that you were a little astonished at my sudden frivolity."
"Oh, that was it, was it?"
"Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens, had
become my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester Road
Station, where a very helpful official walked with me along the track
and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows
of Caulfield Gardens open on the line but the even more essential
fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the larger railways,
the Underground trains are frequently held motionless for some
minutes at that very spot."
"Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!"
"So far--so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well,
having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front and
satisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable
house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the upper rooms.
Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was probably a
confederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear in mind that
Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his booty, but not
with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant, and
the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur
to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make."
"Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?"
"Hardly on the evidence."
"What can we hope to do?"
"We cannot tell what correspondence may be there."
"I don't like it, Holmes."
"My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I'll do the
criminal part. It's not a time to stick at trifles. Think of
Mycroft's note, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who
waits for news. We are bound to go."
My answer was to rise from the table.
"You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go."
He sprang up and shook me by the hand.
"I knew you would not shrink at the last," said he, and for a moment
I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than I had
ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful, practical self once
more.
"It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk," said
he. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspicious
character would be a most unfortunate complication."
Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared, and
porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middle
Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appeared
to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the
clatter of a piano resounded through the night. The fog still hung
about and screened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lit his
lantern and flashed it upon the massive door.
"This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainly bolted as
well as locked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellent
archway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude.
Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do the same for you."
A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached the
dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fog
above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work upon the
lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crash it
flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage, closing the area
door behind us. Holmes let the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair.
His little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window.
"Here we are, Watson--this must be the one." He threw it open, and as
he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud
roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes swept his
light along the window-sill. It was thickly coated with soot from the
passing engines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in
places.
"You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! what is
this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." He was pointing
to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window. "Here it
is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration is complete. Let
us stay here until a train stops."
We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the tunnel
as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creaking of
brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feet from
the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. Holmes softly closed
the window.
"So far we are justified," said he. "What do you think of it,
Watson?"
"A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height."
"I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I conceived the
idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a very
abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were not for the
grave interests involved the affair up to this point would be
insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But perhaps we
may find something here which may help us."
We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms upon
the first floor. One was a dining-room, severely furnished and
containing nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom, which also
drew blank. The remaining room appeared more promising, and my
companion settled down to a systematic examination. It was littered
with books and papers, and was evidently used as a study. Swiftly and
methodically Holmes turned over the contents of drawer after drawer
and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten
his austere face. At the end of an hour he was no further than when
he started.
"The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "He has left
nothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has been
destroyed or removed. This is our last chance."
It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk. Holmes
pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper were within,
covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to
what they referred. The recurring words, "water pressure" and
"pressure to the square inch" suggested some possible relation to a
submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. There only
remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips inside it. He
shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eager face that
his hopes had been raised.
"What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record of a series of messages
in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph agony column by the
print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page. No dates--but
messages arrange themselves. This must be the first:
"Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to address given
on card.
Pierrot.
"Next comes:
"Too complex for description. Must have full report, Stuff awaits you
when goods delivered.
Pierrot.
"Then comes:
"Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract completed. Make
appointment by letter. Will confirm by advertisement.
Pierrot.
"Finally:
"Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not be so
suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered.
Pierrot.
"A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at the man at
the other end!" He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the
table. Finally he sprang to his feet.
"Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. There is nothing
more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive round to the
offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a
conclusion."
Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment after
breakfast next day and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to them our
proceedings of the day before. The professional shook his head over
our confessed burglary.
"We can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes," said he. "No
wonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of these days
you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in
trouble."
"For England, home and beauty--eh, Watson? Martyrs on the altar of
our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?"
"Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make of it?"
Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which lay upon the table.
"Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-day?"
"What? Another one?"
"Yes, here it is:
"To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitally important.
Your own safety at stake.
Pierrot.
"By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers that we've got him!"
"That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make it
convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens
we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution."
One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was his
power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his
thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that
he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that during the
whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he
had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. For my own part
I had none of this power of detachment, and the day, in consequence,
appeared to be interminable. The great national importance of the
issue, the suspense in high quarters, the direct nature of the
experiment which we were trying--all combined to work upon my nerve.
It was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out
upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at
the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area door of Oberstein's
house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for
me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb
the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine o'clock we
were all seated in the study, waiting patently for our man.
An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beat
of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes.
Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice
a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his
eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. He raised his head
with a sudden jerk.
"He is coming," said he.
There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. We
heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the
knocker. Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in the
hall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as
a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "This way!"
we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes
had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of
surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back
into the room. Before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door
was shut and Holmes standing with his back against it. The man glared
round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the
shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped
sown from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft,
handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter.
Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.
"You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he. "This was
not the bird that I was looking for."
"Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly.
"The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of the
Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is
coming to. I think that you had best leave his examination to me."
We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisoner sat
up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand
over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses.
"What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein."
"Everything is known, Colonel Walter," said Holmes. "How an English
gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension.
But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are within
our knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death
of young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small
credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some
details which we can only learn from your lips."
The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he was
silent.
"I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every essential is already
known. We know that you were pressed for money; that you took an
impress of the keys which your brother held; and that you entered
into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters
through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are
