                                      1904
                                SHERLOCK HOLMES
                       THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN
                           by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
  THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN

  I had intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be the last of
those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should
ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine was not due to
any lack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases
to which I have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning
interest on the part of my readers in the singular personality and
unique methods of this remarkable man. The real reason lay in the
reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown to the continued publication
of his experiences. So long as he was in actual professional
practice the records of his successes were of some practical value
to him, but since he has definitely retired from London and betaken
himself to study and bee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has
become hateful to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his
wishes in this matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon my
representing to him that I had given a promise that "The Adventure
of the Second Stain" should be published when the times were ripe, and
pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this long
series of episodes should culminate in the most important
international case which he has ever been called upon to handle,
that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully
guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the
public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain
details, the public will readily understand that there is an excellent
reason for my reticence.
  It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be
nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two
visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room in Baker
Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was
none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger, twice Premier of
Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yet of middle
age, and endowed with every beauty of body and of mind, was the
Right Honourable Trelawney Hope, Secretary for European Affairs, and
the most rising statesman in the country. They sat side by side upon
our paper-littered settee, and it was easy to see from their worn
and anxious faces that it was business of the most pressing importance
which had brought them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were
clasped tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt,
ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary
pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of his
watch-chain.
  "When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight o'clock
this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It was at his
suggestion that we have both come to you."
  "Have you informed the police?"
  "No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive
manner for which he was famous. "We have not done so, nor is it
possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in the
long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularly
desire to avoid."
  "And why, sir?"
 "Because the document in question is of such immense importance
that its publication might very easily- I might almost say probably-
lead to European complications of the utmost moment. It is not too
much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue. Unless its
recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as
well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at by those who
have taken it is that its contents should be generally known."
  "I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged
if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this
document disappeared."
 "That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter- for it
was a letter from a foreign potentate- was received six days ago. It
was of such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but
have taken it across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace,
and kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there
last night. Of that I am certain. I actually opened the box while I
was dressing for dinner and saw the document inside. This morning it
was gone. The despatch-box had stood beside the glass upon my
dressing-table all night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife.
We are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the
room during the night. And yet I repeat that the paper is gone."
  "What time did you dine?"
  "Half-past seven."
  "How long was it before you went to bed?"
  "My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was
half-past eleven before we went to our room."
  "Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?"
  "No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-maid
in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during the rest of
the day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us for
some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known that
there was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers
in my despatch-box."
  "Who did know of the existence of that letter?"
  "No one in the house."
  "Surely your wife knew?'
  "No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper
this morning."
  The Premier nodded approvingly.
  "I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,"
said he. "I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this
importance it would rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties.
  The European Secretary bowed.
  "You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have
never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter."
  "Could she have guessed?"
  "No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed- nor could anyone have
guessed."
  "Have you lost any documents before?"
  "No, sir."
  "Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this
letter?"
  "Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday, but the
pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was increased by
the solemn warning which was given by the Prime Minister. Good
heavens, to think that within a few hours I should myself have lost
it!" His handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and
his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the
natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the
aristocratic mask was replaced, and the gentle voice had returned.
"Besides the members of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly
three, departmental officials who know of the letter. No one else in
England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you."
  "But abroad?"
  "I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it.
I am well convinced that his Ministers- that the usual official
channels have not been employed."
  Holmes considered for some little time.
  "Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is,
and why its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?"
  The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premier's
shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.
  "Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour.
There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is
addressed in large, bold handwriting to-"
  "I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting and indeed
essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the
root of things. What was the letter?"
  "That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that
I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of
the powers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope
as I describe with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of
your country, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to
bestow."
  Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
  "You are two of the most busy men in the country," said he, "and
in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regret
exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any
continuation of this interview would be a waste of time."
  The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of
his deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am not
accustomed, sir," he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his
seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old
statesman shrugged his shoulders.
  "We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right,
and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give
you our entire confidence."
  "I agree with you," said the younger statesman.
  "Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that of
your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patriotism also,
for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that
this affair should come out."
  "You may safely trust us."
  "The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who bas
been ruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this country.
