Books: Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle >> Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
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"How about the Greek Legation?"
"I have inquired. They know nothing."
"A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?"
"Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said
Mycroft, turning to me. "Well, you take the case up
by all means, and let me know if you do any good."
"Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his
chair. "I'll let you know, and Mr. Melas also. In
the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my
guard, if I were you, for of course they must know
through these advertisements that you have betrayed
them."
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a
telegraph office and sent off several wires.
"You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been
by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases
have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The
problem which we have just listened to, although it
can admit of but one explanation, has still some
distinguishing features."
"You have hopes of solving it?"
"Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular
indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must
yourself have formed some theory which will explain
the facts to which we have listened."
"In a vague way, yes."
"What was your idea, then?"
"It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl
had been carried off by the young Englishman named
Harold Latimer."
"Carried off from where?"
"Athens, perhaps."
Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could
not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English
fairly well. Inference--that she had been in England
some little time, but he had not been in Greece."
"Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a
visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded
her to fly with him."
"That is more probable."
"Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be the
relationship--comes over from Greece to interfere. He
imprudently puts himself into the power of the young
man and his older associate. They seize him and use
violence towards him in order to make him sign some
papers to make over the girl's fortune--of which he
may be trustee--to them. This he refuses to do. In
order to negotiate with him they have to get an
interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas,
having used some other one before. The girl is not
told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out
by the merest accident."
"Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy
that you are not far from the truth. You see that we
hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some
sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us
time we must have them."
"But how can we find where this house lies?"
"Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's
name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no
difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main
hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete
stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed
since this Harold established these relations with the
girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother in
Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If
they have been living in the same place during this
time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to
Mycroft's advertisement."
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had
been talking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as
he opened the door of our room he gave a start of
surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally
astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking
in the arm-chair.
"Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly,
smiling at our surprised faces. "You don't expect
such energy from me, do you, Sherlock? But somehow
this case attracts me."
"How did you get here?"
"I passed you in a hansom."
"There has been some new development?"
"I had an answer to my advertisement."
"Ah!"
"Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving."
"And to what effect?"
Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
"Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal
cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak
constitution. 'Sir,' he says, 'in answer to your
advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you
that I know the young lady in question very well. If
you should care to call upon me I could give you some
particulars as to her painful history. She is living
at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours
faithfully, J. Davenport.'
"He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes.
"Do you not think that we might drive to him now,
Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"
"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable
than the sister's story. I think we should call at
Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and go straight
out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to
death, and every hour may be vital."
"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested.
"We may need an interpreter."
"Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for
a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once." He
opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed
that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes,"
said he, in answer to my glance; "I should say from
what we have heard, that we are dealing with a
particularly dangerous gang."
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall
Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just
called for him, and he was gone.
"Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.
"I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened
the door; "I only know that he drove away with the
gentleman in a carriage."
"Did the gentleman give a name?"
"No, sir."
"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"
"Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with
glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his
ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was
talking."
"Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This
grows serious," he observed, as we drove to Scotland
Yard. "These men have got hold of Melas again. He is
a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware
from their experience the other night. This villain
was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into
his presence. No doubt they want his professional
services, but, having used him, they may be inclined
to punish him for what they will regard as his
treachery."
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to
Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. On
reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an
hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply
with the legal formalities which would enable us to
enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we
reached London Bridge, and half past before the four
of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of
half a mile brought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark
house standing back from the road in its own grounds.
Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the
drive together.
"The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector.
"The house seems deserted."
"Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes.
"Why do you say so?"
"A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out
during the last hour."
The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the
light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage
come in?"
"You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the
other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much
deeper--so much so that we can say for a certainty
that there was a very considerable weight on the
carriage."
"You get a trifle beyond me there," said the
inspector, shrugging his shoulder. "It will not be an
easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make
some one hear us."
He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the
bell, but without any success. Holmes had slipped
away, but he came back in a few minutes.
"I have a window open," said he.
"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force,
and not against it, Mr. Holmes," remarked the
inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my
friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that
under the circumstances we may enter without an
invitation."
One after the other we made our way into a large
apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas
had found himself. The inspector had lit his lantern,
and by its light we could see the two doors, the
curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he
had described them. On the table lay two glasses, and
empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.
"What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly.
We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound
was coming from somewhere over our heads. Holmes
rushed to the door and out into the hall. The dismal
noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector
and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed
as quickly as his great bulk would permit.
Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was
from the central of these that the sinister sounds
were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and
rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but
the key had been left on the outside. Holmes flung
open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in
an instant, with his hand to his throat."
"It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will
clear."
Peering in, we could see that the only light in the
room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from
a small brass tripod in the centre. It threw a livid,
unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows
beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which
crouched against the wall. From the open door there
reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us
gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the
stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing
into the room, he threw up the window and hurled the
brazen tripod out into the garden.
"We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out
again. "Where is a candle? I doubt if we could
strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at
the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"
With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged
them out into the well-lit hall. Both of them were
blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested
faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were
their features that, save for his black beard and
stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one
of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us
only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His
hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he
bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. The
other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a
tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several
strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque
pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we
laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at
least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however,
still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of
ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing
him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had
drawn him back from that dark valley in which all
paths meet.
It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one
which did but confirm our own deductions. His
visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a
life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed
him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that
he had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it
was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling
ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist,
for he could not speak of him save with trembling
hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken swiftly
to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second
interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which
the two Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with
instant death if he did not comply with their demands.
Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they
had hurled him back into his prison, and after
reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared
from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him
with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing
more until he found us bending over him.
And this was the singular case of the Grecian
Interpreter, the explanation of which is still
involved in some mystery. We were able to find out,
by communicating with the gentleman who had answered
the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady
came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had
been on a visit to some friends in England. While
there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer,
who had acquired an ascendancy over he and had
eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her
friends, shocked at the event, had contented
themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and
had then washed their hands of the matter. The
brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently
placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his
associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp--a man of the
foulest antecedents. These two, finding that through
his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their
hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by
cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own
and his sister's property. They had kept him in the
house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster
over the face had been for the purpose of making
recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a
glimpse of him. Her feminine perception, however, had
instantly seen through the disguise when, on the
occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him
for the first time. The poor girl, however, was
herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the
house except the man who acted as coachman, and his
wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators.
Finding that their secret was out, and that their
prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with
the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the
furnished house which they had hired, having first, as
they thought, taken vengeance both upon the man who
had defied and the one who had betrayed them.
Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached
us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who
had been traveling with a woman had met with a tragic
end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the
Hungarian police were of opinion that they had
quarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each
other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different
way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one
could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the
wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged.
Adventure X
The Naval Treaty
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 Dubugue 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 honor 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 probably 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 school-fellow,
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 arm-chair 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 dare say 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 23d
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 gray roll of paper from his
bureau, 'is the original of that secret treaty between
England and Italy of which, I regret to say, some
rumors 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.'
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