I had intended “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange” to be thelast of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which Ishould ever communicate to the public. This resolution of minewas not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of manyhundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it causedby any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singularpersonality and unique methods of this remarkable man. Thereal reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown tothe continued publication of his experiences. So long as he wasin actual professional practice the records of his successes wereof some practical value to him, but since he has definitely retiredfrom London and betaken himself to study and bee-farming onthe Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and hehas peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter shouldbe strictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him thatI had given a promise that “The Adventure of the Second Stain”
should be published when the times were ripe, and pointing outto him that it is only appropriate that this long series of episodesshould culminate in the most important international case whichhe has ever been called upon to handle, that I at last succeededin obtaining his consent that a carefully guarded account of theincident should at last be laid before the public. If in telling thestory I seem to be somewhat vague in certain details, the publicwill readily understand that there is an excellent reason for myreticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless,that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitorsof European fame within the walls of our humble room in BakerStreet. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant,was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger, twice Premierof Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yetof middle age, and endowed with every beauty of body and ofmind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope, Secretary forEuropean Affairs, and the most rising statesman in the country.
They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it waseasy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was businessof the most pressing importance which had brought them. ThePremier’s thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over theivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face lookedgloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary pullednervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of hiswatch-chain.
“When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eighto’clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. Itwas at his suggestion that we have both come to you.”
“Have you informed the police?”
“No, sir,” said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisivemanner for which he was famous. “We have not done so, nor is itpossible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in thelong run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularlydesire to avoid.”
“And why, sir?”
“Because the document in question is of such immenseimportance that its publication might very easily—I might almostsay probably—lead to European complications of the utmostmoment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hangupon the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with theutmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for allthat is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contentsshould be generally known.”
“I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be muchobliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances underwhich this document disappeared.”
“That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. Theletter—for it was a letter from a foreign potentate—was receivedsix days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left itin my safe, but have taken it across each evening to my housein Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a lockeddespatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. Iactually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and sawthe document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-boxhad stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I ama light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swearthat no one could have entered the room during the night. Andyet I repeat that the paper is gone.”
“What time did you dine?”
“Half-past seven.”
“How long was it before you went to bed?”
“My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It washalf-past eleven before we went to our room.”
“Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?”
“No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the housemaidin the morning, and my valet, or my wife’s maid, during therest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been withus for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly haveknown that there was anything more valuable than the ordinarydepartmental papers in my despatch-box.”
“Who did know of the existence of that letter?”
“No one in the house.”
“Surely your wife knew?”
“No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paperthis morning.”
The Premier nodded approvingly.
“I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,” saidhe. “I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance itwould rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties.”
The European Secretary bowed.
“You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I havenever breathed one word to my wife upon this matter.”
“Could she have guessed?”
“No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed—nor couldanyone have guessed.”
“Have you lost any documents before?”
“No, sir.”
“Who is there in England who did know of the existence of thisletter?”
