


      The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made
      memorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the
      privilege of being associated with Sherlock Holmes and of
      studying his methods. I find them recorded in my notes under the
      headings of “The Adventure of the Second Stain,” “The Adventure
      of the Naval Treaty,” and “The Adventure of the Tired Captain.”
      The first of these, however, deals with interest of such
      importance and implicates so many of the first families in the
      kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it
      public. No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever
      illustrated the value of his analytical methods so clearly or has
      impressed those who were associated with him so deeply. I still
      retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which he
      demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubuque of
      the Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known
      specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies
      upon what proved to be side-issues. The new century will have
      come, however, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile I
      pass on to the second on my list, which promised also at one time
      to be of national importance, and was marked by several incidents
      which give it a quite unique character.

      During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a lad
      named Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself,
      though he was two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant
      boy, and carried away every prize which the school had to offer,
      finished his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on
      to continue his triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I
      remember, extremely well connected, and even when we were all
      little boys together we knew that his mother’s brother was Lord
      Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gaudy
      relationship did him little good at school. On the contrary, it
      seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the
      playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket. But it was
      another thing when he came out into the world. I heard vaguely
      that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had won
      him a good position at the Foreign Office, and then he passed
      completely out of my mind until the following letter recalled his
      existence:

      Briarbrae, Woking.
          My dear Watson,—I have no doubt that you can remember
          “Tadpole” Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in
          the third. It is possible even that you may have heard that
          through my uncle’s influence I obtained a good appointment at
          the Foreign Office, and that I was in a situation of trust
          and honour until a horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast
          my career.
          There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful
          event. In the event of your acceding to my request it is
          probable that I shall have to narrate them to you. I have
          only just recovered from nine weeks of brain-fever, and am
          still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could bring
          your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have
          his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me
          that nothing more can be done. Do try to bring him down, and
          as soon as possible. Every minute seems an hour while I live
          in this state of horrible suspense. Assure him that if I have
          not asked his advice sooner it was not because I did not
          appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head
          ever since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare
          not think of it too much for fear of a relapse. I am still so
          weak that I have to write, as you see, by dictating. Do try
          to bring him.

      Your old schoolfellow,
      Percy Phelps.

      There was something that touched me as I read this letter,
      something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So
      moved was I that even had it been a difficult matter I should
      have tried it, but of course I knew well that Holmes loved his
      art, so that he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client
      could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a moment
      should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so within an
      hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old
      rooms in Baker Street.

      Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown,
      and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved
      retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen
      burner, and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre
      measure. My friend hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing
      that his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in an
      armchair and waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing
      out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally
      brought a test-tube containing a solution over to the table. In
      his right hand he held a slip of litmus-paper.

      “You come at a crisis, Watson,” said he. “If this paper remains
      blue, all is well. If it turns red, it means a man’s life.” He
      dipped it into the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull,
      dirty crimson. “Hum! I thought as much!” he cried. “I will be at
      your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the
      Persian slipper.” He turned to his desk and scribbled off several
      telegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy. Then he threw
      himself down into the chair opposite, and drew up his knees until
      his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.

      “A very commonplace little murder,” said he. “You’ve got
      something better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime,
      Watson. What is it?”

      I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated
      attention.

      “It does not tell us very much, does it?” he remarked, as he
      handed it back to me.

      “Hardly anything.”

      “And yet the writing is of interest.”

      “But the writing is not his own.”

      “Precisely. It is a woman’s.”

      “A man’s surely,” I cried.

      “No, a woman’s, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the
      commencement of an investigation it is something to know that
      your client is in close contact with some one who, for good or
      evil, has an exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened
      in the case. If you are ready we will start at once for Woking,
      and see this diplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady
      to whom he dictates his letters.”

      We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and
      in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods
      and the heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large
      detached house standing in extensive grounds within a few
      minutes’ walk of the station. On sending in our cards we were
      shown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where we were
      joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received us
      with much hospitality. His age may have been nearer forty than
      thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that
      he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy.

