Inference—that she had been in England some little time, but hehad not been in Greece.”
“Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit toEngland, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.”
“That is more probable.”
“Then the brother—for that, I fancy, must be the relationship—comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himselfinto the power of the young man and his older associate. Theyseize him and use violence towards him in order to make him signsome papers to make over the girl’s fortune—of which he may betrustee—to them. This he refuses to do. In order to negotiate withhim they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr.
Melas, having used some other one before. The girl is not told ofthe arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the merest accident.”
“Excellent, Watson!” cried Holmes. “I really fancy that you arenot far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and wehave only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. If theygive us time we must have them.”
“But how can we find where this house lies?”
“Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl’s name is or wasSophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That mustbe our main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. Itis clear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established theserelations with the girl—some weeks, at any rate—since the brotherin Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they havebeen living in the same place during this time, it is probable thatwe shall have some answer to Mycroft’s advertisement.”
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had beentalking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the doorof our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder,I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smokingin the armchair.
“Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir,” said he blandly, smiling at oursurprised faces. “You don’t expect such energy from me, do you,Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.”
“How did you get here?”
“I passed you in a hansom.”
“There has been some new development?”
“I had an answer to my advertisement.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.”
“And to what effect?”
Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
“Here it is,” said he, “written with a J pen on royal cream paperby a middle-aged man with a weak constitution.
‘Sir [he says]:
In answer to your advertisement of to-day’s date, I beg to informyou that I know the young lady in question very well. If you shouldcare to call upon me I could give you some particulars as to herpainful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.
Yours faithfully,
J. Davenport.’
“He writes from Lower Brixton,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Doyou not think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learnthese particulars?”
“My dear Mycroft, the brother’s life is more valuable than thesister’s story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for InspectorGregson, and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a manis being done to death, and every hour may be vital.”
“Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way,” I suggested. “We mayneed an interpreter.”
“Excellent,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Send the boy for a fourwheeler,and we shall be off at once.” He opened the tabledraweras he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his revolver intohis pocket. “Yes,” said he in answer to my glance, “I should sayfrom what we have heard, that we are dealing with a particularlydangerous gang.”
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at therooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and hewas gone.
“Can you tell me where?” asked Mycroft Holmes.
“I don’t know, sir,” answered the woman who had opened thedoor; “I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in acarriage.”
“Did the gentleman give a name?”
“No, sir.”
“He wasn’t a tall, handsome, dark young man?”
“Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in theface, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the timethat he was talking.”
“Come along!” cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. “This growsserious,” he observed as we drove to Scotland Yard. “These menhave got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no physical courage,as they are well aware from their experience the other night.
This villain was able to terrorize him the instant that he got intohis presence. No doubt they want his professional services, but,having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what theywill regard as his treachery.”
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenhamas soon or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard,however, it was more than an hour before we could get InspectorGregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enableus to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reachedLondon Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted onthe Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to TheMyrtles—a large, dark house standing back from the road in itsown grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way upthe drive together.
“The windows are all dark,” remarked the inspector. “The houseseems deserted.”
“Our birds are flown and the nest empty,” said Holmes.
“Why do you say so?”
“A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out duringthe last hour.”
The inspector laughed. “I saw the wheel-tracks in the light ofthe gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?”
“You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the otherway. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper—somuch so that we can say for a certainty that there was a veryconsiderable weight on the carriage.”
“You get a trifle beyond me there,” said the inspector, shrugginghis shoulder. “It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try ifwe cannot make some one hear us.”
He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, butwithout any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came backin a few minutes.