Chapter XI: Part 11

“As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the higher
criminal world of London so well as I do. For years past I have
continually been conscious of some power behind the malefactor,
some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the
law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again
in cases of the most varying sorts—forgery cases, robberies,
murders—I have felt the presence of this force, and I have
deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which
I have not been personally consulted. For years I have
endeavoured to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at
last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until
it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor
Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half
that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great
city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has
a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in
the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations,
and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little
himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and
splendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a paper to be
abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be
removed—the word is passed to the Professor, the matter is
organized and carried out. The agent may be caught. In that case
money is found for his bail or his defence. But the central power
which uses the agent is never caught—never so much as suspected.
This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and which I
devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up.

“But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly
devised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get
evidence which would convict in a court of law. You know my
powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was
forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my
intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my
admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip—only a
little, little trip—but it was more than he could afford when I
was so close upon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that
point, I have woven my net round him until now it is all ready to
close. In three days—that is to say, on Monday next—matters will
be ripe, and the Professor, with all the principal members of his
gang, will be in the hands of the police. Then will come the
greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over
forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we move at
all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands
even at the last moment.

“Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of
Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily
for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils round
him. Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often
headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account
of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place
as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history
of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have
I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I
just undercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and
three days only were wanted to complete the business. I was
sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened
and Professor Moriarty stood before me.

“My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a
start when I saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts
standing there on my threshhold. His appearance was quite
familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes
out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his
head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining
something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are
rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is
forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously
reptilian fashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his
puckered eyes.

“‘You have less frontal development than I should have expected,’
said he, at last. ‘It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded
firearms in the pocket of one’s dressing-gown.’

“The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognised
the extreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable
escape for him lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I had
slipped the revolver from the drawer into my pocket, and was
covering him through the cloth. At his remark I drew the weapon
out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and
blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me
feel very glad that I had it there.

“‘You evidently don’t know me,’ said he.

“‘On the contrary,’ I answered, ‘I think it is fairly evident
that I do. Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you
have anything to say.’

“‘All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,’ said he.

“‘Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,’ I replied.

“‘You stand fast?’

“‘Absolutely.’

“He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol
from the table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which
he had scribbled some dates.

“‘You crossed my path on the 4th of January,’ said he. ‘On the
23rd you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously
inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely
hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find
myself placed in such a position through your continual
persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty.
The situation is becoming an impossible one.’

“‘Have you any suggestion to make?’ I asked.

“‘You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,’ said he, swaying his face about.
‘You really must, you know.’

“‘After Monday,’ said I.

“‘Tut, tut,’ said he. ‘I am quite sure that a man of your
intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this
affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You have worked
things in such a fashion that we have only one resource left. It
has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you
have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it
would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure.
You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.’

“‘Danger is part of my trade,’ I remarked.

“‘That is not danger,’ said he. ‘It is inevitable destruction.
You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty
organization, the full extent of which you, with all your
cleverness, have been unable to realize. You must stand clear,
Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.’

“‘I am afraid,’ said I, rising, ‘that in the pleasure of this
conversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits
me elsewhere.’

“He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head
sadly.

“‘Well, well,’ said he, at last. ‘It seems a pity, but I have
done what I could. I know every move of your game. You can do
nothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr.
Holmes. You hope to place me in the dock. I tell you that I will
never stand in the dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that you
will never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction
upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.’

“‘You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,’ said I.
‘Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured
of the former eventuality I would, in the interests of the
public, cheerfully accept the latter.’

“‘I can promise you the one, but not the other,’ he snarled, and
so turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking
out of the room.

“That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I
confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft,
precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which
a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you will say: ‘Why not
take police precautions against him?’ The reason is that I am
well convinced that it is from his agents the blow will fall. I
have the best proofs that it would be so.”

“You have already been assaulted?”

“My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the
grass grow under his feet. I went out about midday to transact
some business in Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which
leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a
two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a
flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the
fraction of a second. The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane and
was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that,
Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from
the roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at
my feet. I called the police and had the place examined. There
were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some
repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had toppled
over one of these. Of course I knew better, but I could prove
nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my brother’s rooms
in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to
you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. I
knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but I can
tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible
connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose
front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring
mathematical coach, who is, I daresay, working out problems upon
a blackboard ten miles away. You will not wonder, Watson, that my
first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and
that I have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the
house by some less conspicuous exit than the front door.”

I had often admired my friend’s courage, but never more than now,
as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must
have combined to make up a day of horror.

“You will spend the night here?” I said.

“No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my
plans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now
that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes,
though my presence is necessary for a conviction. It is obvious,
therefore, that I cannot do better than get away for the few days
which remain before the police are at liberty to act. It would be
a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the
Continent with me.”

“The practice is quiet,” said I, “and I have an accommodating
neighbour. I should be glad to come.”

“And to start to-morrow morning?”

“If necessary.”

“Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions,
and I beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter,
for you are now playing a double-handed game with me against the
cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of criminals in
Europe. Now listen! You will dispatch whatever luggage you intend
to take by a trusty messenger unaddressed to Victoria to-night.
In the morning you will send for a hansom, desiring your man to
take neither the first nor the second which may present itself.
Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive to the Strand
end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the cabman upon
a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away.
Have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash
through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a
quarter-past nine. You will find a small brougham waiting close
to the curb, driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped
at the collar with red. Into this you will step, and you will
reach Victoria in time for the Continental express.”

“Where shall I meet you?”

“At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front
will be reserved for us.”

“The carriage is our rendezvous, then?”

“Yes.”

It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It
was evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the
roof he was under, and that that was the motive which impelled
him to go. With a few hurried words as to our plans for the
morrow he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering
over the wall which leads into Mortimer Street, and immediately
whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him drive away.

In the morning I obeyed Holmes’s injunctions to the letter. A
hansom was procured with such precaution as would prevent its
being one which was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately
after breakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at
the top of my speed. A brougham was waiting with a very massive
driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I had
stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to Victoria
Station. On my alighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed
away again without so much as a look in my direction.

So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and
I had no difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had
indicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train which
was marked “Engaged.” My only source of anxiety now was the
non-appearance of Holmes. The station clock marked only seven
minutes from the time when we were due to start. In vain I
searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the
lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a
few minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who was
endeavouring to make a porter understand, in his broken English,
that his luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then, having
taken another look round, I returned to my carriage, where I
found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my
decrepit Italian friend as a traveling companion. It was useless
for me to explain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for
my Italian was even more limited than his English, so I shrugged
my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for
my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as I thought that
his absence might mean that some blow had fallen during the
night. Already the doors had all been shut and the whistle blown,
when—

“My dear Watson,” said a voice, “you have not even condescended
to say good-morning.”

I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic
had turned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were
smoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip
ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes
regained their fire, the drooping figure expanded. The next the
whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as quickly as he
had come.

“Good heavens!” I cried. “How you startled me!”

“Every precaution is still necessary,” he whispered. “I have
reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is
Moriarty himself.”

The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing
back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the
crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train
stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering
momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station.

“With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather
fine,” said Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black
cassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he packed them
away in a hand-bag.

“Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?”

“No.”

“You haven’t seen about Baker Street, then?”

“Baker Street?”

“They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.”

“Good heavens, Holmes! This is intolerable.”

“They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man
was arrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had
returned to my rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of
watching you, however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to
Victoria. You could not have made any slip in coming?”

“I did exactly what you advised.”

“Did you find your brougham?”

“Yes, it was waiting.”

“Did you recognise your coachman?”

“No.”

“It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in
such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But
we must plan what we are to do about Moriarty now.”

“As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with
it, I should think we have shaken him off very effectively.”

“My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I
said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same
intellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I were
the pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an
obstacle. Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?”

“What will he do?”

“What I should do?”

“What would you do, then?”

“Engage a special.”

“But it must be late.”

“By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always
at least a quarter of an hour’s delay at the boat. He will catch
us there.”

“One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him
arrested on his arrival.”

“It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the
big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the
net. On Monday we should have them all. No, an arrest is
inadmissible.”

“What then?”

“We shall get out at Canterbury.”

“And then?”

“Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and
so over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He
will get on to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two
days at the depôt. In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a
couple of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the
countries through which we travel, and make our way at our
leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle.”

At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we
should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to
Newhaven.

I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly
disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes
pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.

“Already, you see,” said he.

Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of
smoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying
along the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly
time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed
with a rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our
faces.

“There he goes,” said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing
and rock over the points. “There are limits, you see, to our
friend’s intelligence. It would have been a _coup-de-maître_ had
he deduced what I would deduce and acted accordingly.”

“And what would he have done had he overtaken us?”

“There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a
murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may
play. The question now is whether we should take a premature
lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach the
buffet at Newhaven.”

