 Part 2 of THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL'S FOOT from HIS LAST BOW This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden HIS LAST BOW by Sir Arthur Cunning Doyle THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL'S FOOT Part 2 I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when, for two hours, he'd discoursed upon Celts, Araheads, and Shards as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. It was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, the craggy and deeply-seemed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard, golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar. All these were as well known in London as in Africa and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer. We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made no advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him, as it was well known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him to spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a small bungalow buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Ariant's. Here, amid his books and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his own simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbors. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmes in an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstruction of this mysterious episode. The county police are utterly at fault, said he, but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivable explanation. My only claim to being taken into your confidence is that during my many residences here I have come to know this family of Tragenus very well. Indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call them cousins, and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to me. I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but the news reached me this morning and I came straight back again to help in the inquiry. Holmes raised his eyebrows. Did you lose your boat through it? I will take the next. Dear me, that is friendship indeed. I tell you they were relatives. Quite so, cousins of your mother, was your baggage aboard the ship? Some of it, but the main part at the hotel. I see, but surely this event could not have found its way into the Plymouth morning papers. No, sir, I had a telegram. Might I ask from whom? A shadow passed over the gantt face of the explorer. You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes. It is my business. With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure. I have no objection to telling you, he said. It was Mr. Roundhay the vicar who sent me the telegram which recalled me. Thank you, said Holmes. I may say an answer to your original question that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this case, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would be premature to say more. Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any particular direction? No, I can hardly answer that. Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit. The famous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill humor, and within five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until the evening when he returned with a slow step and haggard face which assured me that he had made no great progress with his investigation. He glanced at a telegram which awaited him and threw it into the grate. From the Plymouth Hotel, Watson, he said, I learned the name of it from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Sterndale's account was true. It appears that he did indeed spend his last night there, and that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to Africa while he returned to be present at this investigation. What do you make of that, Watson? He is deeply interested. Deeply interested, yes. There is a thread here which we have not yet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson, for I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When it does, we may soon leave our difficulties behind us. Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or how strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window in the morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs, and looking up saw a dog cart coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and our friend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Holmes was already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him. Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last, in gaffes and bursts, his tragic story came out of him. We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes. My poor parish is devil-ridden, he cried. Satan himself is loose in it. We are given over into his hands. He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object, if it were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news. Mr. Mortimer Tragenis died during the night and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family. Holmes sprang to his feet all energy in an instant. Can you fit us both into your dog cart? Yes, I can. Then Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Round, hey, we are entirely at your disposal. Hurry, hurry before things get disarranged. The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room, above his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet-lon which came up to the windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness. The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window or it would have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the center table. Beside it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up onto his forehead, and his lean, dark face turned towards the window and twisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and his fingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. He was fully clothed though there were signs that his dressing had been done in a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had been slept in and that the tragic end had come to him in the early morning. One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes' phlegmatic exterior when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the moment that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eager activity. He was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the window which appeared to give him some fresh cause for excitement, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest and delight. Then he rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more all with the energy of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. The lamp which was an ordinary standard he examined with minute care, making certain measurements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized with his lens the talc shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped off some ashes which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an envelope which he placed in his pocket-book. Finally, just as the doctor and the official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn. I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren, he remarked. I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would give the inspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom window and to the sitting-room lamp. Each is suggestive, and together they are almost conclusive. If the police would desire further information, I shall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. And now Watson, I think that perhaps we shall be better employed elsewhere. It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation, but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days. During this time Holm spent some of his time smoking and dreaming in the cottage, but a greater portion in country walks which he undertook alone, returning after many hours without remark as to where he had been. One experiment served to show me the line of his investigation. He had bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of Mortimer Tragenis on the morning of the tragedy. This he filled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and carefully timed the period which it would take to be exhausted. Another experiment which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which I am not likely ever to forget. You will remember, Watson, he remarked, one afternoon, that there is a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect that Mortimer Tragenis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair. You