“Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was takenafter eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hopeand his wife were both in the room from that hour until the losswas found out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening betweenseven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour,since whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and wouldnaturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a document ofthis importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? Noone has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on tothose who need it. What chance have we now to overtake or evento trace it? It is beyond our reach.”
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
“What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that thematter is indeed out of our hands.”
“Let us presume, for argument’s sake, that the document wastaken by the maid or by the valet——”
“They are both old and tried servants.”
“I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor,that there is no entrance from without, and that from within noone could go up unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in thehouse who has taken it. To whom would the thief take it? To oneof several international spies and secret agents, whose names aretolerably familiar to me. There are three who may be said to bethe heads of their profession. I will begin my research by goinground and finding if each of them is at his post. If one is missing—especially if he has disappeared since last night—we will havesome indication as to where the document has gone.”
“Why should he be missing?” asked the European Secretary. “Hewould take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as not.”
“I fancy not. These agents work independently, and theirrelations with the Embassies are often strained.”
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
“I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuablea prize to headquarters with his own hands. I think that yourcourse of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannotneglect all our other duties on account of this one misfortune.
Should there be any fresh developments during the day we shallcommunicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know theresults of your own inquiries.”
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipein silence and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I hadopened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensationalcrime which had occurred in London the night before, when myfriend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipedown upon the mantelpiece.
“Yes,” said he, “there is no better way of approaching it. Thesituation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could besure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it has notyet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of moneywith these fellows, and I have the British treasury behind me. Ifit’s on the market I’ll buy it—if it means another penny on theincome-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it backto see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck onthe other. There are only those three capable of playing so bolda game—there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo Lucas. Iwill see each of them.”
I glanced at my morning paper.
“Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?”
“Yes.”
“You will not see him.”
“Why not?”
“He was murdered in his house last night.”
My friend has so often astonished me in the course of ouradventures that it was with a sense of exultation that I realizedhow completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement,and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was theparagraph which I had been engaged in reading when he rose fromhis chair.
MURDER IN WESTMINSTER
A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows ofeighteenth century houses which lie between the river and theAbbey, almost in the shadow of the great Tower of the Houses ofParliament. This small but select mansion has been inhabited forsome years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circlesboth on account of his charming personality and because he has thewell-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateur tenorsin the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four yearsof age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderlyhousekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former retires early andsleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for the evening,visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o’clock onward Mr.
Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that timehas not yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constableBarrett, passing along Godolphin Street observed that the door ofNo. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer. Perceivinga light in the front room, he advanced into the passage and againknocked, but without reply. He then pushed open the door andentered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, the furniturebeing all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back in thecentre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay theunfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to the heartand must have died instantly. The knife with which the crime hadbeen committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down from atrophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robberydoes not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there hadbeen no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr.
Eduardo Lucas was so well known and popular that his violent andmysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy ina widespread circle of friends.
“Well, Watson, what do you make of this?” asked Holmes, aftera long pause.
“It is an amazing coincidence.”