


      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.

      “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.






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