“I have it,” I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers uponthe sofa. “Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was theyoung man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesdaymorning.”
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
“This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused mybrother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in theworld can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as Iremember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the trainand killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was noparticular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?”
“There has been an inquest,” said I, “and a good many freshfacts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly saythat it was a curious case.”
“Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it mustbe a most extraordinary one.” He snuggled down in his armchair.
“Now, Watson, let us have the facts.”
“The man’s name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twentysevenyears of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal.”
“Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!”
“He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen byhis fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fogabout 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them andshe can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of himwas when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer namedMason, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system inLondon.”
“When?”
“The body was found at six on Tuesday morning. It was lyingwide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goeseastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emergesfrom the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushed—aninjury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train.
The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had itbeen carried down from any neighbouring street, it must havepassed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing.
This point seems absolutely certain.”
“Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive,either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me.
Continue.”
“The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the bodywas found are those which run from west to east, some being purelyMetropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions.
It can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met hisdeath, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night,but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state.”
“His ticket, of course, would show that.”
“There was no ticket in his pockets.”
“No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular.
According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platformof a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one’s ticket. Presumably,then, the young man had one. Was it taken from him in order toconceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Or did hedrop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But the point is ofcurious interest. I understand that there was no sign of robbery?”
“Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. Hispurse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book onthe Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Throughthis his identity was established. There were also two dress-circletickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening.
Also a small packet of technical papers.”
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
“There we have it at last, Watson! British government—Woolwich. Arsenal—technical papers—Brother Mycroft, the chainis complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak forhimself.”
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmeswas ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there wasa suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but abovethis unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in itsbrow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, andso subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance oneforgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of ScotlandYard—thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretoldsome weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word.
Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided intoan armchair.
“A most annoying business, Sherlock,” said he. “I extremelydislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take nodenial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that Ishould be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have neverseen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty—it isbuzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?”
“We have just done so. What were the technical papers?”
“Ah, there’s the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. Thepress would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretchedyouth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partingtonsubmarine.”
Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his senseof the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant.
“Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard ofit.”
“Only as a name.”
“Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the mostjealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it fromme that naval warfare becomes impossible withing the radius of aBruce-Partington’s operation. Two years ago a very large sum wassmuggled through the Estimates and was expended in acquiringa monopoly of the invention. Every effort has been made to keepthe secret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprisingsome thirty separate patents, each essential to the working ofthe whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential officeadjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows.
