Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes THE GREEK INTERPRETER

DURING my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes Ihad never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his ownearly life. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhatinhuman effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I foundmyself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart,as deficient in human sympathy as he was preeminent in intelligence. Hisaversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships wereboth typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than hiscomplete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come tobelieve that he was an orphan with no relatives living; but one day, to myvery great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother.It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which hadroamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes ofthe change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to thequestion of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under discussionwas, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry andhow far to his own early training."In your own case," said I, "from all that you have told me, it seemsobvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility fordeduction are due to your own systematic training.""To some extent," he answered thoughtfully. "My ancestors werecountry squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is naturalto their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and mayhave come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, theFrench artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.""But how do you know that it is hereditary?""Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do."This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with suchsingular powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public hadheard of him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion'smodesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior.Holmes laughed at my suggestion."My dear Watson," said he, "I cannot agree with those who rankmodesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seenexactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departurefrom truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. When I say, therefore, thatMycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I amspeaking the exact and literal truth.""Is he your junior?""Seven years my senior.""How comes it that he is unknown?" "Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.""Where, then?""Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example."I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimedas much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch."The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one ofthe [436] queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five to twenty toeight. It's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shallbe very happy to introduce you to two curiosities."Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent'sCircus."You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that Mycroft does notuse his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.""But I thought you said- -""I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the artof the detective began and ended in reasoning from an armchair, mybrother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has noambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify hisown solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take thetrouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem tohim, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to bethe correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out thepractical points which must be gone into before a case could be laidbefore a judge or jury.""It is not his profession, then?""By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the meresthobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, andaudits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morningand back every evening. From year's end to year's end he takes no otherexercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club,which is just opposite his rooms.""I cannot recall the name.""Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who,some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for thecompany of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairsand the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that theDiogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable andunclubable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least noticeof any other one. Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under anycircumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of thecommittee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one ofthe founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere."We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it fromthe St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some littledistance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the wayinto the hall. Through the glass panelling I caught a glimpse of a large andluxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sittingabout and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed meinto a small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leavingme for a minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew couldonly be his brother.Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. Hisbody was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, hadpreserved something of the sharpness of expression which was soremarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarlylight, watery gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspectivelook which I had only observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting hisfull powers."I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fat hand likethe flipper [437] of a seal. "I hear of Sherlock everywhere since youbecame his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you roundlast week to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you mightbe a little out of your depth.""No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling."It was Adams, of course.""Yes, it was Adams.""I was sure of it from the first." The two sat down together in the bowwindow of the club. "To anyone who wishes to study mankind this is thespot," said Mycroft. "Look at the magnificent types! Look at these twomen who are coming towards us, for example.""The billiard-marker and the other?""Precisely. What do you make of the other?"The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marksover the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I couldsee in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hatpushed back and several packages under his arm."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 man with thatbearing, expression of authority, and sun-baked skin, is a soldier, is morethan a private, and is not long from India.""That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing hisammunition boots, as they are called," observed Mycroft."He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as isshown by the lighter skin on that side of his brow. His weight is againsthis being a sapper. He is in the artillery.""Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lostsomeone very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks asthough it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, youperceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young.The wife probably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-bookunder his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of." I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that hisbrother possessed even keener faculties than he did himself. He glancedacross at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box andbrushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, redsilk handkerchief."By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something quite after yourown heart-a most singular problem-submitted to my judgment. I reallyhad not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but itgave me a basis for some pleasing speculations. If you would care to hearthe facts- -""My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted."[438] 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 lodges on thefloor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which ledhim to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction,as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partlyas interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to anywealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. Ithink I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his ownfashion."A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose oliveface and coal black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though hisspeech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly withSherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when heunderstood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story."I do not believe that the police credit me-on my word, I do not," saidhe in a wailing voice. "Just because they have never heard of it before,they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never beeasy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with thesticking-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 this happened.I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbour there has told you. Iinterpret all languages-or nearly all-but as I am a Greek by birth and witha Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principallyassociated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter inLondon, and my name is very well known in the hotels."It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours byforeigners who get into difficulties, or by travellers who arrive late andwish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when aMr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to myrooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at thedoor. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and ashe could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreterwere indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was somelittle distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry,bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street. "I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was nota carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than theordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, thoughfrayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to meand we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue.We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark asto this being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words werearrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion."He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loadedwith lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward severaltimes, as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without aword upon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up thewindows on each side, and I found to my astonishment that they werecovered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them." 'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'The fact is thatI have [439] no intention that you should see what the place is to which weare driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could findyour way there again.'"As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. Mycompanion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apartfrom the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a strugglewith him." 'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I stammered. 