they would desire to save him from segregation. Great secrecy would
be needed to prevent rumours from getting about and subsequent
interference by the authorities. A devoted medical man, if
sufficiently paid, would easily be found to take charge of the
sufferer. There would be no reason why the latter should not be
allowed freedom after dark. Bleaching of the skin is a common result
of the disease. The case was a strong one--so strong that I
determined to act as if it were actually proved. When on arriving
here I noticed that Ralph, who carries out the meals, had gloves
which are impregnated with disinfectants, my last doubts were
removed. A single word showed you, sir, that your secret was
discovered, and if I wrote rather than said it, it was to prove to
you that my discretion was to be trusted."
I was finishing this little analysis of the case when the door was
opened and the austere figure of the great dermatologist was ushered
in. But for once his sphinx-like features had relaxed and there was a
warm humanity in his eyes. He strode up to Colonel Emsworth and shook
him by the hand.
"It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and seldom good," said he.
"This occasion is the more welcome. It is not leprosy."
"What?"
"A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a scale-like
affection of the skin, unsightly, obstinate, but possibly curable,
and certainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coincidence is a
remarkable one. But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces at
work of which we know little? Are we assured that the apprehension
from which this young man has no doubt suffered terribly since his
exposure to its contagion may not produce a physical effect which
simulates that which it fears? At any rate, I pledge my professional
reputation-- But the lady has fainted! I think that Mr. Kent had
better be with her until she recovers from this joyous shock."
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE
It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidy
room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the
starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him
at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of
chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle,
which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes came
round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wise
and tactful page, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of
loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the
great detective.
"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, either. I hope
the same can be said of him?"
Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.
"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said.
It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr. Watson
was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old friend's
hours to feel no surprise at the idea.
"That means a case, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened for his
health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will
you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked.
'Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow,' said he. You know his way
when he is keen on a case."
"Yes, Billy, I know."
"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking
for a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and
I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a very
baggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. "That's part of the old
woman's outfit," he said.
"But what is it all about, Billy?"
Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "I
don't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's this
case of the Crown diamond."
"What--the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?"
"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Minister
and the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes was
very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he
would do all he could. Then there is Lord Cantlemere--"
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff 'un, sir, if I may
say so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've nothing
against the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man,
but I can't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir. You see,
he don't believe in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd
rather he failed."
"And Mr. Holmes knows it?"
"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."
"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will be
confounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the
window?"
"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something
funny behind it."
Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of
the bow window.
Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a
facsimile of his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turned
three-quarters towards the window and downward, as though reading an
invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy
detached the head and held it in the air.
"We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. I
wouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when it's up
you can see this from across the way."
"We used something of the sort once before."
"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart and
looked out into the street. "There are folk who watch us from over
yonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look for
yourself."
Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, and the
long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his
step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at
the window, and had drawn the blind once more.
"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in danger of your life
then, my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it
is good to see you in your old quarters once again. You come at a
critical moment."
"So I gather."
"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I
justified in allowing him to be in danger?"
"Danger of what, Holmes?"
"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."
"Expecting what?"
"To be murdered, Watson."
"No, no, you are joking, Holmes!"
"Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than
that. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is
alcohol permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let
me see you once more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope,
learned to despise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take
the place of food these days."
"But why not eat?"
"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why,
surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what your
digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the
brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.
Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."
"But this danger, Holmes?"
"Ah, yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well
that you should burden your memory with the name and address of the
murderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a
parting blessing. Sylvius is the name--Count Negretto Sylvius. Write
it down, man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?"
Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only too
well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what
he said was more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration.
Watson was always the man of action, and he rose to the occasion.
"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."
"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to your
other vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, with calls
on him every hour."
"Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellow arrested?"
"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so."
"But why don't you?"
"Because I don't know where the diamond is."
"Ah! Billy told me--the missing Crown jewel!"
"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my
fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them?
We can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But
that is not what I am out for. It's the stone I want."
"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?"
"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton, the boxer.
Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam's not a shark.
He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about
in my net all the same."
"Where is this Count Sylvius?"
"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an
old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up
my parasol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' said
he--half-Italian, you know, and with the Southern graces of manner
when in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is
full of whimsical happenings, Watson."
"It might have been tragedy."
"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop
in the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun--a very pretty bit of
work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite
window at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course,
Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its
beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?"
The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray. Holmes
glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.
"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle,
Watson! A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as
a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his
excellent sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof
that he feels my toe very close behind his heel."
"Send for the police."
"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out
of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the
street?"
Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.
"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door."
"That will be Sam Merton--the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where
is this gentleman, Billy?"
"In the waiting-room, sir."
"Show him up when I ring."
"Yes, sir."
"If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."
"Yes, sir."
Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestly
to his companion.
"Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate
man, who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder you."
"I should not be surprised."
"I insist upon staying with you."
"You would be horribly in the way."
"In his way?"
"No, my dear fellow--in my way."
"Well, I can't possibly leave you."
"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to
play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has
come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine." Holmes took out
his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Take a cab to Scotland Yard
and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D. Come back with the police.
The fellow's arrest will follow."
"I'll do that with joy."
"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the
stone is." He touched the bell. "I think we will go out through the
bedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see
my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my
own way of doing it."
It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later,
ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and
man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark
moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a
long, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but
his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were
flamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked
round him with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at