      “I am so glad that you have come,” said he, shaking our hands
      with effusion. “Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah,
      poor old chap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother
      asked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is very
      painful to them.”

      “We have had no details yet,” observed Holmes. “I perceive that
      you are not yourself a member of the family.”

      Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he
      began to laugh.

      “Of course you saw the ‘J.H.’ monogram on my locket,” said he.
      “For a moment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph
      Harrison is my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I
      shall at least be a relation by marriage. You will find my sister
      in his room, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this two months
      back. Perhaps we’d better go in at once, for I know how impatient
      he is.”

      The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the
      drawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as
      a bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and
      corner. A young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa
      near the open window, through which came the rich scent of the
      garden and the balmy summer air. A woman was sitting beside him,
      who rose as we entered.

      “Shall I leave, Percy?” she asked.

      He clutched her hand to detain her. “How are you, Watson?” said
      he, cordially. “I should never have known you under that
      moustache, and I daresay you would not be prepared to swear to
      me. This I presume is your celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock
      Holmes?”

      I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stout
      young man had left us, but his sister still remained with her
      hand in that of the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a
      little short and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive
      complexion, large, dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep black
      hair. Her rich tints made the white face of her companion the
      more worn and haggard by the contrast.

      “I won’t waste your time,” said he, raising himself upon the
      sofa. “I’ll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I
      was a happy and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of
      being married, when a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all
      my prospects in life.

      “I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, and
      through the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose
      rapidly to a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign
      minister in this administration he gave me several missions of
      trust, and as I always brought them to a successful conclusion,
      he came at last to have the utmost confidence in my ability and
      tact.

      “Nearly ten weeks ago—to be more accurate, on the 23rd of May—he
      called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me on
      the good work which I had done, he informed me that he had a new
      commission of trust for me to execute.

      “‘This,’ said he, taking a grey roll of paper from his bureau,
      ‘is the original of that secret treaty between England and Italy
      of which, I regret to say, some rumours have already got into the
      public press. It is of enormous importance that nothing further
      should leak out. The French or the Russian embassy would pay an
      immense sum to learn the contents of these papers. They should
      not leave my bureau were it not that it is absolutely necessary
      to have them copied. You have a desk in your office?’

      “‘Yes, sir.’

      “‘Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give
      directions that you may remain behind when the others go, so that
      you may copy it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked.
      When you have finished, relock both the original and the draft in
      the desk, and hand them over to me personally to-morrow morning.’

      “I took the papers and—”

      “Excuse me an instant,” said Holmes. “Were you alone during this
      conversation?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “In a large room?”

      “Thirty feet each way.”

      “In the centre?”

      “Yes, about it.”

      “And speaking low?”

      “My uncle’s voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at
      all.”

      “Thank you,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes; “pray go on.”

      “I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other
      clerks had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had
      some arrears of work to make up, so I left him there and went out
      to dine. When I returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my
      work, for I knew that Joseph—the Mr. Harrison whom you saw just
      now—was in town, and that he would travel down to Woking by the
      eleven o’clock train, and I wanted if possible to catch it.

      “When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of
      such importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration
      in what he had said. Without going into details, I may say that
      it defined the position of Great Britain towards the Triple
      Alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy which this country would
      pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining a complete
      ascendancy over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. The questions
      treated in it were purely naval. At the end were the signatures
      of the high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes over
      it, and then settled down to my task of copying.

      “It was a long document, written in the French language, and
      containing twenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I
      could, but at nine o’clock I had only done nine articles, and it
      seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. I was
      feeling drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from
      the effects of a long day’s work. A cup of coffee would clear my
      brain. A commissionnaire remains all night in a little lodge at
      the foot of the stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at
      his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working over
      time. I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.

      “To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a
      large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained
      that she was the commissionnaire’s wife, who did the charing, and
      I gave her the order for the coffee.

