Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. “You don’t seem to havea very high opinion of my honour,” said he, “you want the moneybefore you give up the book.”
“Well, mister, it is a business proposition.”
“All right. Have your way.” He sat down at the table andscribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrainedfrom handing it to his companion. “After all, since we are to beon such terms, Mr. Altamont,” said he, “I don’t see why I shouldtrust you any more than you trust me. Do you understand?” headded, looking back over his shoulder at the American. “There’sthe check upon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcelbefore you pick the money up.”
The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid awinding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat gazingfor a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book whichlay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden lettersPractical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did themaster spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The nexthe was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and achloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.
“Another glass, Watson!” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as heextended 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 assuredme that it is from Franz Josef’s special cellar at the SchoenbrunnPalace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroformvapour does not help the palate.”
The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it wasremoving dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and thenpacking it neatly in Von Bork’s valise. The German lay upon thesofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms andanother round his legs.
“We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe frominterruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is noone in the house except old Martha, who has played her part toadmiration. I got her the situation here when first I took thematter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well.”
The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. Shecurtseyed with a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with someapprehension at the figure upon the sofa.
“It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all.”
“I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he hasbeen a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germanyyesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?”
“No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in mymind. 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 yourplans, sir, to find him here.”
“No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or sountil I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. Youcan 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 asusual.”
“Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Goodnight.
These papers,” he continued as the old lady vanished, “arenot of very great importance, for, of course, the informationwhich they represent has been sent off long ago to the Germangovernment. These are the originals which could not safely be gotout of the country.”
“Then they are of no use.”
“I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at leastshow our people what is known and what is not. I may say that agood many of these papers have come through me, and I need notadd are thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my decliningyears to see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according tothe mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson” —hestopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders— “I’vehardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? Youlook the same blithe boy as ever.”
“I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt sohappy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwichwith the car. But you, Holmes—you have changed very little—savefor 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 buta dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficialchanges I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge’s to-morrow as I wasbefore this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my wellof English seems to be permanently defiled—before this Americanjob came my way.”
“But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the lifeof a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm uponthe South Downs.”
“Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, themagnum opus of my latter years!” He picked up the volume fromthe table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of BeeCulture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen.
“Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laboriousdays when I watched the little working gangs as once I watchedthe criminal world of London.”
“But how did you get to work again?”
“Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Ministeralone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deignedto visit my humble roof—! The fact is, Watson, that this gentlemanupon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a classby himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understandwhy they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or evencaught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret centralforce. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressurewas brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me twoyears, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement.