“An old soldier, I perceive,” said Sherlock.
“And very recently discharged,” remarked the brother.
“Served in India, I see.”
“And a non-commissioned officer.”
“Royal Artillery, I fancy,” said Sherlock.
“And a widower.”
“But with a child.”
“Children, my dear boy, children.”
“Come,” said I, laughing, “this is a little too much.”
“Surely,” answered Holmes, “it is not hard to say that a manwith that bearing, expression of authority, and sun-baked skin, is asoldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India.”
“That he has not left the service long is shown by his stillwearing his ammunition boots, as they are called,” observedMycroft.
“He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side,as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weightis against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery.”
“Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lostsome one very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shoppinglooks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things forchildren, you perceive. There is a rattle, which shows that oneof them is very young. The wife probably died in childbed. Thefact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there isanother child to be thought of.”
I began to understand what my friend meant when he said thathis brother possessed even keener faculties that he did himself.
He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from atortoise-shell box, and brushed away the wandering grains fromhis coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief.
“By the way, Sherlock,” said he, “I have had something quiteafter your own heart—a most singular problem—submitted tomy judgment. I really had not the energy to follow it up save in avery incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasingspeculation. If you would care to hear the facts——”
“My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.”
The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book,and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.
“I have asked Mr. Melas to step across,” said he. “He lodgeson the floor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance withhim, which led him to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melasis a Greek by extraction, as I understand, and he is a remarkablelinguist. He earns his living partly as interpreter in the law courtsand partly by acting as guide to any wealthy Orientals who mayvisit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will leave himto tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion.”
A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whoseolive face and coal black hair proclaimed his Southern origin,though his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shookhands eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkledwith pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxiousto hear his story.
“I do not believe that the police credit me—on my word, Ido not,” said he in a wailing voice. “Just because they have neverheard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But Iknow that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what hasbecome of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face.”
“I am all attention,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“This is Wednesday evening,” said Mr. Melas. “Well, then, it wasMonday night—only two days ago, you understand—that all thishappened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there hastold you. I interpret all languages—or nearly all—but as I am aGreek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particulartongue that I am principally associated. For many years I havebeen the chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is verywell known in the hotels.
“It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strangehours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers whoarrive late and wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore,on Monday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressedyoung man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany himin a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had come tosee him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing buthis own tongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable.
He gave me to understand that his house was some little distanceoff, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling merapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street.
“I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whetherit was not a carriage in which I found myself. It was certainlymore roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London,and the fittings, though frayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimerseated himself opposite to me and we started off through CharingCross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had come out uponOxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to this being aroundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested bythe extraordinary conduct of my companion.
“He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeonloaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward andforward several times, as if to test its weight and strength. Then heplaced it without a word upon the seat beside him. Having donethis, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found to myastonishment that they were covered with paper so as to preventmy seeing through them.
“ ‘I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,’ said he. ‘The factis that I have no intention that you should see what the place is towhich we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me ifyou could find your way there again.’
“As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such anaddress. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered youngfellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had theslightest chance in a struggle with him.
“ ‘This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,’ I stammered.
‘You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.’