It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility
entirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing of
the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a manner,
and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a character, that
its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state of
feeling in this country. There would be such a ferment, sir, that I do
not hesitate to say that within a week of the publication of that
letter this country would be involved in a great war."
  Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the
Premier.
  "Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter- this letter which may
well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a
hundred thousand men- which has become lost in this unaccountable
fashion."
  "Have you informed the sender?"
  "Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched."
  "Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter."
  "No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already
understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed
manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country than to
us if this letter were to come out."
  "If this is so, whose interest is it that, the letter should come
out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?"
  "There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high international
politics. But if you consider the European situation you will have
no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole of Europe is an
armed camp. There is a double league which makes a fair balance of
military power. Great Britain holds the scales. If Britain were driven
into war with one confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of the
other confederacy, whether they joined in the war or not. Do you
follow?"
  "Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this
potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach
between his country and ours?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands
of an enemy?"
  "To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably
speeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam
can take it."
  Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned
aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.
  "It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame you.
There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes,
you are in full possession of the facts. What course do you
recommend?"
  Holmes shook his head mournfully.
  "You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will
be war?"
  "I think it is very probable."
  "Then, sir, prepare for war."
  "That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes."
  "Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken
after eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and his
wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was found
out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-thirty and
eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it
evidently knew that it was there and would naturally secure it as
early as possible. Now, sir, if a document of this importance were
taken at that hour, where can it be now? No one has any reason to
retain it. It has been passed rapidly on to those who need it. What
chance have we now to overtake or even to trace it? It is beyond our
reach."
  The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
  "What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that the
matter is indeed out of our hands."
  "Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was taken by
the maid or by the valet-"
  "They are both old and tried servants."
  "I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, that
there is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could
go up unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the house who has
taken it. To whom would the thief take it? To one of several
international spies and secret agents, whose names are tolerably
familiar to me. There are three who may be said to be the heads of
their profession. I will begin my research by going round and
finding if each of them is at his post. If one is missing-
especially if he has disappeared since last night- we will have some
indication as to where the document has gone."
  "Why should he be missing?" asked the European Secretary. "He
would take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as not."
  "I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their relations
with the Embassies are often strained."
  The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
  "I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuable a
prize to headquarters with his own hands. I think that your course
of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannot neglect
all our other duties on account of this one misfortune. Should there
be any fresh developments during the day we shall communicate with
you, and you will no doubt let us know the results of your own
inquiries."
  The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
  When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe in
silence and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had
opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which
had occurred in London the night before, when my friend gave an
exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon the
mantelpiece.
  "Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it. The
situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be
sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it has not
yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of money with
these fellows, and I have the British treasury behind me. If it's on
the market I'll buy it- if it means another penny on the income-tax.
It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it back to see what
bids come from this side before he tries his luck on the other.
There are only those three capable of playing so bold a game- there
are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo Lucas. I will see each of
them."
  I glanced at my morning paper.
  "Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"
  "Yes."
  "You will not see him."
  "Why not?"
  "He was murdered in his house last night."
  My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures
that it was with a sense of exultation that I realized how
completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement, and then
snatched the paper from my hands. This was the paragraph which I had
been engaged in reading when he rose from his chair.

                     MURDER IN WESTMINSTER

  A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16
Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of
eighteenth century houses which lie between the river and the Abbey,
almost in the shadow of the great Tower of the Houses of Parliament.
This small but select mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr.
Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circles both on account of his
charming personality and because he has the well-deserved reputation
of being one of the best amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is
an unmarried man, thirty-four years of age, and his establishment
consists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his
valet. The former retires early and sleeps at the top of the house.
The valet was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith.
From ten o'clock onward Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What
occurred during that time has not yet transpired, but at a quarter
to twelve Police-constable Barrett, passing along Godolphin Street
observed that the door of No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no
answer. Perceiving a light in the front room, he advanced into the
passage and again knocked, but without reply. He then pushed open
the door and entered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, the
furniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back
in the centre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of its
legs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbed
to the heart and must have died instantly. The knife with which the
crime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down from
a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robbery does
not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there had been no
attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas
was so well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate
will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a widespread
circle of friends.

