possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during
the very hours when we know that that drama was being enacted. The
odds are enormous against its being coincidence. No figures could
express them. No, my dear Watson, the two events are connected--must
be connected. It is for us to find the connection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. They
know--and shall know--nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we know of
both events, and can trace the relation between them. There is one
obvious point which would, in any case, have turned my suspicions
against Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westminster, is only a few minutes'
walk from Whitehall Terrace. The other secret agents whom I have
named live in the extreme West-end. It was easier, therefore, for
Lucas than for the others to establish a connection or receive a
message from the European Secretary's household--a small thing, and
yet where events are compressed into a few hours it may prove
essential. Halloa! what have we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver. Holmes
glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough to step
up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished that
morning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely
woman in London. I had often heard of the beauty of the youngest
daughter of the Duke of Belminster, but no description of it, and no
contemplation of colourless photographs, had prepared me for the
subtle, delicate charm and the beautiful colouring of that exquisite
head. And yet as we saw it that autumn morning, it was not its beauty
which would be the first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was
lovely, but it was paled with emotion; the eyes were bright, but it
was the brightness of fever; the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn
in an effort after self-command. Terror--not beauty--was what sprang
first to the eye as our fair visitor stood framed for an instant in
the open door.
"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, madam, he has been here."
"Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came here." Holmes
bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg that you
will sit down and tell me what you desire; but I fear that I cannot
make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to the
window. It was a queenly presence--tall, graceful, and intensely
womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, and her white-gloved hands clasped and
unclasped as she spoke--"I will speak frankly to you in the hope that
it may induce you to speak frankly in return. There is complete
confidence between my husband and me on all matters save one. That
one is politics. On this his lips are sealed. He tells me nothing.
Now, I am aware that there was a most deplorable occurrence in our
house last night. I know that a paper has disappeared. But because
the matter is political my husband refuses to take me into his
complete confidence. Now it is essential--essential, I say--that I
should thoroughly understand it. You are the only other person, save
only these politicians, who knows the true facts. I beg you, then,
Mr. Holmes, to tell me exactly what has happened and what it will
lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's
interests keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if he
would only see it, would be best served by taking me into his
complete confidence. What was this paper which was stolen?"
"Madam, what you ask me is really impossible."
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
"You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks fit to
keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has only
learned the true facts under the pledge of professional secrecy, to
tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is him whom
you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But without your
telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service
if you would enlighten me on one point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this
incident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a very
unfortunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts are
resolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which my husband
dropped in the first shock of this disaster I understood that
terrible public consequences might arise from the loss of this
document."
"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it."
"Of what nature are they?"
"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can possibly answer."
"Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame you, Mr.
Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your side
will not, I am sure, think the worse of me because I desire, even
against his will, to share my husband's anxieties. Once more I beg
that you will say nothing of my visit." She looked back at us from
the door, and I had a last impression of that beautiful haunted face,
the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth. Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes, with a
smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam
of the front door. "What was the fair lady's game? What did she
really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very natural."
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson--her manner, her suppressed
excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions.
Remember that she comes of a caste who do not lightly show emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us that
it was best for her husband that she should know all. What did she
mean by that? And you must have observed, Watson, how she manoeuvred
to have the light at her back. She did not wish us to read her
expression."
"Yes; she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You remember the
woman at Margate whom I suspected for the same reason. No powder on
her nose--that proved to be the correct solution. How can you build
on such a quicksand? Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or
their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a
curling-tongs. Good morning, Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes; I will wile away the morning at Godolphin Street with our
friends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies the
solution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not an
inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake to
theorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my good
Watson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join you at lunch if I
am able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood which his
friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran
in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into
reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered
the casual questions which I put to him. It was evident to me that
things were not going well with him or his quest. He would say
nothing of the case, and it was from the papers that I learned the
particulars of the inquest, and the arrest with the subsequent
release of John Mitton, the valet of the deceased. The coroner's jury
brought in the obvious "Wilful Murder," but the parties remained as
unknown as ever. No motive was suggested. The room was full of
articles of value, but none had been taken. The dead man's papers had
not been tampered with. They were carefully examined, and showed that
he was a keen student of international politics, an indefatigable
gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter-writer. He had
been on intimate terms with the leading politicians of several
countries. But nothing sensational was discovered among the documents
which filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they
appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. He had many
acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved.
His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His death was an
absolute mystery, and likely to remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a counsel of
despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could be
sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that
night. The alibi was complete. It is true that he started home at an
hour which should have brought him to Westminster before the time
when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation that he had
walked part of the way seemed probable enough in view of the fineness
of the night. He had actually arrived at twelve o'clock, and appeared
to be overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. He had always been on
good terms with his master. Several of the dead man's
possessions--notably a small case of razors--had been found in the
valet's boxes, but he explained that they had been presents from the
deceased, and the housekeeper was able to corroborate the story.
Mitton had been in Lucas's employment for three years. It was
noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent with him.
Sometimes he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton was
left in charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,
she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a
visitor he had himself admitted him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could follow
it in the papers. If Holmes knew more he kept his own counsel, but,
as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him into his
confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch with every
development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a long telegram from
Paris which seemed to solve the whole question.
A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police [said the Daily
Telegraph] which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of
Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violence last Monday night at
Godolphin Street, Westminster. Our readers will remember that the
deceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some
suspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down on an
alibi. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as Mme. Henri Fournaye,
occupying a small villa in the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to the
authorities by her servants as being insane. An examination showed
that she had indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent
form. On inquiry the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye
only returned from a journey to London on Tuesday last, and there is
evidence to connect her with the crime at Westminster. A comparison
of photographs has proved conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and
Eduardo Lucas were really one and the same person, and that the
deceased had for some reason lived a double life in London and Paris.
Mme. Fournaye, who is of Creole origin, is of an extremely excitable
nature, and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which
have amounted to frenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of
these that she committed the terrible crime which has caused such a
sensation in London. Her movements upon the Monday night have not yet
been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering to her
description attracted much attention at Charing Cross Station on
Tuesday morning by the wildness of her appearance and the violence of
her gestures. It is probable, therefore, that the crime was either
committed when insane, or that its immediate effect was to drive the
unhappy woman out of her mind. At present she is unable to give any
coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no hopes of
the re-establishment of her reason. There is evidence that a woman,
who might have been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for some hours on Monday
night watching the house in Godolphin Street.
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the account aloud to
him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and paced up and
down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but if I have told you
nothing in the last three days it is because there is nothing to
tell. Even now this report from Paris does not help us much."
"Surely it is final as regards the man's death."
"The man's death is a mere incident--a trivial episode--in comparison
with our real task, which is to trace this document and save a
European catastrophe. Only one important thing has happened in the
