The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
“‘Wandsworth Common,’ said he.
“‘Can I get a train into town?’
“‘If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,’ said he,
‘you’ll just be in time for the last to Victoria.’
“So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know
where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have
told you. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want
to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr.
Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police.”
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to
this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his
brother.
“Any steps?” he asked.
Mycroft picked up the _Daily News_, which was lying on the
side-table.
“‘Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of a Greek
gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to
speak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one
giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy.
X 2473.’ That was in all the dailies. No answer.”
“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 armchair.
“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 terrorise 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