  "Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked Holmes, after a long
pause.
  "It is an amazing coincidence."
  "A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had named as
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 hopes 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 while 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 can 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 council 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 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 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 reestablishment of her reason. There is evidence that a
woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for some hours upon
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 last three days, and that is that nothing has happened. I get
reports almost hourly from the government, and it is certain that
nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble. Now, if this letter
were loose- no, it can't be loose- but if it isn't loose, where can it
be? Who has it? Why is it held back? That's the question that beats in
my brain like a hammer. Was it, indeed, a coincidence that Lucas
should meet his death on the night when the letter disappeared? Did
the letter ever reach him? If so, why is it not among his papers?
Did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? If so, is it in her
house in Paris? How could I search for it without the French police
having their suspicions aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where
the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's hand
is against us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I
bring it to a successful conclusion, it will certainly represent the
crowning glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the front!" He
glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. "Halloa!
Lestrade seems to have observed something of interest. Put on your
hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to Westminster."
  It was my first visit to the scene of the crime- a high, dingy,
narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century
which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us
from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big constable
had opened the door and let us in. The room into which we were shown
was that in which the crime had been committed, but no trace of it now
remained save an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet
was a small square drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by
a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square
blocks, highly polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy
of weapons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. In the
window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the
apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to
a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
  "Seen the Paris news?' asked Lestrade.
  Holmes nodded.
  "Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. No
doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door- surprise
visit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments- he
let her in, couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she
had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, and then
with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't all done in
an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and
he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her off with it.
We've got it all clear as if we had seen it."
  Holmes raised his eyebrows.
  "And yet you have sent for me?"
  "Ah, yes, that's another matter- a mere trifle, but the sort of
thing you take an interest in- queer, you know, and what you might
call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact- can't have, on
the face of it."
  "What is it, then?"
  "Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to
keep things in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officer in
charge here day and night. This morning, as the man was buried and the
investigation over- so far as this room is concerned- we thought we
could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You see, it is not fastened down,
only just laid there. We had occasion to raise it. We found-"
  "Yes? You found-"
  Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.
  "Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we did
find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal must have
soaked through, must it not?"
  "Undoubtedly it must."
  "Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on the
white woodwork to correspond."
  "No stain! But there must-"
  "Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there isn't."
  He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over,
he showed that it was indeed as he said.
  "But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have left
a mark."
  Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert.
  "Now, I'll show you the explanation. There is a second stain, but it
does not correspond with the other. See for yourself." As he spoke
he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure
enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing of
the old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?"
  "Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, but the
carpet has been turned round. As it was square and unfastened it was
easily done."
  The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that
the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough, for the
stains lie above each other- if you lay it over this way. But what I
want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?"
  I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating with
inward excitement.
  "Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable in the passage
been in charge of the place all the time?"
  "Yes, he has."
  "Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it before us.
Well wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll be more likely
to get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how he dared to admit
people and leave them alone in this room. Don't ask him if he has done
it. Take it for granted. Tell him you know someone has been here.
Press him. Tell him that a full confession is his only chance of
forgiveness. Do exactly what I tell you!"
  "By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" cried Lestrade. He
darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice
sounded from the back room.
  "Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness. All the
demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless manner burst
out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget from the floor, and
in an instant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the
squares of wood beneath it. One turned sideways as he dug his nails
into the edge of it. It hinged back like the lid of a box. A small
black cavity opened beneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into
it and drew it out with a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It
was empty.
  "Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid was
replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight when
Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaning
languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient,
endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns.
  "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you are bored
to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, all right.
Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of your most
inexcusable conduct."
  The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.
  "I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to the door
last evening- mistook the house, she did. And then we got talking.
It's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day."
  "Well, what happened then?"
  "She wanted to see where the crime was done- had read about it in
the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young
woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep. When she saw
that mark on the carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay as
if she were dead. I ran to the back and got some water, but I could
not bring her to. Then I went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for
some brandy, and by the time I had brought it back the young woman had
recovered and was off- ashamed of herself, I daresay, and dared not
face me."
