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