His last bow Some later reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things
were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going
wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of
some strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to
expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter.
It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of
excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago,
graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble
to the constabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of
a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man,
you will realise that the matter was complex. Since then I have been
honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans
going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I
watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I
hope that you are none the worse!”
The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much
gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes’s statement.
He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face
convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of
documents while his prisoner cursed and swore.
“Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages,” he
observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. “Hullo!
Hullo!” he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before
putting it in the box. “This should put another bird in the cage. I had
no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an
eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for.”
The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and
was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his
captor.
“I shall get level with you, Altamont,” he said, speaking with slow
deliberation. “If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!”
“The old sweet song,” said Holmes. “How often have I heard it in days
gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor
Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And
yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”
“Curse you, you double traitor!” cried the German, straining against
his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes.
“No, no, it is not so bad as that,” said Holmes, smiling. “As my speech
surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. I
used him and he is gone.”
“Then who are you?”
“It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to
interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first
acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal
of business in Germany in the past and my name is probably familiar to
you.”
“I would wish to know it,” said the Prussian grimly.
“It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and the
late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial Envoy.
It was I also who saved from murder, by the Nihilist Klopman, Count Von
und Zu Grafenstein, who was your mother’s elder brother. It was I—”
Von Bork sat up in amazement.
“There is only one man,” he cried.
“Exactly,” said Holmes.
Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. “And most of that
information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth? What have I
done? It is my ruin forever!”
“It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will require
some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may
find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers
perhaps a trifle faster.”
Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair.
“There are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt,
come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare
in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me no
ill-will when you realise that you, who have outwitted so many other
people, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done
your best for your country, and I have done my best for mine, and what
could be more natural? Besides,” he added, not unkindly, as he laid his
hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, “it is better than to fall
before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you
will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for
London at once.”
It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and a
desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him
very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proud
confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous
diplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle he
was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the
little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside him.
“I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit,” said
Holmes when the final arrangements were made. “Should I be guilty of a
liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?”
But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German.
“I suppose you realise, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said he, “that if your
government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war.”
“What about your government and all this treatment?” said Holmes,
tapping the valise.
“You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. The
whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous.”
“Absolutely,” said Holmes.
“Kidnapping a German subject.”
“And stealing his private papers.”
“Well, you realise your position, you and your accomplice here. If I
were to shout for help as we pass through the village—”
“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge
the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us ‘The Dangling
Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at
present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to
try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet,
sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend,
Baron Von Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place
which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you,
Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I understand, so
London won’t be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace,
for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have.”
The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes,
recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly
wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the car
Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.
“There’s an east wind coming, Watson.”
“I think not, Holmes. It is very warm.”
“Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age.
There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on
England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us
may wither before its blast. But it’s God’s own wind none the less, and
a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the
storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it’s time that we were on
our way. I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed
early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”