“Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens,had become my objective. I began my operations at GloucesterRoad Station, where a very helpful official walked with me alongthe track and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the backstairwindows of Caulfield Gardens open on the line but theeven more essential fact that, owing to the intersection of one ofthe larger railways, the Underground trains are frequently heldmotionless for some minutes at that very spot.”
“Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!”
“So far—so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well,having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front andsatisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerablehouse, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the upper rooms.
Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was probably aconfederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear in mind thatOberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his booty, butnot with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant,and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly neveroccur to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make.”
“Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?”
“Hardly on the evidence.”
“What can we hope to do?”
“We cannot tell what correspondence may be there.”
“I don’t like it, Holmes.”
“My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I’ll do thecriminal part. It’s not a time to stick at trifles. Think of Mycroft’snote, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who waitsfor news. We are bound to go.”
My answer was to rise from the table.
“You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go.”
He sprang up and shook me by the hand.
“I knew you would not shrink at the last,” said he, and for amoment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tendernessthan I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful,practical self once more.
“It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk,” saidhe. “Don’t drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspiciouscharacter would be a most unfortunate complication.”
Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared,and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of themiddle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next doorthere appeared to be a children’s party, for the merry buzz ofyoung voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through thenight. The fog still hung about and screened us with its friendlyshade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massivedoor.
“This is a serious proposition,” said he. “It is certainly bolted aswell as locked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellentarchway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman shouldintrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I’ll do the same for you.”
A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reachedthe dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard inthe fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to workupon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharpcrash it flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage,closing the area door behind us. Holmes let the way up thecurving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light shone upona low window.
“Here we are, Watson—this must be the one.” He threw it open,and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadilyinto a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmesswept his light along the window-sill. It was thickly coated withsoot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurredand rubbed in places.
“You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! whatis this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark.” He waspointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window.
“Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration iscomplete. Let us stay here until a train stops.”
We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from thetunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creakingof brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feetfrom the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. Holmes softlyclosed the window.
“So far we are justified,” said he. “What do you think of it,Watson?”
“A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height.”
“I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that Iconceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surelywas not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it werenot for the grave interests involved the affair up to this pointwould be insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. Butperhaps we may find something here which may help us.”
We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite ofrooms upon the first floor. One was a dining-room, severelyfurnished and containing nothing of interest. A second was abedroom, which also drew blank. The remaining room appearedmore promising, and my companion settled down to a systematicexamination. It was littered with books and papers, and wasevidently used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmes turnedover the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard aftercupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austereface. At the end of an hour he was no further than when hestarted.
“The cunning dog has covered his tracks,” said he. “He has leftnothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence hasbeen destroyed or removed. This is our last chance.”
It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk.
Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper werewithin, covered with figures and calculations, without any note toshow to what they referred. The recurring words, “water pressure”
and “pressure to the square inch” suggested some possible relationto a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. Thereonly remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips insideit. He shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eagerface that his hopes had been raised.