  "How about moving that drugget?"
  "Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back. You
see, she fell on it and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to
keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
  "It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Constable
MacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt you thought that
your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a mere glance
at that drugget was enough to convince me that someone had been
admitted to the room. It's lucky for you, my man, that nothing is
missing, or you would find yourself in Queer Street. I'm sorry to have
called you down over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I
thought the point of the second stain not corresponding with the first
would interest you."
  "Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been here
once, constable?"
  "Yes, sir, only once."
  "Who was she?"
  "Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement about
typewriting and came to the wrong number- very pleasant, genteel young
woman, sir."
  "Tall? Handsome?"
  "Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you might say
she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was very handsome. 'Oh,
officer, do let me have a peep!' says she. She had pretty, coaxing
ways, as you might say, and I thought there was no harm in letting her
just put her head through the door."
  "How was she dressed?"
  "Quiet, sir- a long mantle down to her feet."
  "What time was it?"
  "It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the
lamps as I came back with the brandy."
  "Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I think that we have more
important work elsewhere."
  As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, while
the repentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned
on the step and held up something in his hand. The constable stared
intently.
  "Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmes put
his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast pocket, and
burst out laughing as we turned down the street. "Excellent!" said he.
"Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. You
will be relieved to hear that there will be no war, that the Right
Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer no setback in his brilliant
career, that the indiscreet Sovereign will receive no punishment for
his indiscretion, that the Prime Minister will have no Europe an
complication to deal with, and that with a little tact and
management upon our part nobody will be a penny the worse for what
might have been a very ugly incident."
  My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man.
  "You have solved it!" I cried.
  "Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as dark as
ever. But we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot
get the rest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace and bring the
matter to a head."
  When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it was
for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We were
shown into the morning-room.
  "Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with her
indignation. "This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your
part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you a
secret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into his
affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so showing
that there are business relations between us."
  "Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have been
commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I must
therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands."
  The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an
instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed- she tottered- I
thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied
from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation chased
every other expression from her features.
  "You- you insult me, Mr. Holmes."
  "Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter."
  She darted to the bell.
  "The butler shall show you out."
  "Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest efforts
to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter and all will
be set right. If you will work with me I can arrange everything. If
you work against me I must expose you."
  She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed upon his
as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but
she had forborne to ring it.
  "You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing, Mr.
Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that you know
something. What is it that you know?"
  "Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall. I
will not speak until you sit down. Thank you."
  "I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."
  "One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo Lucas,
of your giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room
last night, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the
hiding-place under the carpet."
  She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before she
could speak.
  "You are mad, Mr. Holmes- you are mad!" she cried, at last.
  He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was the
face of a woman cut out of a portrait.
  "I have carried this because I thought it might be useful," said he.
"The policeman has recognized it."
  She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair.
  "Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still be
adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty ends
when I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice
and be frank with me. It is your only chance."
  Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not own defeat.
  "I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurd
illusion."
  Holmes rose from his chair.
  "I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you. I
can see that it is all in vain."
  He rang the bell. The butler entered.
  "Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
  "He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
  Holmes glanced at his watch.
  "Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very good, I shall wait."
  The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda was
down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands outstretched, her
beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
  "Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a frenzy of
supplication. "For heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love him so! I
would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I know would break
his noble heart."
  Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you have come to
your senses even at this last moment! There is not an instant to lose.
Where is the letter?"
  She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out a
long blue envelope.
  "Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I had never seen it!"
  "How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick, we must
think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?"
  "Still in his bedroom."
  "What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!" A moment later
she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand.
  "How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of
course you have. Open it!"
  From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The box flew
open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelope deep
down into the heart of them, between the leaves of some other
document. The box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom.
  "Now we are ready for him," said Holmes. "We have still ten minutes.
I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend the
time in telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary
affair."
  "Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything," cried the lady. "Oh, Mr.
Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a moment of
sorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves her husband as I do,
and yet if he knew how I have acted- how I have been compelled to act-
he would never forgive me. For his own honour stands so high that he
could not forget or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My
happiness, his happiness, our very lives are at stake!"
