Sherlock Holmes and the Second Stain

I cannot tell you the exact year all this happened as it must remain a secret. One Tuesday morning in autumn we found two very famous visitors in our little flat. One was Lord Bellinger, twice Premier of Britain. The other, not yet of middle age, was Trelawney Hope, the Foreign Minister and the most promising young statesman in the country. They sat side by side on our untidy sofa and it was easy to see from their anxious faces that it was the most pressing business which brought them. The Premier's face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The Foreign Minister spoke first.

"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, at eight o'clock this morning, I informed the Prime Minister at once. He suggested we both come to you."

"Have you told the police?"

"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, in his quick, decisive way. "We haven't and we can't. To inform the police must, in the long run, mean to inform the public. That's what we want to avoid. Because the document is so important that its publication might easily lead to a European war. Unless we can recover it with complete secrecy, it's not worth recovering, because the thieves want everyone to know what's in it."

"I understand. Now, Mr. Hope, tell me exactly how this document disappeared."

"The letter - because it was a letter from a foreign monarch - was received six days ago. It was so important I never left it in my safe, but took it home each evening and kept it in my bedroom in a locked briefcase. It was there last night, I'm certain. I actually opened the box while I was changing for dinner and saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The briefcase stood beside my mirror all night. I'm a light sleeper and so is my wife. We are both sure no-one could have entered the room during the night. And yet the paper is gone."

"What time did you have dinner?"

"Half-past seven."

"How long was it before you went to bed?"

"My wife went to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-past eleven before we went to our room."

"Then for four hours the briefcase was unguarded?"

"No-one is ever allowed to enter that room except the maid in the morning or my servant during the rest of the day. They are both reliable and have been with us for some time. Besides, neither of them knew there was anything valuable in my briefcase."

"Who knew about that letter?"

"No-one in the house."

"Surely your wife knew?"

"No. I said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper this morning."

"Who in England knew about this letter?"

"Every government minister was told yesterday, but the Prime Minister stressed the importance of secrecy. Besides the ministers, there are two department officials. No-one else in England, Mr. Holmes."

"But abroad?"

"I believe that no-one abroad has seen it except the man who wrote it. His ministers know nothing about it."

Holmes considered for some time.

"Now, sir, I must ask you what this document is and why its disappearance should have such huge consequences?"

The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premier frowned.

"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. It is addressed in large handwriting to..."

"I'm afraid, sir," said Holmes, "that, although these details are interesting - in fact, essential - my inquiries must be more informed. What was the letter?"

"That's a national secret of the utmost importance and I'm afraid I can't tell you, nor do I see that it's necessary."

Sherlock Holmes stood up with a smile.

"You are two of the busiest men in the country," he said, "and, in my own small way, I also have many calls on my time. I regret I can't help you in this matter."

The Premier jumped to his feet with that fierce look in his eyes that has silenced many government ministers. But he controlled his anger. For a minute we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman shrugged his shoulders.

"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you're right and it's unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless you know everything. The letter, then, is from a foreign ruler who has been annoyed by some recent political developments in our country. It has been written hurriedly and on his own. His ministers know nothing about it. At the same time, certain parts of it are so provocative that its publication would lead to a most dangerous feeling in this country. In fact, within a week of the publication this country would, in my opinion, be at war."

Holmes wrote a name on a slip of paper and handed it to the Premier.

"Exactly. It was him. And it's his letter which could mean spending a billion pounds and the lives of a hundred thousand men. And it's been lost!"

"Who would benefit if the letter were published? Why should anyone want to steal it?"

"There, Mr. Holmes, you lead me into international politics. But if you consider Europe at the moment, you will have no difficulty in understanding the motive. It is an armed camp. If Britain were forced into war with one country, it would benefit the others, whether they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?"

"Very clearly. It is then in the interest of this ruler's enemies to publish the letter, to make difficulties between his country and ours. And where would this document be sent if it fell into the enemy's hands?"

"To any great country in Europe. It's probably speeding its way there at the moment. Now, Mr. Holmes, you understand all the facts. What do you recommend?"

Holmes shook his head."You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered, there will be war?"

"I think it's probable."

"Then, prepare for war. Consider the facts, sir. It's unthinkable 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 discovered. So, it was taken yesterday evening between seven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it clearly knew it was there and would naturally get it as early as possible. Now, if a document of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? No-one has any reason to keep it. It's been passed rapidly to those who need it. It's beyond our reach."