We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there,
moving on upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday
morning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in the
evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore
it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate.

“I might have known it!” he groaned. “He has escaped!”

“Moriarty?”

“They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He
has given them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country
there was no one to cope with him. But I did think that I had put
the game in their hands. I think that you had better return to
England, Watson.”

“Why?”

“Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man’s
occupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read
his character right he will devote his whole energies to
revenging himself upon me. He said as much in our short
interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should certainly
recommend you to return to your practice.”

It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old
campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasburg
_salle-à-manger_ arguing the question for half an hour, but the
same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to
Geneva.

For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and
then, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass,
still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen.
It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the
virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that
never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay
across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely
mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his
sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well
convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves
clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.

Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along
the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had
been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and
roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up
on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his
neck in every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured
him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the spring-time
at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air
of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected.

And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the
contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant
spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could
be assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he
would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.

“I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not
lived wholly in vain,” he remarked. “If my record were closed
to-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of
London is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I
am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side.
Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished
by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our
artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs will
draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by
the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable
criminal in Europe.”

I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for
me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell,
and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no
detail.

It was on the 3rd of May that we reached the little village of
Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by
Peter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and
spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter
at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon
of the 4th we set off together, with the intention of crossing
the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui. We
had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls
of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without
making a small détour to see them.

It is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the
melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the
spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft
into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by
glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming,
boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots
the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green
water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of
spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their
constant whirl and clamour. We stood near the edge peering down
at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black
rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming
up with the spray out of the abyss.

The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a
complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to
return as he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss
lad come running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the
mark of the hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me
by the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of
our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last
stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was
journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden
hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could
hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to
her to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc.
The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself
look upon my compliance as a very great favour, since the lady
absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but
feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.

The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible
to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange
land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally
agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messenger
with him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. My
friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and
would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to
rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with
his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the
rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to
see of him in this world.

When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was
impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see
the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and
leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking very
rapidly.

I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green
behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked but
he passed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.

It may have been a little over an hour before I reached
Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.

“Well,” said I, as I came hurrying up, “I trust that she is no
worse?”

A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver
of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.

“You did not write this?” I said, pulling the letter from my
pocket. “There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?”

“Certainly not!” he cried. “But it has the hotel mark upon it!
Ha, it must have been written by that tall Englishman who came in
after you had gone. He said—”

But I waited for none of the landlord’s explanations. In a tingle
of fear I was already running down the village street, and making
for the path which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an
hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had passed before
I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. There was
Holmes’s Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which I
had left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was in vain
that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in
a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.

It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and
sick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that
three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on
the other, until his enemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had
gone too. He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty, and had
left the two men together. And then what had happened? Who was to
tell us what had happened then?

I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed
with the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes’s
own methods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy.
It was, alas, only too easy to do. During our conversation we had
not gone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock marked the
place where we had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft
by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread
upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the
farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were
none returning. A few yards from the end the soil was all
ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which
fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face
and peered over with the spray spouting up all around me. It had
darkened since I left, and now I could only see here and there
the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far away
down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I
shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the fall was borne
back to my ears.

But it was destined that I should after all have a last word of
greeting from my friend and comrade. I have said that his
Alpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted on
to the path. From the top of this boulder the gleam of something
bright caught my eye, and, raising my hand, I found that it came
from the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. As I took
it up a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered
down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of
three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It was
characteristic of the man that the direction was a precise, and
the writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in
his study.

“My dear Watson,” he said, “I write these few lines through the
courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final
discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been
giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English
police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly
confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his
abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free
society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear
that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and
especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to
you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis,
and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to
me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I
was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax,
and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion
that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector
Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are
in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed
‘Moriarty.’ I made every disposition of my property before
leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give
my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear
fellow,

“Very sincerely yours,
“Sherlock Holmes.”

A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An
examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal
contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end
in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each
other’s arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely
hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful caldron of
swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most
dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their
generation. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can
be no doubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty
kept in his employ. As to the gang, it will be within the memory
of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had
accumulated exposed their organization, and how heavily the hand
of the dead man weighed upon them. Of their terrible chief few
details came out during the proceedings, and if I have now been
compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to
those injudicious champions who have endeavoured to clear his
memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best
and the wisest man whom I have ever known.