"time." Then they had hurried off in the manner described. It was
just half-past ten by the hall clock.
"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "You
are the day porter, are you not?"
"Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven."
"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?"
"No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No one else."
"Were you on duty all day yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?"
"Yes, sir; one telegram."
"Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?"
"About six."
"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?"
"Here in his room."
"Were you present when he opened it?"
"Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an answer."
"Well, was there?"
"Yes, sir. He wrote an answer."
"Did you take it?"
"No; he took it himself."
"But he wrote it in your presence?"
"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned at
that table. When he had written it he said, 'All right, porter, I
will take this myself.'"
"What did he write it with?"
"A pen, sir."
"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?"
"Yes, sir; it was the top one."
Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them over to the window and
carefully examined that which was uppermost.
"It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them
down again with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have no doubt
frequently observed, Watson, the impression usually goes through--a
fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find
no trace here. I rejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a
broad-pointed quill pen, and I can hardly doubt that we will find
some impression upon this blotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the
very thing!"
He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us the
following hieroglyphic:
ekas sdoG rof su yb dnatS
Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to the glass!" he cried.
"That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The paper is thin, and the
reverse will give the message. Here it is." He turned it over and we
read:
Stand by us for Gods sake
"So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Staunton
dispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at
least six words of the message which have escaped us; but what
remains--'Stand by us for God's sake!'--proves that this young man
saw a formidable danger which approached him, and from which someone
else could protect him. 'Us,' mark you! Another person was involved.
Who should it be but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself
in so nervous a state? What, then, is the connection between Godfrey
Staunton and the bearded man? And what is the third source from which
each of them sought for help against pressing danger? Our inquiry has
already narrowed down to that."
"We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," I
suggested.
"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, had
already crossed my mind. But I dare say it may have come to your
notice that if you walk into a post-office and demand to see the
counterfoil of another man's message there may be some disinclination
on the part of the officials to oblige you. There is so much red tape
in these matters! However, I have no doubt that with a little
delicacy and finesse the end may be attained. Meanwhile, I should
like in your presence, Mr. Overton, to go through these papers which
have been left upon the table."
There were a number of letters, bills, and note-books, which Holmes
turned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting,
penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "By the way, I
suppose your friend was a healthy young fellow--nothing amiss with
him?"
"Sound as a bell."
"Have you ever known him ill?"
"Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped his
knee-cap, but that was nothing."
"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he may
have had some secret trouble. With your assent I will put one or two
of these papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our
future inquiry."
"One moment! one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we looked up
to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway.
He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad brimmed top-hat and
a loose white necktie--the whole effect being that of a very rustic
parson or of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and
even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner
a quick intensity which commanded attention.
"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman's
papers?" he asked.
"I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain his
disappearance."
"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?"
"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was referred to me by
Scotland Yard."
"Who are you, sir?"
"I am Cyril Overton."
"Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James.
I came round as quickly as the Bayswater 'bus would bring me. So you
have instructed a detective?"
"Yes, sir."
"And are you prepared to meet the cost?"
"I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, will
be prepared to do that."
"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!"
"In that case no doubt his family--"
"Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "Don't look to
me for a penny--not a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am
all the family that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am
not responsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact
that I have never wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do
so now. As to those papers with which you are making so free, I may
tell you that in case there should be anything of any value among
them you will be held strictly to account for what you do with them."
"Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May I ask in the meanwhile
whether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man's
disappearance?"
"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look after
himself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself I entirely refuse
to accept the responsibility of hunting for him."
"I quite understand your position," said Holmes, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't quite understand mine.
Godfrey Staunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been
kidnapped it could not have been for anything which he himself
possesses. The fame of your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James,
and it is entirely possible that a gang of thieves have secured your
nephew in order to gain from him some information as to your house,
your habits, and your treasure."
The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his
neckcloth.
"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! What
inhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad--a
staunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away.
I'll have the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the
meantime spare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone
unturned to bring him safely back. As to money, well, so far as a
fiver, or even a tenner, goes, you can always look to me."
Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble miser could give us no
information which could help us, for he knew little of the private
life of his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and
with a copy of this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second
link for his chain. We had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton
had gone to consult with the other members of his team over the
misfortune which had befallen them.
There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. We
halted outside it.
"It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of course, with a warrant
we could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached that
stage yet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place.
Let us venture it."
"I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, to the
young woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistake about a
telegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fear
that I must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me
if this was so?"
The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.
"What o'clock was it?" she asked.
"A little after six."
"Whom was it to?"
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "The last words
in it were 'for God's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially; "I am
very anxious at getting no answer."
The young woman separated one of the forms.
"This is it. There is no name," said she, smoothing it out upon the
counter.
"Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer," said
Holmes. "Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good morning,
miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind." He chuckled and
rubbed his hands when we found ourselves in the street once more.
"Well?" I asked.
"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven different
schemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly
hope to succeed the very first time."
"And what have you gained?"
"A starting-point for our investigation." He hailed a cab. "King's
Cross Station," said he.
"We have a journey, then?"
"Yes; I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All the
indications seem to me to point in that direction."
"Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn Road, "have you any
suspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don't think
that among all our cases I have known one where the motives are more
obscure. Surely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped in
order to give information against his wealthy uncle?"
"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a very
probable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which
was most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person."
"It certainly did that. But what are your alternatives?"
"I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious and
suggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this
important match, and should involve the only man whose presence seems
essential to the success of the side. It may, of course, be
coincidence, but it is interesting. Amateur sport is free from
betting, but a good deal of outside betting goes on among the public,
and it is possible that it might be worth someone's while to get at a
player as the ruffians of the turf get at a race-horse. There is one
explanation. A second very obvious one is that this young man really
is the heir of a great property, however modest his means may at
present be, and it is not impossible that a plot to hold him for
ransom might be concocted."
"These theories take no account of the telegram."
"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thing
with which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention to
wander away from it. It is to gain light upon the purpose of this
telegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of our
investigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much
surprised if before evening we have not cleared it up or made a
considerable advance along it."
It was already dark when we reached the old University city. Holmes
took a cab at the station, and ordered the man to drive to the house
of Dr. Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later we had stopped at a
large mansion in the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and
after a long wait were at last admitted into the consulting-room,
where we found the doctor seated behind his table.
It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession
that the name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware
that he is not only one of the heads of the medical school of the
University, but a thinker of European reputation in more than one
branch of science. Yet even without knowing his brilliant record one
could not fail to be impressed by a mere glance at the man, the
