The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

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