Part 42

Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we were at the open window of the bedroom long before the others came up. “Miss Harrison,” said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of manner, “you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you from staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance.” “Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes,” said the girl in astonishment. “When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and keep the key. Promise to do this.” “But Percy?” “He will come to London with us.” “And am I to remain here?” “It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!” She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up. “Why do you sit moping there, Annie?” cried her brother. “Come out into the sunshine!” “No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is deliciously cool and soothing.” “What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?” asked our client. “Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would come up to London with us.” “At once?” “Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour.” “I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help.” “The greatest possible.” “Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?” “I was just going to propose it.” “Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell us exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer that Joseph came with us so as to look after me?” “Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he’ll look after you. We’ll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then we shall all three set off for town together.” It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes’s suggestion. What the object of my friend’s manœuvres was I could not conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes had a still more startling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announced that he had no intention of leaving Woking. “There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear up before I go,” said he. “Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways rather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend here, and remaining with him until I see you again. It is fortunate that you are old schoolfellows, as you must have much to talk over. Mr. Phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in time for breakfast, for there is a train which will take me into Waterloo at eight.” “But how about our investigation in London?” asked Phelps, ruefully. “We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of more immediate use here.” “You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrow night,” cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform. “I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae,” answered Holmes, and waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station. Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could devise a satisfactory reason for this new development. “I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don’t believe it was an ordinary thief.” “What is your own idea, then?” “Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and that for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the facts! Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window, where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a long knife in his hand?” “You are sure it was not a house-breaker’s jimmy?” “Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly.” “But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?” “Ah, that is the question.” “Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action, would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone a long way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other threatens your life.” “But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae.” “I have known him for some time,” said I, “but I never knew him do anything yet without a very good reason,” and with that our conversation drifted off on to other topics. But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his long illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. In vain I endeavoured to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social questions, in anything which might take his mind out of the groove. He would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, what news we should have in the morning. As the evening wore on his excitement became quite painful. “You have implicit faith in Holmes?” he asked. “I have seen him do some remarkable things.” “But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?” “Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which presented fewer clues than yours.” “But not where such large interests are at stake?” “I don’t know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters.” “But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow that I never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful? Do you think he expects to make a success of it?” “He has said nothing.” “That is a bad sign.” “On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can’t help matters by making ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow.” I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though I knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remain in the sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until I fell asleep in the endeavour to find some explanation which would cover all these facts. It was seven o’clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps’s room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet. “He’ll be here when he promised,” said I, “and not an instant sooner or later.” And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before he came upstairs. “He looks like a beaten man,” cried Phelps. I was forced to confess that he was right. “After all,” said I, “the clue of the matter lies probably here in town.” Phelps gave a groan. “I don’t know how it is,” said he, “but I had hoped for so much from his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. What can be the matter?” “You are not wounded, Holmes?” I asked, as my friend entered the room. “Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,” he answered, nodding his good-mornings to us. “This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated.” “I feared that you would find it beyond you.” “It has been a most remarkable experience.” “That bandage tells of adventures,” said I. “Won’t you tell us what has happened?” “After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect to score every time.” The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression. “Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,” said Holmes, uncovering a dish of curried chicken. “Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you here, Watson?” “Ham and eggs,” I answered. “Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps—curried fowl or eggs, or will you help yourself?” “Thank you. I can eat nothing,” said Phelps. “Oh, come! Try the dish before you.” “Thank you, I would really rather not.” “Well, then,” said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, “I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?” Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-grey paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an armchair so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting. “There! there!” said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder. “It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.” Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. “God bless you!” he cried. “You have saved my honour.” “Well, my own was at stake, you know,” said Holmes. “I assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder over a commission.” Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of his coat. “I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet I am dying to know how you got it and where it was.”