Your old school-fellow,
Percy Phelps.
808 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
There was something that touched me as I read this letter,something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. Somoved was I that even had it been a difficult matter I should havetried it, but of course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, sothat he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client could beto receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a moment shouldbe lost in laying the matter before him, and so within an hour ofbreakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old rooms inBaker Street.
Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown,and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curvedretort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner,and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure.
My friend hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing that hisinvestigation must be of importance, seated myself in an arm-chairand waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a fewdrops of each with his glass pipette, and finally brought a test-tubecontaining a solution over to the table. In his right hand he held aslip of litmus-paper.
“You come at a crisis, Watson,” said he. “If this paper remainsblue, all is well. If it turns red, it means a man’s life.” He dipped itinto the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson.
Hum! I thought as much!” he cried. “I will be at your service in aninstant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper.” Heturned to his desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which werehanded over to the page-boy. Then he threw himself down intothe chair opposite, and drew up his knees until his fingers claspedround his long, thin shins.
“A very commonplace little murder,” said he. “You’ve gotsomething better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime,Watson. What is it?”
I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentratedattention.
“It does not tell us very much, does it?” he remarked as hehanded it back to me.
“Hardly anything.”
“And yet the writing is of interest.”
“But the writing is not his own.”
“Precisely. It is a woman’s.”
“A man’s surely,” I cried.
“No, a woman’s, and a woman of rare character. You see, at thecommencement of an investigation it is something to know thatyour client is in close contact with some one who, for good orevil, has an exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened inthe case. If you are ready we will start at once for Woking and seeMemoirs of Sherlock Holmes 809
this diplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady to whom hedictates his letters.”
We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo,and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the firwoodsand the heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be alarge detached house standing in extensive grounds within a fewminutes’ walk of the station. On sending in our cards we wereshown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where we werejoined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received uswith much hospitality. His age may have been nearer forty thanthirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that hestill conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy.
“I am so glad that you have come,” said he, shaking our handswith effusion. “Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah,poor old chap; he clings to any straw! His father and his motherasked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is verypainful to them.”
“We have had no details yet,” observed Holmes. “I perceive thatyou are not yourself a member of the family.”
Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, hebegan to laugh.
“Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket,” said he.
“For a moment I thought you had done something clever. JosephHarrison is my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie Ishall at least be a relation by marriage. You will find my sister inhis room, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this two monthsback. Perhaps we’d better go in at once, for I know how impatienthe is.”
The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor asthe drawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partlyas a bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook andcorner. A young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofanear the open window, through which came the rich scent of thegarden and the balmy summer air. A woman was sitting besidehim, who rose as we entered.
“Shall I leave, Percy?” she asked.
He clutched her hand to detain her. “How are you, Watson?”
said he, cordially. “I should never have known you under thatmoustache, and I dare say you would not be prepared to swearto me. This I presume is your celebrated friend, Mr. SherlockHolmes?”
I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. Thestout young man had left us, but his sister still remained with herhand in that of the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman,a little short and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive810 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
complexion, large, dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep blackhair. Her rich tints made the white face of her companion themore worn and haggard by the contrast.
“I won’t waste your time,” said he, raising himself upon thesofa. “I’ll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I washappy and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of beingmarried, when a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all myprospects in life.
“I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, andthrough the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidlyto a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign ministerin this administration he gave me several missions of trust, and asalways brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at lastto have the utmost confidence in my ability and tact.