The Prime Minister got up from the sofa.

"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel the matter is out of our hands."

"Let's suppose, for argument's sake, the document was taken by the maid or by the manservant..."

"They are both trusted servants."

"Your room is on the second floor. There is no entrance from outside and no-one could go upstairs without being seen. It must, then, be somebody in the house who's stolen it. Where would the thief take it? To an international spy. There aren't many who'd be interested in something as big as this. If one is missing - especially if he's disappeared since last night - we'll have some idea where the document's gone."

"I think that your plan is excellent. Meanwhile, Hope, we can't neglect our other duties. If there are any fresh developments during the day, we'll communicate with you, Mr. Holmes, and you'll no doubt let us know the results of your own inquiries."

The two statesmen walked from the room.

When our famous visitors left, Holmes lit his pipe in silence and sat for some time lost in thought. I opened the morning paper and was reading about a murder which had happened in London the night before, when my friend shouted, jumped to his feet, and laid his pipe down.

"Yes," he said. "The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we knew who had it, it's possible that it's not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it's money that motivates these men and I have the British government behind me. If it's on the market I'll buy it. There aren't many capable of playing so risky a game. I'll see Eduardo Lucas first."

I glanced at my paper.

"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"

"Yes."

"You won't see him. He was murdered in his house last night."

My friend has so often astonished me in our adventures that it was quite enjoyable to surprise him. He stared in amazement and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was the paragraph I'd been reading:

"MURDER IN WESTMINSTER.

"A mysterious crime was committed last night at 16, Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned houses behind the Houses of Parliament. This was the home of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known for his charming personality and because he was one of the best amateur singers in the country. Mr. Lucas was an unmarried man, thirty-four years of age, and lived with Mrs. Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and Tom Mitton, his servant. The lady sleeps early at the top of the house. The man was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock, Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What happened during that time is still a mystery, but at a quarter to twelve a police officer, passing along Godolphin Street, saw that the door of No. 16 was open. He knocked, but got no answer. Seeing a light in the front room, he went into the hall and knocked again. He then pushed open the door. The room was very untidy, the furniture was all on one side, and one chair was lying on its back. Beside this chair lay the owner of the house. He had been stabbed in the heart and must have died immediately. Robbery does not seem to be the motive, because all the valuable objects were still in the room. Mr. Lucas was so popular that his violent end will cause much interest and sympathy in a wide 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's one of the men we suspected and he dies a violent death. No, Watson, the two events must be connected. It is up to us to find the connection."

"But now the police must know everything."

"Not at all. They know what they see at Godolphin Street. They know nothing about the letter. Only we know about both events."

"Ask Lady Hope to come in," he said.

"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, madam, he's been here."

"Mr. Holmes, don't tell him I came here."

"You put me in a difficult position. I can't make any unconditional promises."

"Mr. Holmes, I will speak frankly to you to persuade you to speak frankly in return. There is complete confidence between my husband and me on all matters except one. That is politics. He tells me nothing. Now, there was a theft in our house last night. I know a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is political my husband refuses to confide in me. Now it is essential - absolutely essential - I should understand it. You're the only person, except these politicians, who knows the true facts. Mr. Holmes, tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. What was this stolen paper?"

"Madam, what you ask is really impossible."

She groaned.

"You must understand, madam. If your husband thinks it right to keep you in the dark, it's not for me to tell you what he's kept secret. It's him you must ask."

"I have asked him. I've come to you as a last resort. But without telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you can explain one point. Is my husband's political career likely to suffer?"

"Well, madam, it will certainly have an unfortunate effect."

"Ah!" She breathed deeply.

"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression my husband used, I understood there might be terrible consequences for the country from the loss of this document."

"If he said so, I certainly can't deny it."

"What are they?"

"Again, you ask me more than I can answer."

"Then I'll take up no more of your time. I can't blame you, Mr. Holmes, for refusing to speak more freely, and you will not, I am sure, think worse of me because I want to share my husband's worries. Once more I ask you not to mention my visit." I had a last look at that beautiful face. Then she was gone.

"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes, with a smile. "What was the lady's game? What did she really want?"

"Surely that's clear and her anxiety's very natural."

