The Return of Sherlock Holmes
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 somebody 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 misfortune.
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 occurred 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