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.'
"I took the papers and--"
"Excuse me an instant," said Holmes. "Were you alone
during this conversation?"
"Absolutely."
"In a large room?"
"Thirty feet each way."
"In the centre?"
"Yes, about it."
"And speaking low?"
"My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly
spoke at all."
"Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go
on."
"I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the
other clerks had departed.
One of them in my room,
Charles Gorot, had some arrears of work to make up, so
I left him there and went out to dine. When I
returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work,
for I knew that Joseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw
just now--was in town, and that he would travel down
to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if
possible to catch it.
"When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that
it was of such importance that my uncle had been
guilty of no exaggeration in what he had said.
Without going into details, I may say that it defined
the position of Great Britain towards the Triple
Alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy which this
country would pursue in the event of the French fleet
gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy in
the Mediterranean. The questions treated in it were
purely naval. At the end were the signatures of the
high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes
over it, and then settled down to my task of copying.
"It was a long document, written in the French
language, and containing twenty-six separate articles.
I copied as quickly as I could, but at nine o'clock I
had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless
for me to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling
drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from
the effects of a long day's work. A cup of coffee
would clear my brain. A commissionnaire remains all
night in a little lodge at the foot of the stairs, and
is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lamp
for any of the officials who may be working over time.
I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.
"To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the
summons, a large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an
apron. She explained that she was the
commissionnaire's wife, who did the charing, and I
gave her the order for the coffee.
"I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more
drowsy than ever, I rose and walked up and down the
room to stretch my legs. My coffee had not yet come,
and I wondered what was the cause of the delay could
be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor to
find out. There was a straight passage, dimly
lighted, which led from the room in which I had been
working, and was the only exit from it. It ended in a
curving staircase, with the commissionnaire's lodge in
the passage at the bottom. Half way down this
staircase is a small landing, with another passage
running into it at right angles. This second one
leads by means of a second small stair to a side door,
used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks
when coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough
chart of the place."
"Thank you. I think that I quite follow you," said
Sherlock Holmes.
"It is of the utmost importance that you should notice
this point. I went down the stairs and into the hall,
where I found the commissionnaire fast asleep in his
box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the
spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew out the
lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then
I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who
was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head
rang loudly, and he woke with a start.
"'Mr. Phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in
bewilderment.
"'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.'
"'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.'
He looked at me and then up at the still quivering
bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon his face.
"'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he
asked.
"'The bell!' I cried. 'What bell is it?'
"'It's the bell of the room you were working in.'
"A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some
one, then, was in that room where my precious treaty
lay upon the table. I ran frantically up the stair
and along the passage. There was no one in the
corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room.
All was exactly as I left it, save only that the
papers which had been committed to my care had been
taken from the desk on which they lay. The copy was
there, and the original was gone."
Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I
could see that the problem was entirely to his heart.
"Pray, what did you do then?" he murmured.
"I recognized in an instant that the thief must have
come up the stairs from the side door. Of course I
must have met him if he had come the other way."
"You were satisfied that he could not have been
concealed in the room all the time, or in the corridor
which you have just described as dimly lighted?"
"It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal
himself either in the room or the corridor. There is
no cover at all."
"Thank you. Pray proceed."
"The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that
something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs.
Now we both rushed along the corridor and down the
steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at
the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open
and rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we
did so there came three chines from a neighboring
clock. It was quarter to ten."
"That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making
a note upon his shirt-cuff.
"The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was
falling. There was no one in Charles Street, but a
great traffic was going on, as usual, in Whitehall, at
the extremity. We rushed along the pavement,
bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found
a policeman standing.
"'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped. 'A
document of immense value has been stolen from the
Foreign Office. Has any one passed this way?'
"'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour,
sir,' said he; 'only one person has passed during that
time--a woman, tall and elderly, with a Paisley
shawl.'
"'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the
commissionnaire; 'has no one else passed?'
"'No one.'
"'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,'
cried the fellow, tugging at my sleeve.
"'But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he
made to draw me away increased my suspicions.
"'Which way did the woman go?' I cried.
"'I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no
special reason for watching her. She seemed to be in
a hurry.'
"'How long ago was it?'
"'Oh, not very many minutes.'
"'Within the last vie?'
"'Well, it could not be more than five.'
"'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute
now is of importance,' cried the commissionnaire;
'take my word for
it that my old woman has nothing to
do with it, and come down to the other end of the
street. Well, if you won't, I will.' And with that
he rushed off in the other direction.
"But I was after him in an instant and caught him by
the sleeve.
"'Where do you live?' said I.
"'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered. 'But don't let
yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps.
Come to the other end of the street and let us see if
we can hear of anything.'
"Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With
the policeman we both hurried down, but only to find
the street full of traffic, many people coming and
going, but all only too eager to get to a place of
safety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who
could tell us who had passed.
"Then we returned to the office, and searched the
stairs and the passage without result. The corridor
which led to the room was laid down with a kind of
creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily.
We examined it very carefully, but found no outline of
any footmark."
"Had it been raining all evening?"
"Since about seven."
"How is it, then, that the woman who came into the
room about nine left no traces with her muddy boots?"
"I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at
the time. The charwomen are in the habit of taking
off their boots at the commissionnaire's office, and
putting on list slippers."
"That is very clear. There were no marks, then,
though the night was a wet one? The chain of events
is certainly one of extraordinary interest. What did
you do next?
"We examined the room also. There is no possibility
of a secret door, and the windows are quite thirty
feet from the ground. Both of them were fastened on
the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a
trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary
whitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that whoever
stole my papers could only have come through the
door."
"How about the fireplace?"
"They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope
hangs from the wire just to the right of my desk.
Whoever rang it must have come right up to the desk to
do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the
bell? It is a most insoluble mystery."
""Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your
next steps? You examined the room, I presume, to see
if the intruder had left any traces--any cigar-end or
dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?"
"There was nothing of the sort."
"No smell?"
"Well, we never thought of that."
"Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great
deal to us in such an investigation."
"I never smoke myself, so I think I should have
observed it if there had been any smell of tobacco.
There was absolutely no clue of any kind. The only
tangible fact was that the commissionnaire's wife-Mrs.
Tangey was the name--had hurried our of the place. He
could give no explanation save that it was about the
time when the woman always went home. The policeman
and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the
woman before she could get rid of the papers,
presuming that she had them.
"The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and
Mr. Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took
up the case with a great deal of energy. We hire a
hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address
which had been given to us. A young woman opened the
door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter.
Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown
into the front room to wait.
"About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and
here we made the one serious mistake for which I blame
myself. Instead of opening the door ourselves, we
allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, 'Mother,
there are two men in the house waiting to see you,'
and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet
rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the door,
and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the
woman had got there before us. She stared at us with