"Think of her appearance, Watson, her behaviour, her restlessness, and that she asked so many questions. Remember her seriousness when she said it was best for her husband that she should know everything."

--------

All that day and the next and the next, Holmes was silent. He ran in and out, smoked incessantly, played his violin, dreamt, wolfed down sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered the questions I asked him. Clearly, things were not going well. He'd say nothing about the case and it was from the papers that I learned about the arrest and release of Tom Mitton, Lucas' servant. No motive was given. The room was full of valuable articles, but none was taken. The dead man's papers weren't touched. They were carefully examined and showed he was a keen student of international politics and a remarkable linguist. He knew the leading politicians of several countries. But nothing sensational was discovered. He had many acquaintances, but few friends, and no-one he loved. His death was a mystery. Tom Mitton, the servant, was arrested only as an alternative to doing nothing. But there was no case against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that night. His alibi was watertight. He'd arrived at twelve o'clock and seemed shocked by the tragedy. He'd always been on good terms with his employer, although Lucas did not take Mitton to Europe with him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three months, but Mitton was left in London. The housekeeper had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a visitor, he had let him in.

So for three mornings the mystery remained. On the fourth day there was a long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve everything.

"A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police," said one newspaper, "which could answer many questions about the tragic death of Mr. Eduardo Lucas last Monday night. Yesterday a lady, known as Madame Fournaye, living in Paris, was reported to the police by her servants as insane. An examination showed she had developed a dangerous mental illness. The police have discovered that Madame Fournaye only returned from a journey to London last Tuesday and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at Westminster. A comparison of photographs has proved that Mr. Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas were really one and the same person, and that the dead man had lived a double life in London and Paris. Madame Fournaye is excitable and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy. It's supposed that made her commit the terrible crime. It is probable, therefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or that its effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At present she cannot speak coherently and the doctors have no hope of curing her. There is evidence that a woman, who might have been Madame Fournaye, was seen on Monday night watching the house in Godolphin Street."

"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I'd read the article aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.

"Watson," he said, as he got up from the table, "if I have told you nothing in the last three days, it's because there's nothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris doesn't help much."

"Surely it explains the man's death."

"That's trivial in comparison with our real task, which is to find this document and stop a European war. Only one important thing has happened in the last three days, and that's that nothing has happened. There's no sign of trouble anywhere in Europe. Now, if this letter were there - no, it can't be there - but if it isn't there, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it missing? Was it a coincidence that Lucas died on the night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why isn't it among his papers? Did this mad wife carry it away with her? Ah, here's my latest report!" He glanced at the note handed to him.

"Inspector Lestrade has found something of interest. Watson, let's walk to Westminster together!"

It was my first visit to the crime scene - a high, dark, narrow house. Police Inspector Lestrade gazed at us from the front window until a police officer opened the door and let us in. The room where the crime had been committed showed no trace of it now, except an ugly, irregular stain on the carpet.

"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.

Holmes nodded.

"Our French friends have solved the case this time. No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door - surprise visit, I guess, because he kept his life in water-tight compartments. He let her in - couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she'd found him, screamed at him, one thing led to another, and then the end soon came with the knife. It wasn't all done in a moment, though, because these chairs were over there, and he had one in his hand as if he'd tried to hold her off with it."

"And yet you've sent for me?"

"Ah, yes, that's another matter - the sort of thing you take an interest in - strange, you know. It has nothing to do with the main fact - it can't have."

"What is it, then?"

"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are careful not to move things. There's an officer 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's not fastened, only laid there. We lifted it. We found..."

"Yes? You found..." Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.

"You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a lot must have soaked through to the floor, mustn't it?"

"Yes, it must."

"Well, you'll be surprised to hear that there's no stain on the white woodwork that matches it."

He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, he showed us.

"But the underside is as stained as the top. It must have left a mark."

Lestrade chuckled at puzzling the expert.

"Now I'll show you how. There is a second stain. See for yourself." As he spoke he turned over another part of the carpet and there, sure enough, was a great crimson stain on the old-fashioned, white floor.

"What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Why, it's simple enough. The two stains matched, but the carpet has been turned round."

"The police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that the carpet was turned round. That's clear enough. But what I want to know is, who moved the carpet and why?"

I could see from Holmes's face that he was excited.

"Look here, Lestrade," he said, "has that officer in the hall been in charge of the place all the time?"

