“Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,” said Holmes, uncoveringdish of curried chicken. “Her cuisine is a little limited, but she hasas good an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman. What have youhere, Watson?”
“Ham and eggs,” I answered.
“Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps—curried fowl oreggs, 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, “Isuppose 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 whichhe looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder ofblue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, andthen danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom andshrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an arm-chairso limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pourbrandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.
“There! there!” said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon theshoulder. “It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watsonhere 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 honor.”
“Well, my own was at stake, you know,” said Holmes. “I assureyou it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you toblunder over a commission.”
Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermostpocket 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.”
Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee and turned hisattention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, andsettled himself down into his chair.
“I’ll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do itafterwards,” said he. “After leaving you at the station I went forcharming walk through some admirable Surrey scenery to apretty little village called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, andtook the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a paper ofsandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until evening, when IMemoirs of Sherlock Holmes 831
set off for Woking again, and found myself in the highroad outsideBriarbrae just after sunset.
“Well, I waited until the road was clear—it is never a veryfrequented one at any time, I fancy—and then I clambered overthe fence into the grounds.”
“Surely the gate was open!” ejaculated Phelps.
“Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose theplace where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen Igot over without the least chance of any one in the house beingable to see me. I crouched down among the bushes on the otherside, and crawled from one to the other—witness the disreputablestate of my trouser knees—until I had reached the clump ofrhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom window. There Isquatted down and awaited developments.
“The blind was not down in your room, and I could see MissHarrison sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past tenwhen she closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired.
“I heard her shut the door and felt quite sure that she hadturned the key in the lock.”
“The key!” ejaculated Phelps.
“Yes, I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door onthe outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. Shecarried out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainlywithout her cooperation you would not have that paper in youcoat-pocket. She departed then and the lights went out, and I wasleft squatting in the rhododendron-bush.
“The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of courseit has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feelswhen he lies beside the water-course and waits for the big game.
It was very long, though—almost as long, Watson, as when youand I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the littleproblem of the Speckled Band. There was a church-clock down atWoking which struck the quarters, and I thought more than oncethat it had stopped. At last, however, about two in the morning,I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed backand the creaking of a key. A moment later the servants’ door wasopened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight.”
“Joseph!” ejaculated Phelps.
“He was bare-headed, but he had a black cloak thrown over hisshoulder, so that he could conceal his face in an instant if therewere any alarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of thewall, and when he reached the window he worked a long-bladedknife through the sash and pushed back the catch. Then he flungopen the window, and putting his knife through the crack in theshutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open.
832 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the roomand of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles whichstood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn backthe corner of the carpet in the neighborhood of the door. Presentlyhe stopped and picked out a square piece of board, such as is usuallyleft to enable plumbers to get at the joints of the gas-pipes. Thisone covered, as a matter of fact, the T joint which gives off thepipe which supplies the kitchen underneath. Out of this hidingplacehe drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down the board,rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked straightinto my arms as I stood waiting for him outside the window.