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                                      1917

                                SHERLOCK HOLMES

                                  HIS LAST BOW

                           by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle











                 An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes

  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 expectation 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 Herling, the chief secretary of the
legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz 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 a trap for the stranger.
One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one
comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have
reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have,
for example, their insular conventions which simply must 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 worst 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 week-end
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've no idea the harm 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, with this sporting
pose of yours-"

  "No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This
is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it."
  "Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them, you
hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your
four-in-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, night-club,
knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And all the time this
quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in
England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man 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
latticed 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."
  "She would at least have peace for the moment."

  "But her honour?"
  "Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a
mediaeval conception. Besides England is not ready. It is an
inconceivable thing, but even our special war tax 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 and there one hears 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
wiser to fight with 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 armchair with the light shining upon his
broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar.
  The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the
further corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large,
brass-bound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch
chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung
open the heavy door.

  "Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.
  The light shone vividly into the opened 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-defences," "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 for the
hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my
collection is coming and there is the setting all ready 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 worst
setback 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 had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup.
Did Altamont name no hour?"
  Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
-

  Will 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. "By the way, what do 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 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 book
through the little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put a
triumphant finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" he indicated
a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses
upon a salver.
  "May I offer you a glass before your journey?"
  "No, thanks. But it looks like revelry.
  "Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my
Tokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I
have to study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to the
terrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch from
the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "Those
are the lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, pulling
on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be
other lights within the week, 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 is 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 ruddy-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 Ford 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 on to 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 gray moustache, 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
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. "Say, 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 mine was goin' 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 keyhole. "This other 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 to-morrow morning."
  "Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying in
this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from
what I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I'd
rather watch him from over the water."
  "But you're an American citizen?"
  "Well, so was 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 and 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's 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 towards the end. It's enough to make a
man bughouse when he has to play a part 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 ruddy face turned a 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 the 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 Fratton way 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 is the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you, and I
know the name of the sixth 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 will 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.
  "The what?"
  "The boodle. The reward. The L500. The gunner turned damned 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. 'Nothin' doin'!' says he,
and he meant it, too, but the last hundred did it. It's cost me two
hundred pound from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up
without gettin' my wad."

  Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You don't seem to have a very
high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the money before you
give up the book."
  "Well, mister, it is a business proposition."
  "All right. Have 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 this
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 writhing face.
  "Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the
bottle of Imperial Tokay.

  The thickset 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 it is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the Schoenbrunn
Palace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroform
vapour does not help the palate."
  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 valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleeping
stertorously 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 curtseyed
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'm 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 ours."
  "I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your
plans, 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 to-morrow 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 are
thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to
see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according to the mine-field
plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson"- he stopped his work
and took his old friend by the shoulders- "I've 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. "To-morrow it will be but a
dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial
changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow 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 leisured 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 and 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 Skibbareen, and
so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who
recommended me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter was
complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which
has not prevented most of his plans going subtly 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. "Hullo! Hullo!" 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. Mister 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 level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking with
slow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get level
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 Nihilist Klopman,
Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, 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 worth? What
have I done? It is my ruin forever!"

  "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 more 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 a
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 hound hand and foot, into the spare seat of
the little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside 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 realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he, "that if your
government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war."
  "What about your government and all this 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 realize 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 inns by giving us 'The
Dangling Prussian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient
creature, but at present his temper is a little 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 Herling, and see if even now you
may not fill 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 it's God's own wind none the less,
and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the
storm has 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 cashed
early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can."


                               -THE END-