
usual draught that night.”

“I remember.”

“I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught
efficacious, and that he quite relied upon your being
unconscious. Of course, I understood that he would repeat the
attempt whenever it could be done with safety. Your leaving the
room gave him the chance he wanted. I kept Miss Harrison in it
all day so that he might not anticipate us. Then, having given
him the idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as I have
described. I already knew that the papers were probably in the
room, but I had no desire to rip up all the planking and skirting
in search of them. I let him take them, therefore, from the
hiding-place, and so saved myself an infinity of trouble. Is
there any other point which I can make clear?”

“Why did he try the window on the first occasion,” I asked, “when
he might have entered by the door?”

“In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On
the other hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease.
Anything else?”

“You do not think,” asked Phelps, “that he had any murderous
intention? The knife was only meant as a tool.”

“It may be so,” answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. “I can
only say for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to
whose mercy I should be extremely unwilling to trust.”

XII. The Final Problem

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the
last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by
which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an
incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion,
I have endeavoured to give some account of my strange experiences
in his company from the chance which first brought us together at
the period of the “Study in Scarlet,” up to the time of his
interference in the matter of the “Naval Treaty”—an interference
which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious
international complication. It was my intention to have stopped
there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a
void in my life which the lapse of two years has done little to
fill. My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in
which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother,
and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public
exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolute truth of the
matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when no good
purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know,
there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in
the _Journal de Genève_ on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter’s despatch
in the English papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letter
to which I have alluded. Of these the first and second were
extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an
absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell for the
first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent
start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had
existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.
He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion
in his investigation, but these occasions grew more and more
seldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only three
cases of which I retain any record. During the winter of that
year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he
had been engaged by the French government upon a matter of
supreme importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated
from Narbonne and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay
in France was likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise,
therefore, that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the
evening of the 24th of April. It struck me that he was looking
even paler and thinner than usual.

“Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,” he
remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; “I have
been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my
closing your shutters?”

The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at
which I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall and
flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.

“You are afraid of something?” I asked.

“Well, I am.”

“Of what?”

“Of air-guns.”

“My dear Holmes, what do you mean?”

“I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that
I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity
rather than courage to refuse to recognise danger when it is
close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?” He drew in the
smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful
to him.

“I must apologise for calling so late,” said he, “and I must
further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave
your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall.”

“But what does it all mean?” I asked.

He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two
of his knuckles were burst and bleeding.

“It is not an airy nothing, you see,” said he, smiling. “On the
contrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is
Mrs. Watson in?”

“She is away upon a visit.”

“Indeed! You are alone?”

“Quite.”

“Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should
come away with me for a week to the Continent.”

“Where?”

“Oh, anywhere. It’s all the same to me.”

There was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmes’s
nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale,
worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest tension.
He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips
together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained the
situation.

“You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?” said he.

“Never.”

“Aye, there’s the genius and the wonder of the thing!” he cried.
“The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That’s
what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you,
Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I
could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had
reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more
placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which
I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and
to the French republic, have left me in such a position that I
could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most
congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical
researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet
in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty
were walking the streets of London unchallenged.”

“What has he done, then?”

“His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good
birth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a
phenomenal mathematical faculty. At the age of twenty-one he
wrote a treatise upon the Binomial Theorem, which has had a
European vogue. On the strength of it he won the Mathematical
Chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all
appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had
hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal
strain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was
increased and rendered infinitely more dangerous by his
extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumours gathered round him in
the university town, and eventually he was compelled to resign
his chair and to come down to London, where he set up as an Army
coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am telling you
now is what I have myself discovered.