      “I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than
      ever, I rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs.
      My coffee had not yet come, and I wondered what the cause of the
      delay could be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor to
      find out. There was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which led
      from the room in which I had been working, and was the only exit
      from it. It ended in a curving staircase, with the
      commissionnaire’s lodge in the passage at the bottom. Half-way
      down this staircase is a small landing, with another passage
      running into it at right angles. This second one leads by means
      of a second small stair to a side door, used by servants, and
      also as a short cut by clerks when coming from Charles Street.
      Here is a rough chart of the place.”

rough chart

      “Thank you. I think that I quite follow you,” said Sherlock
      Holmes.

      “It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this
      point. I went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found
      the commissionnaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle
      boiling furiously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and
      blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor.
      Then I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who was
      still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly,
      and he woke with a start.

      “‘Mr. Phelps, sir!’ said he, looking at me in bewilderment.

      “‘I came down to see if my coffee was ready.’

      “‘I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.’ He looked at
      me and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing
      astonishment upon his face.

      “‘If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?’ he asked.

      “‘The bell!’ I cried. ‘What bell is it?’

      “‘It’s the bell of the room you were working in.’

      “A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, was
      in that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran
      frantically up the stairs and along the passage. There was no one
      in the corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All
      was exactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had
      been committed to my care had been taken from the desk on which
      they lay. The copy was there, and the original was gone.”

      Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that
      the problem was entirely to his heart. “Pray, what did you do
      then?” he murmured.

      “I recognised in an instant that the thief must have come up the
      stairs from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he
      had come the other way.”

      “You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the
      room all the time, or in the corridor which you have just
      described as dimly lighted?”

      “It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself
      either in the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all.”

      “Thank you. Pray proceed.”

      “The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that something was
      to be feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along
      the corridor and down the steep steps which led to Charles
      Street. The door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung
      it open and rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did
      so there came three chimes from a neighbouring clock. It was
      quarter to ten.”

      “That is of enormous importance,” said Holmes, making a note upon
      his shirt-cuff.

      “The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling.
      There was no one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going
      on, as usual, in Whitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the
      pavement, bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found
      a policeman standing.

      “‘A robbery has been committed,’ I gasped. ‘A document of immense
      value has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any one passed
      this way?’

      “‘I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,’ said
      he; ‘only one person has passed during that time—a woman, tall
      and elderly, with a Paisley shawl.’

      “‘Ah, that is only my wife,’ cried the commissionnaire; ‘has no
      one else passed?’

      “‘No one.’

      “‘Then it must be the other way that the thief took,’ cried the
      fellow, tugging at my sleeve.

      “‘But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw
      me away increased my suspicions.

      “‘Which way did the woman go?’ I cried.

      “‘I don’t know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special
      reason for watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.’

      “‘How long ago was it?’

      “‘Oh, not very many minutes.’

      “‘Within the last five?’

      “‘Well, it could not be more than five.’

      “‘You’re only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of
      importance,’ cried the commissionnaire; ‘take my word for it that
      my old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the
      other end of the street. Well, if you won’t, I will.’ And with
      that he rushed off in the other direction.

      “But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve.

      “‘Where do you live?’ said I.

      “‘16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,’ he answered. ‘But don’t let yourself be
      drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end
      of the street and let us see if we can hear of anything.’

      “Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the
      policeman we both hurried down, but only to find the street full
      of traffic, many people coming and going, but all only too eager
      to get to a place of safety upon so wet a night. There was no
      lounger who could tell us who had passed.

      “Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the
      passage without result. The corridor which led to the room was
      laid down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an
      impression very easily. We examined it very carefully, but found
      no outline of any footmark.”

      “Had it been raining all evening?”

      “Since about seven.”

      “How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about
      nine left no traces with her muddy boots?”

      “I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time.
      The charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the
      commissionnaire’s office, and putting on list slippers.”

      “That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night
      was a wet one? The chain of events is certainly one of
      extraordinary interest. What did you do next?

