His last bow Some later reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
“We have just come from his house.”
“The place is disorganised. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our
papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, we
were as efficient an office as any in the government service. Good God,
it’s dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such
a thing!”
“You are sure of his guilt, then?”
“I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted him as
I trust myself.”
“At what hour was the office closed on Monday?”
“At five.”
“Did you close it?”
“I am always the last man out.”
“Where were the plans?”
“In that safe. I put them there myself.”
“Is there no watchman to the building?”
“There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. He is an
old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Of
course the fog was very thick.”
“Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the building
after hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before he could
reach the papers?”
“Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the office, and
the key of the safe.”
“Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?”
“I had no keys of the doors—only of the safe.”
“Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?”
“Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those three keys are
concerned he kept them on the same ring. I have often seen them there.”
“And that ring went with him to London?”
“He said so.”
“And your key never left your possession?”
“Never.”
“Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate. And yet
none was found upon his body. One other point: if a clerk in this
office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simpler to copy the
plans for himself than to take the originals, as was actually done?”
“It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in an
effective way.”
“But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West has that technical
knowledge?”
“No doubt we had, but I beg you won’t try to drag me into the matter,
Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in this way when the
original plans were actually found on West?”
“Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of taking
originals if he could safely have taken copies, which would have
equally served his turn.”
“Singular, no doubt—and yet he did so.”
“Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. Now there
are three papers still missing. They are, as I understand, the vital
ones.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“Do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers, and without
the seven others, could construct a Bruce-Partington submarine?”
“I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I have been
over the drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. The double valves
with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers
which have been returned. Until the foreigners had invented that for
themselves they could not make the boat. Of course they might soon get
over the difficulty.”
“But the three missing drawings are the most important?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll round the
premises. I do not recall any other question which I desired to ask.”
He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and finally the
iron shutters of the window. It was only when we were on the lawn
outside that his interest was strongly excited. There was a laurel bush
outside the window, and several of the branches bore signs of having
been twisted or snapped. He examined them carefully with his lens, and
then some dim and vague marks upon the earth beneath. Finally he asked
the chief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me
that they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for
anyone outside to see what was going on within the room.
“The indications are ruined by three days’ delay. They may mean
something or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think that Woolwich can
help us further. It is a small crop which we have gathered. Let us see
if we can do better in London.”
Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left Woolwich
Station. The clerk in the ticket office was able to say with confidence
that he saw Cadogan West—whom he knew well by sight—upon the Monday
night, and that he went to London by the 8:15 to London Bridge. He was
alone and took a single third-class ticket. The clerk was struck at the
time by his excited and nervous manner. So shaky was he that he could
hardly pick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it. A
reference to the timetable showed that the 8:15 was the first train
which it was possible for West to take after he had left the lady about
7:30.
“Let us reconstruct, Watson,” said Holmes after half an hour of
silence. “I am not aware that in all our joint researches we have ever
had a case which was more difficult to get at. Every fresh advance
which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond. And yet we have surely
made some appreciable progress.
“The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main been against
young Cadogan West; but the indications at the window would lend
themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us suppose, for
example, that he had been approached by some foreign agent. It might
have been done under such pledges as would have prevented him from
speaking of it, and yet would have affected his thoughts in the
direction indicated by his remarks to his fiancée. Very good. We will
now suppose that as he went to the theatre with the young lady he
suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of this same agent going in the
direction of the office. He was an impetuous man, quick in his
decisions. Everything gave way to his duty. He followed the man,
reached the window, saw the abstraction of the documents, and pursued
the thief. In this way we get over the objection that no one would take
originals when he could make copies. This outsider had to take
originals. So far it holds together.”
“What is the next step?”
“Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that under such
circumstances the first act of young Cadogan West would be to seize the
villain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so? Could it have been
an official superior who took the papers? That would explain West’s
conduct. Or could the chief have given West the slip in the fog, and
West started at once to London to head him off from his own rooms,
presuming that he knew where the rooms were? The call must have been
very pressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no
effort to communicate with her. Our scent runs cold here, and there is
a vast gap between either hypothesis and the laying of West’s body,
with seven papers in his pocket, on the roof of a Metropolitan train.
My instinct now is to work from the other end. If Mycroft has given us
the list of addresses we may be able to pick our man and follow two
tracks instead of one.”
Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A government
messenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threw it
over to me.
There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so big an
affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph Mayer, of 13, Great
George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothière, of Campden Mansions,
Notting Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13, Caulfield Gardens, Kensington.
The latter was known to be in town on Monday and is now reported as
having left. Glad to hear you have seen some light. The Cabinet awaits
your final report with the utmost anxiety. Urgent representations have
arrived from the very highest quarter. The whole force of the State is
at your back if you should need it.—Mycroft.
“I’m afraid,” said Holmes, smiling, “that all the Queen’s horses and
all the Queen’s men cannot avail in this matter.” He had spread out his
big map of London and leaned eagerly over it. “Well, well,” said he
presently with an exclamation of satisfaction, “things are turning a
little in our direction at last. Why, Watson, I do honestly believe
that we are going to pull it off, after all.” He slapped me on the
shoulder with a sudden burst of hilarity. “I am going out now. It is
only a reconnaissance. I will do nothing serious without my trusted
comrade and biographer at my elbow. Do you stay here, and the odds are
that you will see me again in an hour or two. If time hangs heavy get
foolscap and a pen, and begin your narrative of how we saved the
State.”
I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I knew well
that he would not depart so far from his usual austerity of demeanour
unless there was good cause for exultation. All the long November
evening I waited, filled with impatience for his return. At last,
shortly after nine o’clock, there arrived a messenger with a note:
Am dining at Goldini’s Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please
come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern,
a chisel, and a revolver.—S.H.
It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through the
dim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetly away in my
overcoat and drove straight to the address given. There sat my friend
at a little round table near the door of the garish Italian restaurant.
“Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee and curaçao.
Try one of the proprietor’s cigars. They are less poisonous than one
would expect. Have you the tools?”
“They are here, in my overcoat.”
“Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have done, with
some indication of what we are about to do. Now it must be evident to
you, Watson, that this young man’s body was _placed_ on the roof of the
train. That was clear from the instant that I determined the fact that
it was from the roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen.”
“Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?”
“I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs you will find
that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing round them.
Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cadogan West was placed on
it.”
“How could he be placed there?”
“That was the question which we had to answer. There is only one
possible way. You are aware that the Underground runs clear of tunnels
at some points in the West End. I had a vague memory that as I have
travelled by it I have occasionally seen windows just above my head.
Now, suppose that a train halted under such a window, would there be
any difficulty in laying a body upon the roof?”
“It seems most improbable.”
“We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies
fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Here all
other contingencies _have_ failed. When I found that the leading
international agent, who had just left London, lived in a row of houses
which abutted upon the Underground, I was so pleased that you were a
little astonished at my sudden frivolity.”
“Oh, that was it, was it?”
“Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13, Caulfield Gardens, had
become my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester Road Station,
where a very helpful official walked with me along the track and
allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows of
Caulfield Gardens open on the line but the even more essential fact
that, owing to the intersection of one of the larger railways, the
Underground trains are frequently held motionless for some minutes at
that very spot.”
“Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!”
“So far—so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well, having
seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front and satisfied
myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable house,