"Yes, he has."

"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it in front of us. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll be more likely to get the truth out of him alone. Ask him why he allowed people in and then left them alone in this room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Tell him you know someone has been here. Do exactly what I tell you!"

Lestrade rushed into the hall and, a few moments later, his voice sounded from the back room.

"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes. He pulled the carpet from the floor and was down on his hands and knees inspecting each of the squares of wood beneath it. One turned as he pushed his nails into it. A small black hole opened under it. Holmes put his hand into it and pulled it out in anger and disappointment. It was empty.

"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wood was replaced and the carpet had only just been put straight when Lestrade's voice was heard in the hall. He found Holmes waiting patiently.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. Come in, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear about your behaviour."

The officer, very hot and sorry, sidled into the room.

"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to the door last night. She'd got the wrong address. And then we got talking. It's lonely when you're on duty here all day."

"Well, what happened then?"

"She wanted to see where the crime was committed, had read about it in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman and I saw no harm in letting her have a look. When she saw that mark on the carpet, she dropped to the floor like she were dead. I ran and got some water, but I could not wake her. Then I went out to call for help and, by the time I got back, the young woman had recovered and was gone - ashamed of herself, I think."

"How about moving that carpet?"

"Well, sir, she fell on it. I straightened it out afterwards."

"It's a lesson to you that you can't fool me, MacPherson," said Lestrade. "No doubt you thought you'd never be discovered, and yet a glance at that carpet was enough to show me someone had come into the room. It's lucky for you nothing is missing, or you'd find yourself in trouble."

"Has this woman only been here once?"

"Yes, sir, only once."

"Who was she?"

"I don't know the name, sir."

"Tall? Attractive?"

"Yes, sir. She was attractive. 'Oh, officer, let me have a look!' she said."

"What time was it?"

"It was just getting dark at the time. They were lighting the street lamps as I came back in."

"Very good," said Holmes. "Come on, Watson, I think we have more important work elsewhere."

As we left the house, Lestrade remained in the front room, while the officer opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand. The officer stared.

"Yes, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmes put his finger on his lips. "Excellent!" he said. "Come on, Watson. There will be no war, Mr. Hope's brilliant career will not suffer, and the Prime Minister will have no European difficulty to deal with."

"You've solved it!" I cried.

"Not exactly, Watson. There are some points as dark as ever. But we have so much information that it'll be our own fault if we can't get the rest."

When we arrived at the home of the Foreign Minister, Holmes asked for Lady Hope.

"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with anger. "This is most unfair of you. I wanted to keep my visit to you a secret, in case my husband thought I was interfering in his business. But you've come here and so shown there are business relations between us."

"Unfortunately, I had no alternative. I must recover a very important paper. I'm asking you to give it to me."

The lady jumped up, with all the colour gone from her beautiful face.

"You, you insult me, Mr. Holmes."

"Madam, it's useless. Give me the letter and everything will be alright. If you work with me, I can arrange everything. If you work against me I must expose you."

"You're trying to frighten me. You say you know something. What? I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."

"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know about your visit to Eduardo Lucas. I know you gave him this document. I know you returned to the room last night and how you took the letter from under the carpet."

"You're mad, Mr. Holmes, you're mad!" she cried, at last.

He took a small piece of card from his pocket. It was a woman's face cut out of a portrait.

"I've carried this because I thought it might be useful," he said. "The policeman has recognised it. Come on, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. I have no wish to cause you trouble. My job ends when I return the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice and be frank with me. It's your only chance."

Even now she was not defeated.

"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, you are insane."

"I'm sorry, Lady Hilda. I've done my best for you but I can see that it's pointless."

He rang the bell. A servant entered.

"Is Mr. Hope at home?"

"He'll be home, sir, at a quarter to one."

Holmes glanced at his watch.

"Still a quarter of an hour," he said. "I'll wait."

The butler had only just closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda was on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands out-stretched, her beautiful face wet with her tears.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes! Don't tell him! I love him so much! But this will break his heart."

Holmes lifted the lady up. "I'm grateful, madam, that you've come to your senses at last! There isn't a moment to lose. Where's the letter?"

She ran across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and pulled out a long blue envelope.

"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. I wish I'd never seen it!"

"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick, we must think of some way! Where's the briefcase?"

"Still in his bedroom."