      “We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret
      door, and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both
      of them were fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any
      possibility of a trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary
      whitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that whoever stole my
      papers could only have come through the door.”

      “How about the fireplace?”

      “They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the
      wire just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come
      right up to the desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish
      to ring the bell? It is a most insoluble mystery.”

      “Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps?
      You examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left
      any traces—any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other
      trifle?”

      “There was nothing of the sort.”

      “No smell?”

      “Well, we never thought of that.”

      “Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us
      in such an investigation.”

      “I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if
      there had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue
      of any kind. The only tangible fact was that the
      commissionnaire’s wife—Mrs. Tangey was the name—had hurried out
      of the place. He could give no explanation save that it was about
      the time when the woman always went home. The policeman and I
      agreed that our best plan would be to seize the woman before she
      could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them.

      “The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr.
      Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case
      with a great deal of energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an
      hour we were at the address which had been given to us. A young
      woman opened the door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey’s eldest
      daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown
      into the front room to wait.

      “About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we
      made the one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of
      opening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We
      heard her say, ‘Mother, there are two men in the house waiting to
      see you,’ and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet
      rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the door, and we both
      ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman had got there
      before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly
      recognising me, an expression of absolute astonishment came over
      her face.

      “‘Why, if it isn’t Mr. Phelps, of the office!’ she cried.

      “‘Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from
      us?’ asked my companion.

      “‘I thought you were the brokers,’ said she, ‘we have had some
      trouble with a tradesman.’

      “‘That’s not quite good enough,’ answered Forbes. ‘We have reason
      to believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the
      Foreign Office, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You
      must come back with us to Scotland Yard to be searched.’

      “It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler
      was brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made
      an examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen
      fire, to see whether she might have made away with the papers
      during the instant that she was alone. There were no signs,
      however, of any ashes or scraps. When we reached Scotland Yard
      she was handed over at once to the female searcher. I waited in
      an agony of suspense until she came back with her report. There
      were no signs of the papers.

      “Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its
      full force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed
      thought. I had been so confident of regaining the treaty at once
      that I had not dared to think of what would be the consequence if
      I failed to do so. But now there was nothing more to be done, and
      I had leisure to realize my position. It was horrible. Watson
      there would tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive boy at
      school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle and of his
      colleagues in the Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon
      him, upon myself, upon every one connected with me. What though I
      was the victim of an extraordinary accident? No allowance is made
      for accidents where diplomatic interests are at stake. I was
      ruined, shamefully, hopelessly ruined. I don’t know what I did. I
      fancy I must have made a scene. I have a dim recollection of a
      group of officials who crowded round me, endeavouring to soothe
      me. One of them drove down with me to Waterloo, and saw me into
      the Woking train. I believe that he would have come all the way
      had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was going
      down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of
      me, and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station,
      and before we reached home I was practically a raving maniac.

      “You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused
      from their beds by the doctor’s ringing and found me in this
      condition. Poor Annie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr.
      Ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the station
      to be able to give an idea of what had happened, and his story
      did not mend matters. It was evident to all that I was in for a
      long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom,
      and it was turned into a sick-room for me. Here I have lain, Mr.
      Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with
      brain-fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for
      the doctor’s care I should not be speaking to you now. She has
      nursed me by day and a hired nurse has looked after me by night,
      for in my mad fits I was capable of anything. Slowly my reason
      has cleared, but it is only during the last three days that my
      memory has quite returned. Sometimes I wish that it never had.
      The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the
      case in hand. He came out, and assures me that, though everything
      has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered. The
      commissionnaire and his wife have been examined in every way
      without any light being thrown upon the matter. The suspicions of
      the police then rested upon young Gorot, who, as you may
      remember, stayed over time in the office that night. His
      remaining behind and his French name were really the only two
      points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, I
      did not begin work until he had gone, and his people are of
      Huguenot extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as
      you and I are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and
      there the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as
      absolutely my last hope. If you fail me, then my honour as well
      as my position are forever forfeited.”

      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. 