  "Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
  "It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter written
before my marriage- a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving
girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would have thought it criminal.
Had he read that letter his confidence would have been forever
destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had thought that the
whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas,
that it had passed into his hands, and that he would lay it before
my husband. I implored his mercy. He said that he would return my
letter if I would bring him a certain document which he described in
my husband's despatch-box. He had some spy in the office who had
told him of its existence. He assured me that no harm could come to my
husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"
  "Take your husband into your confidence."
  "I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side seemed
certain ruin, on the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husband's
paper, still in a matter of politics I could not understand the
consequences, while in a matter of love and trust they were only too
clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took an impression of his key.
This man, Lucas, furnished a duplicate. I opened his despatch-box,
took the paper, and conveyed it to Godolphin Street."
  "What happened there, madam?"
  "I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed him
into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I feared to
be alone with the man. I remember that there was a woman outside as
I entered. Our business was soon done. He had my letter on his desk, I
handed him the document. He gave me the letter. At this instant
there was a sound at the door. There were steps in the passage.
Lucas quickly turned back the drugget, thrust the document into some
hiding-place there, and covered it over.
  "What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a
vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed
in French, 'My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have found
you with her!' There was a savage struggle. I saw him with a chair
in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from the horrible
scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in the paper did I
learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy, for I had my
letter, and I had not seen yet what the future would bring.
  "It was the next morning that I realized that I had only exchanged
one trouble for another. My husband's anguish at the loss of his paper
went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself from there and then
kneeling down at his feet and telling him what I had done. But that
again would mean a confession of the past. I came to you that
morning in order to understand the full enormity of my offence. From
the instant that I grasped it my whole mind was turned to the one
thought of getting back my husband's paper. It must still be where
Lucas had placed it, for it was concealed before this dreadful woman
entered the room. If it had not been for her coming, I should not have
known where his biding-place was. How was I to get into the room?
For two days I watched the place, but the door was never left open.
Last night I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded,
you have already learned. I brought the paper back with me, and
thought of destroying it, since I could see no way of returning it
without confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step
upon the stair!"
  The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room.
 "Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.
  "I have some hopes."
  "Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant. "The Prime Minister
is lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves of
steel, and yet I know that he has hardly slept since this terrible
event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister to come up? As to
you, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We will join
you in a few minutes in the dining-room."
  The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by the
gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that he
shared the excitement of his young colleague.
  "I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?"
  "Purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "I have inquired at
every point where it might be, and I am sure that there is no danger
to be apprehended."
  "But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever on
such a volcano. We must have something definite."
  "I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more I
think of the matter the more convinced I am that the letter has
never left this house."
  "Mr. Holmes!"
  "If it had it would certainly have been public by now."
  "But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his house?"
  "I am not convinced that anyone did take it."
  "Then how could it leave the despatch-box?"
  "I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box."
  "Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my assurance
that it left the box."
  "Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?"
  "No. It was not necessary."
  "You may conceivably have overlooked it."
  "Impossible, I say."
  "But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to happen. I
presume there are other papers there. Well, it may have got mixed with
them."
  "It was on the top."
  "Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it."
  "No, no, I had everything out."
  "Surely it is easily, decided, Hope," said the Premier. "Let us have
the despatch-box brought in."
  The Secretary rang the bell.
  "Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical waste of
time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done.
Thank you, Jacobs, put it here. I have always had the key on my
watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see. Letter from Lord Merrow,
report from Sir Charles Hardy, memorandum from Belgrade, note on the
Russo-German grain taxes, letter from Madrid, note from Lord
Flowers- Good heavens! what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"
  The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.
  "Yes, it is it- and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate you."
  "Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But this is
inconceivable- impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer!
How did you know it was there?"
  "Because I knew it was nowhere else."
  "I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to the door. "Where is
my wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda!" we heard his
voice on the stairs.
  The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.
  "Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this than meets the eye. How
came the letter back in the box?"
  Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderful
eyes.
  "We also have our diplomatic secrets," said he and, picking up his
hat, he turned to the door.


                               -THE END-