had forgotten? Well, I can answer for it that it was so. Now, you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself fainted upon entering the room and had afterwards opened the window. In the second case, that of Mortimer Tragenis himself, you cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived, though the servant had thrown open the window. That servant, I found upon inquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are very suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case also there is combustion going on in the room, in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was lit, as a comparison of the oil consumed will show, long after it was broad daylight. Why? Surely because there is some connection between three things, the burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and finally the madness or death of these unfortunate people. That is clear, is it not? It would appear so. At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose then that something was burned in each case, which produced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first instance, that of the Tragenis family, this substance was placed in the fire. Now the window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be less than in the second case, where there was less escape for the vapor. The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy, which is evidently the first effect of the drug. In the second case, the result was complete. The facts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of a poison which worked by combustion. With this train of reasoning in my head, I naturally looked about in Mortimer Tragenis' room to find some remains of this substance. The obvious place to look was the talc shield or smoke guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes and round the edges a fringe of brownish powder which had not yet been consumed. Half of this I took, as you saw, and I placed it in an envelope. Why, half-homes? It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I asked them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc, had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp. We will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an arm chair, unless, like a sensible man, you determined to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew, my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder, or what remains of it, from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So, now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments. They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odor, subtle, and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and conceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was open and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that I must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment in some effort of escape I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror, the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair through my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girded us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads and our attention at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone. Upon my word Watson, said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry. You know, I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you. He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson, said he. A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe. He dashed into the cottage and, reappearing with the burning lamp, held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced. None, whatever. But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbor here and let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems to linger round my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Tragenus, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember in the first place that there is some story of a family quarrel followed by a reconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tragenus with the foxy face in the small, shrewd, eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. Well, in the next place you will remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden which took our attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy emanated from him. He had a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw this substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who did do so, the affair happened immediately after his departure. Had anyone else come in the family would certainly have risen from the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall visitors do not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take it, then, that all the evidence points to Mortimer Tragenus as the culprit. Then his own death was suicide. Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. The man who had the guilt upon his soul and brought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself. There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there is one man in England who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements by which we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah, he is a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, Dr. Leon Sterndale. We have been conducting a chemical experiment on the doors which has left our little room hardly fit for the reception of so distinguished a visitor. I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some surprise towards the rustic arbor in which we sat. You sent for me, Mr. Holmes? I had your note about an hour ago, and I have come, though I really do not know why I should obey your summons. We can clear the point up before we separate, said Holmes. Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. You will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend Watson and I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call the Cornish horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps, since the matters which we have to discuss will affect you personally in a very intimate fashion, there can be no eavesdropping. The explorer took his cigar from his lips, and gazed sternly at my companion. I am at a loss to know, sir, he said, what you can have to speak about which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion. The killing of Mortimer Tragenus, said Holmes. For a moment I wished that I were armed. Stirndale's fierce face turned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, his blotted, passionate veins started out in his forehead while he sprang forward with clenched hands towards my companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness which was perhaps more suggestive of danger than his hot-headed outburst. I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law, said he, that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well, Mr. Holmes, if you have no desire to do you an injury. Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Stirndale. Surely the clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you and not for the police. Stirndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time in his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's matter which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for a moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation. What do you mean, he asked at last? If this is bluff upon your part, Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have no more beating about the bush. What do you mean? I will tell you, said Holmes, and the reason why I tell you is that I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be will depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence. My defence? Yes, sir. My defence against what? Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tragenis. Stirndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Upon my word you are getting on, said he. Do all your successes depend upon this prodigious power of bluff? The bluff, said Holmes, sternly, is upon your side Dr. Leon Stirndale and not upon mine. To prove I will tell you some of the facts upon which my conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing save that it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be taken into account in reconstructing this drama. I came back. I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waited outside it for some time and finally returned to your cottage. How do you know that? I followed you. I saw no one. That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a restless night at your cottage and you formed certain plans which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your door just as day was breaking you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel lying heaped beside your gate. Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at homes in amazement. You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarage you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the window of the lodger Trigennis. It was now daylight but the household was not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket and you threw it up at the window above you. Sterndale sprang to his feet. I believe that you are the devil himself, he cried. Holmes smiled at the compliment. It took two or possibly three handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. You entered by the window. There was an interview, a short session, during which you walked up and down the room. Then you passed out and closed the window, standing on the lawn outside, smoking a cigar and watching what occurred. Finally, after the death of Trigennis, you withdrew as you had come. Now, Dr. Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct and what were the motives for your actions? If you pervericate or trifle with me, I give you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my hands to him. He turned ashen-grey as he listened to the words of his accuser. Now he sat for some time and thought, with his face sunken his hands. Then, with a sudden impulsive gesture, he plucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us. That is why I have done it, said he. It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stooped over it. Tragenus," repeated our visitor,--"for years I have loved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that cornish seclusion which people have marveled at. It has brought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife who has left me for years, and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited. And this is what we have waited for. A terrible sob shook his great frame, and he clutched his throat under his rendled beard. Then with an effort he mastered himself and spoke on. The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me, and I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such a fate had come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to my action, Mr. Holmes. Proceed, said my friend. Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the table. On the outside was written, Radix Pettus Diaboli, with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. I understand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation? Devil's footroot. No, I have never heard of it. It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge, said he. For I believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buddha, there is no other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the pharmacopeia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goat-like, hence the fanciful name given by a botanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine men in certain districts of West Africa, and is kept as a secret among them. This particular specimen I obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country. He opened the paper as he spoke, and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown snuff-like powder. Well, sir, asked Holmes sternly, I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for you already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should know all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to the Tragenus family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with the brothers. There was a family quarrel about money which estranged this man Mortimer, but it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards met him as I did the others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but I had no cause for any positive quarrel. One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage, and I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those brain-centers which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless European science would be to detect it. How he took it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while I was opening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract some of the devil's foot-root. I well remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking. I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the news could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course I could not listen to the details without feeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round to see you on the chance that some other explanation had suggested itself to you. But there could be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tragenis was the murderer, that for the sake of money and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family were all insane, he would be the sole guardian of their joint property. He had used the devil's foot-powder upon them, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sister Brinda, the one human being whom I have ever loved or who has ever loved me. There was his crime. What was to be his punishment? Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the facts were true. But could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic a story? I might, or I might not. But I could not afford to fail. My soul cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last to be a law to myself. So it was now. I determined that the fate which he had given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I would do justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can be no man who sets less value upon his own life than I do at the present moment. Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, as you say, after a restless night set off early from my cottage. I foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his window. He came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting-room. I laid his offence before him. I told him that I had come both as judge and executioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him, should he try to leave the room. And five minutes he died. My God, how he died! But my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At any rate I am in your hands. You can take what steps you like, as I have already said there is no man living who can fear death less than I do. Holmes sat for some little time in silence. What were your plans? he asked at last. I had intended to bury myself in Central Africa. My work there is but half finished. Go and do the other half, said Holmes. I, at least, am not prepared to prevent you. Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walked from the arbor. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch. Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change, said he. I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we are called upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and our action shall be so also. You would not denounce the man? Certainly not, I answered. I have never loved Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel upon the windowsill was, of course, the starting point of my research. It was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. Only when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight and the remains of powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic speech. End of The Adventure of the Devil's Foot, Part 2 Part 1 It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August, the most terrible August in the history of the world. One might have thought already that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague inspectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. Above the stars were shining brightly, and below the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff on which von Bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. They stood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigars might have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down in the darkness. A remarkable man this von Bork, a man who could hardly be matched among all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which had first recommended him for the English mission, the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One of these was his present companion, Baron von Hirling, the Chief Secretary of the Legation, whose huge 100-horsepower Ben's car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London. "'So far as I can judge the trend of events you will probably be back in Berlin within the week,' the Secretary was saying. "'When you get there, my dear von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of your work in this country.' He was a huge man, the Secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his political career.' Von Bork laughed. "'They are not very hard to deceive,' he remarked. A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined. "'I don't know about that,' said the other thoughtfully. "'They have strange limits, and one must learn to observe them. It is that surface simplicity of theirs which makes it trap for the stranger. Von's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then von comes subtly upon something very hard, and you'll know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have, for example, their insular conventions which must simply be observed.' Meaning good form, and that sort of thing, von Bork sighed, as one who had suffered much. Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. As an example I may quote one of my own verse, Blunders. I can afford to talk of my Blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of my successes. It was on my first arrival. I was invited to a weekend gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet.' Von Bork nodded. "'I've been there,' said he dryly. "'Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of the information to Berlin. Unfortunately, our good chancellor is a little heavy handed in these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware of what had been said. This, of course, took the trail straight up to me. You have no idea, the harms that it did me. There was nothing soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I can assure you. I was two years living it down. Now, you visit this sporting pose of yours.' "'No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I'm a born sportsman. I enjoy it.' "'Where's that makes it more effective? You yart against them? You hunt with them? You play polo? You master them in every game? Your foreign hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heard that you go the length of boxing with the young officers. What is the result? Nobody takes you seriously. You are a good old sport, quite a decent fellow for a German—a hard-drinking nightclub, knockabout town, devil may care, young fellow. And all the times this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire is the most astute secret serviceman in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork! Genius!' You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim that my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?' The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von Bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him, and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the lattice window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest. Some of my papers have gone, said he. When my wife and the household left yesterday for flushing, they took the less important with them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the Embassy for the others. Your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. England may leave France to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding treaty between them. And Belgium? Yes, and Belgium, too! Von Bork shook his head. I don't see how that could be. There is a definite treaty there. She could never recover from such a humiliation. We would at least have peace for the moment. But her honour? Tat, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a medieval conception. Besides, England is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, but even our special vortex of fifty million, which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the Times, has not roused these people from their slumbers. Here in Zervan, here's a question. It is my business to find an answer. Here and there, also, there is an irritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure you that so far as the essentials go, the storage of munitions, the preparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosives, nothing is prepared, how then can England come in, especially when we have stirred her up such a devil's brew of Irish civil war, window-breaking furies, and God knows what to keep her thoughts at home? She must think of her future. Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about England, and that your information will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day, we are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow, we shall be more ready still. I should think they would be visor to fight with his allies than without them, but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you were speaking of your papers." He sat in the arm-chair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar. The large oak-paneled book-lined room had a curtain hung in the further corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. John Bork detached a small key from his watch-chain, and after some considerable manipulation of deloc, he swung open the heavy door. "'Look!' said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand. The light shone vividly into the open safe, and the Secretary of the Embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as Fords, Harbour Defenses, Aeroplanes, Ireland, Egypt, Portsmouth Forts, The Channel, Rosythe, and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans. "'Colossal!' said the Secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands. "'And all in four years, Baron, not such a bad show was a hard drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming, and there is the setting already for it.' He pointed to a space over which naval signals was printed. "'But you have a good dossier there already!' Out of date and waste-paper, the admiralty in some way got the alarm, and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron. The verse set back in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the good Altamont, all will be well to-night.' The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment. "'Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace, and that we have all to be at our posts. I'd hope to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?' Fun Bork pushed over a telegram. "'We'll come without fail to-night, and bring new sparking plugs, Altamont.'" "'Sparking plugs, eh?' "'You see, he poses as a motor-expert, and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump, a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.' "'From Portsmouth at midday,' said the Secretary, examining the superscription. "'A-by-survey, what did you give him?' "'Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salary as well.' "'The greedy rogue. They are useful these traitors, but I grudge them their blood-money.' "'I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England, as compared with a real, bitter Irish-American.'" "'Oh, an Irish-American! If you heard him talk, you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on the King's English, as well as on the English King. Must you really go? He may be here at any moment. No, I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shall expect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal, walk through the little door on the Duke of York's steps, you can put a triumphant phoenix to your record in England. What? To-kay?' He indicated at a heavily sealed, dust-covered bottle, which stood with two high glasses upon a solver. "'May I offer you a glass before your journey?' "'No, thanks, but it looks like revelry.' Altamont has a nice taste in vines, and he took a fancy to my to-kay. He is a touchy fellow, and needs humoring in small things. I have to study him, I assure you.' They had strolled out onto the terrace again, and along it to the further end where, at a touch from the barren chauffeur, the great-car shivered and chuckled. "'So's are the lights of Harvitch, I suppose,' said the secretary, pulling on his dust-coat. How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lights within the weak, and the English coast a less tranquil place. The heavens too may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good zeppelin promises us comes true. By the way, who's that?' Only one window showed a light behind them. In it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ready-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. "'That is Martha, the only servant I have left.' The secretary chuckled. "'She might almost personify Britannia,' said he, with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, au revoir, von Bork!' With a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shot forward through the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a little forward coming in the opposite direction. Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of the motor-lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed he observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. There was a good deal of tidying up to-do inside his study, and he set himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the precious contents of his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, however, when his quick ears caught the sound of a distant car. Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out onto the terrace. He was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built elderly man with a grey mustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil. Well, asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor. For answer the man waved a small brown paper parcel triumphantly above his head. You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. I'm bringing home the bacon at last. The signals? Same as I said in my cable, every last one of them. Semaphore, lamp-code, Marconi, a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay to that. He slapped the German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which the other winced. Come in, he said. I'm all alone in the house. I was only waiting for this. Of course a copy is better than the original, if an original were missing, they would change the whole thing. You'd think it's all safe about the copy. The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small, goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it. "'Making ready for a move?' he remarked as he looked round him. "'Same, mister,' he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed. You don't tell me you keep your papers in that.' "'Why not?' "'Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that—and they reckon you to be some spy—why a Yankee crook would be into that with a can opener. If I'd known that any letter of mind was going to lie loose in a thing like that, I'd have been a mug to write to you at all.' "'It would puzzle any crook to force that safe,' Von Bork answered. "'You won't cut that metal with any tool.' "'But the lock?' "'No, it's a double-combination lock. You know what that is?' "'Search me,' said the American. "'Well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can get the lock to work.' He rose and showed a double- radiating disc round the key-hole. This outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures.' "'Well, well, that's fine. So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made. And what do you think I chose for the word and figures?' "'It's beyond me.' "'Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures. And here we are.' The American's face showed his surprise and admiration. "'My, but that was smart. You had it down to a fine thing.' "'Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. Here it is, and I'm shutting down tomorrow morning.' "'Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying in this gall-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less from what I see John Bull will be on his hind legs in fair ramping. I'd rather watch him from over the water.' "'But you're an American citizen?' "'Well, so is Jack James an American citizen, but he's doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell him you're an American citizen. It's British law on order over here,' says he. "'By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men.' "'What do you mean?' Von Bork asked sharply. "'Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down. And when did you ever pick them up? There's James.' "'It was James' own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed for the job.' "'James was a bonehead. I give you that. Then there was Hollis.' "'The man was mad.' "'Well, he went a bit woozy toward the end. It's enough to make a man bug-house when he has to play apart from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there is Steiner.' Von Bork started violently, and his ready face turned to shade paler. "'What about Steiner?' "'Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided his store last night, and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You'll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket and lucky if he gets off with his life. That's why I want to get over the water as soon as you do.' Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that this news had shaken him. "'How could they have got on to Steiner?' he muttered. "'That's the worst blow yet.' "'Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far off me.' "'You don't mean that. Sure thing. My landlady down Fratenway had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things. Steiner's the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of the six if I don't get a move on. How do you explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down like this?' Von Bork flushed crimson. "'How dare you speak in such a way!' If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in your service. But I'll tell you straight what is in my mind. I've heard that with you German politicians, when an agent has done his work, you are not sorry to see him put away.' Von Bork sprang to his feet. "'Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents? I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow, I am taking no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and the sooner the better.'" Von Bork had mastered his anger. "'We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour of victory,' he said. "'You've done splendid work and taken risks, and I can't forget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line would be safe a week from now. I'll take that book and pack it with the rest.'" The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion to give it up. "'What about the dough?' he asked. "'As if what?' "'The bootle, the reward, the five hundred pounds. The gunner turned damn nasty at the last and I had to square him with an extra hundred dollars, or it would have been nitsky for you and me. Nothing doing,' says he, and he meant it too, but the last hundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pounds from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up without getting my wad.'" Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "'You don't seem to have a very high opinion of my honor,' said he. "'You want the money before you give up the book.'" "'Well, mister, it is a business proposition.' "'All right, have it your way.' He sat down at the table and scribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it to his companion. After all, since we are to be on such terms, Mr. Altamont,' said he, "'I don't see why I should trust you any more than you trust me.' "'Do you understand?' He added, looking back over his shoulder at the American. "'There's the check upon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel before you pick the money up.'" The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid a winding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat gazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters, practical handbook of bee culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at the strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his rising face. End of Part 1 of His Last Bough Part 2 of His Last Bough From His Last Bough This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Zachary Brewstergeis His Last Bough by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle His Last Bough Part 2 Another glass Watson, said Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as he extended the bottle of Imperial Touquet. The thick set chauffeur who had seated himself by the table pushed forward his glass with some eagerness. It is a good wine, Holmes. A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assured me that this is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the Schoenberg Palace. Might I trouble you to open the window for chloroform vapor does not help the pallet. The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly in von Bork's Felice. The German lay upon the sofa, sleeping stertuously with a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs. We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe from interruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I got her the situation here when first I took the matter up. Ah! Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well. The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtsied with a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figure upon the sofa. It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all. I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he has been a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir? No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in my mind. We waited some time for your signal to-night. It was the secretary, sir. I know. His car passed hours. I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your plan, sir, to find him here. No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so, until I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. You can report to me tomorrow in London, Martha, at Claridge's hotel. Very good, sir. I suppose you have everything ready to leave? Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addresses as usual. Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Good night. These papers, he continued as the old lady vanished, are not of very great importance for, of course, the information which they represent has been sent off long ago to the German government. These are the originals which could not safely be got out of the country. Then they are of no use. I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at least show our people what is known and what is not. I may say that a good many of these papers have come through me, and I need not add a thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to see a German cruiser navigating the solent according to the minefield plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson! He stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders. I have hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever. I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire, asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes, you have changed very little, save for that horrible goatee. These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson, said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. Tomorrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut, and a few other superficial changes, I shall no doubt reappear at clergy's tomorrow as I was before this American stunt. I beg your pardon, Watson. My well of English seems to be permanently defiled before this American job came my way. But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs. Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisure at ease, the magnum opus of my latter years. He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London. But how did you get to work again? Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The foreign minister alone I could have withstood, but when the premier also deigned to visit my humble roof. The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong in secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at Skibarine, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork who recommended me as a likely man. You will realise that the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going sadly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope that you are none the worse. The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who, after much gasping and blinking, had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore. Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages, he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. Hello, hello! he added, as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. This should put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mr. Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for. The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor. I shall get levelled with you, altamont, he said, speaking with slow deliberation. If it takes me all my life, I shall get levelled with you. The old sweet song, said Holmes, how often have I heard it in days gone by, it was a favourite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it, and yet I live and keep bees upon the south-downs. Curse you, you double traitor! cried the German, straining against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes. No, no, it is not so bad as that, said Holmes smiling. As my speech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence. In fact, I used him and he is gone. Then who are you? It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal of business in Germany in the past, and my name is probably familiar to you. I would wish to know it, said the Prussian grimly. It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial envoy. It was I also who saved from murder by the Nielis Klopmann Count von und Zugrafenstein, who was your mother's elder brother. It was I— Von Bork sat up in amazement. There is only one man, he cried. Exactly, said Holmes. Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. And most of that information came through you, he cried. What is it worse? What have I done? It is my ruin for ever! It is certainly a little untrustworthy, said Holmes. It will require some checking, and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster. Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair. There are a good many other points of detail which will no doubt come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork. You are a sportsman, and you will bear me no ill will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done your best for your country, and I have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural? Besides, he added not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, it is better than to fall before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready. Watson, if you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for London at once. It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him very slowly down the garden walk, which he had trod with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle, he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot into the spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was wedged in between him. I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit, said Holmes, when the final arrangements were made. Should I be guilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips? But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German. I suppose you realise, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said he, that if your government bears your out-insist treatment, it becomes an act of war. What about your government and all its treatment? Said Holmes, tapping the valise. You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous. Absolutely, said Holmes, kidnapping a German subject and stealing his private papers. Well, you realise your position, you and your accomplice here, if I were to shout for help as we pass through the village. My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village-ins by giving us the dangling Prussian as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little too inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend Baron von Hurling, and see if even now you may not feel that place which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I understand, so London won't be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have. The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the car, Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea, and shook a thoughtful head. There's an east wind coming, Watson. I think not, Holmes. It is very warm. Good old Watson, you are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But its God's owned wind, nonetheless, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm is cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it's time that we were on our way. I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cast early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it, if he can.