'Youmust be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.'" 'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'll make it upto you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-nightyou attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interest, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no oneknows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in myhouse, you are equally in my power.'"His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them, whichwas very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be hisreason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it mightbe, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting,and that I could only wait to see what might befall."For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as towhere we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a pavedcauseway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but,save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in theremotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paperover each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain wasdrawn across the glasswork in front. It was a quarter-past seven when weleft Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to ninewhen we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window,and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burningabove it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I foundmyself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees oneach side of me as I entered. Whether these were private grounds,however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly venture tosay."There was a coloured gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that Icould see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures.In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the doorwas a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. Ashe turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearingglasses." 'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he." 'Yes.'" 'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we couldnot get on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but ifyou try any tricks, God help you!' He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion,and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed mewith fear more than the other." 'What do you want with me?' I asked." 'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us,and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say,or-' here came the nervous giggle again-'you had better never have beenborn.'"As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room whichappeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was affordedby a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly large, andthe way in which my [440] feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across ittold me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high whitemarble mantelpiece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armour atone side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly manmotioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in somesort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As he cameinto the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly Iwas thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale andterribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whosespirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than anysigns of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely crisscrossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastenedover his mouth." 'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as this strangebeing fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are his hands loose? Now,then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and hewill write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to signthe papers?""The man's eyes flashed fire." 'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate." 'On no conditions?' I asked at the bidding of our tyrant." 'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom Iknow.'"The man giggled in his venomous way." 'You know what awaits you, then?'" 'I care nothing for myself.'"These are samples of the questions and answers which made up ourstrange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had toask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again andagain I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came tome. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knewanything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no sign Iplayed a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:" 'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?'" 'I care not. I am a stranger in London.'" 'Your fate will be on your own head. How long have you been here?'" 'Let it be so. Three weeks.'" 'The property can never be yours. What ails you?'" 'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.'" 'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?'" 'I will never sign. I do not know.'" 'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?'" 'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.'" 'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?'" 'Then I shall never see her. Athens.'"Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out thewhole story under their very noses. My very next question might havecleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a womanstepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know morethan that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sortof loose white gown.[441] " 'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. 'Icould not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only- - Oh, myGod, it is Paul!'"These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man witha convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out 'Sophy! Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was butfor an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman andpushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered hisemaciated victim and dragged him away through the other door. For amoment I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with somevague idea that I might in some way get a clue to what this house was inwhich I found myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for lookingup I saw that the older man was standing in the doorway, with his eyesfixed upon me." 'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'You perceive that we have takenyou into our confidence over some very private business. We should nothave troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who beganthese negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was quitenecessary for us to find someone to take his place, and we were fortunatein hearing of your powers.'"I bowed." 'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me, 'whichwill, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,' he added, tapping melightly on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul aboutthis-one human soul, mind-well, may God have mercy upon your soul!'"I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this insignificantlooking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamp-lightshone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his littlepointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face forwardas he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a manwith St. Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchylittle laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. The terror of hisface lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly with amalignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths." 'We shall know if you speak of this,' said he. 'We have our ownmeans of information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and myfriend will see you on your way.' "I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtainingthat momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followedclosely at my heels and took his place opposite to me without a word. Insilence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windowsraised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up." 'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my companion. 'I am sorryto leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Anyattempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury toyourself.'"He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring outwhen the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. Ilooked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathycommon mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far awaystretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upperwindows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway."The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stoodgazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I sawsomeone coming [442] towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me Imade out that he was a railway porter." 'Can you tell me what place this is?' I asked." 'Wandsworth Common,' said he." 'Can I get a train into town?'" 'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,' said he, 'you'lljust be in time for the last to Victoria.'"So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have toldyou. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help thatunhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes nextmorning, and subsequently to the police."We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to thisextraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother."Any steps?" he asked.Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table."Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of aGreek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who isunable to speak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paidto anyone giving information about a Greek lady whose first nameis Sophy. X 2473."That was in all the dailies. No answer.""How about the Greek legation?""I have inquired. They know nothing.""A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?""Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said Mycroft, turning tome. "Well, you take the case up by all means and let me know if you doany good.""Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'll let youknow, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainlybe on my guard if I were you, for of course they must know through theseadvertisements that you have betrayed them."As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office andsent off several wires."You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no meanswasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this waythrough Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although itcan admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features.""You have hopes of solving it?""Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we failto discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory whichwill explain the facts to which we have listened.""In a vague way, yes.""What was your idea, then?""It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried offby the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.""Carried off from where?""Athens, perhaps."Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could not talk aword of [443] Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well.Inference-that she had been in England some little time, but he had notbeen in Greece.""Well, then, we will presume that she had once come on a visit toEngland, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.""That is more probable." "Then the brother-for that, I fancy, must be the relationship-comesover from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the powerof the young man and his older associate. They seize him and useviolence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to makeover the girl's fortune-of which he may be trustee-to them. This herefuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get aninterpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some otherone before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother and finds it outby the merest accident.""Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you are not farfrom the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only tofear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time wemust have them.""But how can we find where this house lies?""Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was SophyKratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be ourmain hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clearthat some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relationswith the girl- some weeks, at any rate-since the brother in Greece has hadtime to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the sameplace during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer toMycroft's advertisement."We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking.Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room hegave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equallyastonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the armchair."Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at oursurprised faces. "You don't expect such energy from me, do you,Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.""How did you get here?""I passed you in a hansom.""There has been some new development?""I had an answer to my advertisement.""Ah!""Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.""And to what effect?"Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper."Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by amiddle-aged man with a weak constitution."SIR [he says]:"In answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg toinform you that I know the young lady in question very well. Ifyou should care to call upon me I could give you some particularsas to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles,Beckenham."Yours faithfully,"J. DAVENPORT.[444] "He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do younot think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn theseparticulars?""My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister'sstory. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson andgo straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done todeath, and every hour may be vital.""Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may need aninterpreter.""Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for a four-wheeler,and we shall be off at once." He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, andI noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes," said he inanswer to my glance, "I should say, from what we have heard, that we aredealing with a particularly dangerous gang."It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the roomsof Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone."Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes."I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door; "Ionly know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage.""Did the gentleman give a name?""No, sir.""He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?""Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face,but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he wastalking.""Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly. "This grows serious," he observed as we drove to Scotland Yard. "These men have got hold ofMelas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well awarefrom their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorizehim the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want hisprofessional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined topunish him for what they will regard as his treachery."Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soonas or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, itwas more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson andcomply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter thehouse. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and halfpast before the four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive ofhalf a mile brought us to The Myrtles-a large, dark house standing backfrom the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab and madeour way up the drive together."The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "The house seemsdeserted.""Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes."Why do you say so?""A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the lasthour."The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gatelamp, but where does the luggage come in?""You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way.But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper-so much so that wecan say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on thecarriage.""You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging hisshoulders. "It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if wecannot make someone hear us."[445] He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, butwithout any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a fewminutes."I have a window open," said he."It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it,Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector as he noted the clever way in whichmy friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that under thecircumstances we may enter without an invitation."One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which wasevidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector hadlit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, thelamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the tablelay two glasses, an empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal."What is that?" asked Holmes suddenly.We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming fromsomewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into thehall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspectorand I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as hisgreat bulk would permit. Three doors faced us upon the second floor, and it was from the centralof these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into adull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but thekey had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushedin, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat."It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will clear."Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from adull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. Itthrew a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadowsbeyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against thewall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalationwhich set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairsto draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up thewindow and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden."We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "Where is acandle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold thelight at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into thewell-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen,congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were theirfeatures that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might havefailed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had partedfrom us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feetwere securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of aviolent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tallman in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plasterarranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan aswe laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aidhad come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in less than anhour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy, I had the satisfaction of seeinghim open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him backfrom that dark valley in which all paths meet.It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did butconfirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, haddrawn a life-preserver from [446] his sleeve, and had so impressed himwith the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him forthe second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which thisgiggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He hadbeen taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a secondinterview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmenhad menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply withtheir demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they hadhurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching Melas with histreachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they hadstunned him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing moreuntil he found us bending over him.And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, theexplanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able tofind out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered theadvertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecianfamily, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. Whilethere she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquiredan ascendency over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him.Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves withinforming her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of thematter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placedhimself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name wasWilson Kemp -a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding thatthrough his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, hadkept him a prisoner, and had endeavoured by cruelty and starvation tomake him sign away his own and his sister's property. They had kept himin the house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster over the facehad been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case sheshould ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perceptions, however,had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of theinterpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poor girl,however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the houseexcept the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom weretools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out, and that theirprisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl had fledaway at a few hours' notice from the furnished house which they hadhired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon the manwho had defied and the one who had betrayed them.Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from BudaPesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been travelling with a womanhad met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and theHungarian police were of opinion that they had quarrelled and hadinflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, ofa different way of thinking, and he holds to this day that, if one could findthe Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and herbrother came to be avenged.