2: We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreignagent. He must bring back the papers before morning or theloss will be discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in hispocket. What had become of the other three? He certainly wouldnot leave them of his own free will. Then, again, where is the priceof his treason? Once would have expected to find a large sum ofmoney in his pocket.”
“It seems to me perfectly clear,” said Lestrade. “I have nodoubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them.
He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He startedhome again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agentmurdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his bodyfrom the carriage. That would account for everything, would itnot?”
“Why had he no ticket?”
“The ticket would have shown which station was nearest theagent’s house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man’spocket.”
“Good, Lestrade, very good,” said Holmes. “Your theory holdstogether. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On the onehand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the Continent.
What is there for us to do?”
“To act, Sherlock—to act!” cried Mycroft, springing to his feet.
“All my instincts are against this explanation. Use your powers!
Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned! Leave nostone unturned! In all your career you have never had so great achance of serving your country.”
“Well, well!” said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. “Come,Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with yourcompany for an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by avisit to Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you havea report before evening, but I warn you in advance that you havelittle to expect.”
An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Undergroundrailroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediatelybefore Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gentlemanrepresented the railway company.
“This is where the young man’s body lay,” said he, indicating aspot about three feet from the metals. “It could not have fallenfrom above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore, itcould only have come from a train, and that train, so far as we cantrace it, must have passed about midnight on Monday.”
“Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?”
“There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found.”
“No record of a door being found open?”
“None.”
“We have had some fresh evidence this morning,” said Lestrade.
“A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan trainabout 11:40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud,as of a body striking the line, just before the train reached thestation. There was dense fog, however, and nothing could be seen.
He made no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the matterwith Mr. Holmes?”
My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensityupon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved out ofthe tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of points.
On these his eager, questioning eyes were fixed, and I saw on hiskeen, alert face that tightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils,and concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which I knew so well.
“Points,” he muttered; “the points.”
“What of it? What do you mean?”
“I suppose there are no great number of points on a system suchas this?”
“No; they are very few.”
“And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were onlyso.”
“What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?”
“An idea—an indication, no more. But the case certainly growsin interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do notsee any indications of bleeding on the line.”
“There were hardly any.”
“But I understand that there was a considerable wound.”
“The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury.”
“And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it bepossible for me to inspect the train which contained the passengerwho heard the thud of a fall in the fog?”
“I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up beforenow, and the carriages redistributed.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade, “that everycarriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself.”
It was one of my friend’s most obvious weaknesses that he wasimpatient with less alert intelligences than his own.
“Very likely,” said he, turning away. “As it happens, it was not thecarriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done allwe can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. Ithink our investigations must now carry us to Woolwich.”
At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother,which he handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:
See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out.
Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at BakerStreet, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agentsknown to be in England, with full address.
Sherlock.
“That should be helpful, Watson,” he remarked as we took ourseats in the Woolwich train. “We certainly owe Brother Mycroft adebt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really veryremarkable case.”
His eager face still wore that expression of intense and highstrungenergy, which showed me that some novel and suggestivecircumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See thefoxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about thekennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with gleamingeyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent—suchwas the change in Holmes since the morning. He was a differentman from the limp and lounging figure in the mouse-coloureddressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a few hoursbefore round the fog-girt room.
“There is material here. There is scope,” said he. “I am dullindeed not to have understood its possibilities.”
“Even now they are dark to me.”