"What a stroke of luck! Quick, bring it here!"

A moment later she had appeared with the casein her hand.

"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of course you have. Open it!"

Lady Hilda took out a small key. The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes pushed the blue envelope deep into the middle, between some other documents. The box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom.

"Now we're ready for him," said Holmes. "We still have ten minutes. I'm going very far to protect you, Lady Hilda. In return you'll spend the time telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary affair."

"Mr. Holmes, I'll tell you everything," cried the lady. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, there's no woman in all London who loves her husband as I do, and yet if he knew how I've behaved - how I've been forced to behave - he'd never forgive me. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness, his happiness, are at stake!

"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an unwise letter written before my marriage - a foolish letter, a letter from a loving girl. I meant no harm and yet he'd have thought it terrible. If he'd read that letter, his confidence in me would have been destroyed forever. It's years since I wrote it. I'd thought the whole thing was forgotten. Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands and that he would give it to my husband unless I brought him a document which he described in my husband's briefcase. He had some spy in the office who had told him about it. He promised me no harm would come to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"

"Take your husband into your confidence."

"I couldn't, Mr. Holmes, I couldn't! I know it seems terrible to steal a document from my husband, but I couldn't understand politics, while I could understand love. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took a copy of his key. I opened his briefcase and took the paper to Godolphin Street."

"What happened there, madam?"

"I knocked at the door, as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed him into his room, leaving the hall door open behind me, because I was frightened of being alone with the man. 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 that moment, there was a sound at the door and steps in the hall. Lucas quickly turned back the carpet, put the document into a hiding-place there and covered it again.

"What happened after that is like some dreadful dream. I have a vision of a dark, frantic face, a woman's voice, which screamed in French, 'At last I've found you with her!'

There was a struggle. I saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife in hers. I rushed from the horrible scene and only next morning in the paper did I learn the result. That night I was happy because I had my letter and I'd not seen what the future would bring.

"It was the next morning I realised that I'd only exchanged one problem for another. My husband was very upset at the loss of his paper. I could hardly stop myself from telling him what I'd done. I came to you that morning. From the moment I realised, my whole attention was focussed on getting back my husband's paper. It had to be where Lucas had put it, because it was hidden before that awful woman entered the room. If she hadn't come, I wouldn't have known where his hiding-place was. But 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 already know. I brought the paper back with me and thought of destroying it since I could see no way of returning it, without telling my husband what I'd done. Oh, I hear him on the stairs!"

The Foreign Minister ran into the room.

"Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.

"I'm hopeful."

His face shone. "The Prime Minister is having lunch with me. Can he share your hope? He hasn't slept since this terrible event. As to you, my dear, I think this is a matter of politics. We'll join you in a few minutes."

The Prime Minister was quiet, but I could see in his eyes that he shared the excitement of his young colleague.

"I understand you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?"

"Negative as yet," my friend answered. "I've asked everywhere and I'm sure there is no danger."

"But that's not enough, Mr. Holmes. We can't live for ever on this volcano. We must have something definite."

"That's why I am here. I am convinced the letter has never left this house. If it had, it would certainly be public by now. In short, I'm not convinced that anyone took it."

"Then how could it leave the briefcase?"

"I'm not convinced that it ever left it."

"Mr. Holmes, is this a joke? I'm sure it's not there."

"But I'm not sure. I've known such things to happen. I suppose there are other papers too. It may be mixed up with them."

"It was on top."

"Someone may have shaken the box."

"No, no. I had everything out."

"Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the Premier. "Let's look in the briefcase again."

The Foreign Minister asked his servant to fetch it.

"This is a stupid waste of time but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, let's look again. Here are the papers, you see. Letter from Lord Merrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, a note on Russo-German taxes, letter from Madrid. Good God! What is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"

The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.

"Yes, that's it and the letter is still there. Hope, I congratulate you."

"Thank you! Thank you! But this is impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard! How did you know it was there?"

"Because I knew it was nowhere else."

"I can't believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to the door. "Where's my wife? I must tell her everything is alright. Hilda! Hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs.

The Premier looked at Holmes with sparkling eyes.

"Come on, Mr. Holmes," he said. "There's more to this than meets the eye. How did the letter get back in the box?"

Holmes turned away smiling.

"We all have our diplomatic secrets," he said and, picking up his hat, he turned to the door.