The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  Adventure IX. The Greek Interpreter

  During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes I hadnever heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own earlylife. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhumaneffect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I found myselfregarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, asdeficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. Hisaversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships wereboth typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than hiscomplete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come tobelieve that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but one day, tomy very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother.

  It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which hadroamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causesof the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at lastto the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point underdiscussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due tohis ancestry and how far to his own early training.

  "In your own case," said I, "from all that you have told me, it seemsobvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility fordeduction are due to your own systematic training."

  "To some extent," he answered, thoughtfully. "My ancestors were countrysquires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural totheir class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, andmay have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, theFrench artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms."

  "But how do you know that it is hereditary?"

  "Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do."

  This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singularpowers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heardof him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion'smodesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmeslaughed at my suggestion.

  "My dear Watson," said he, "I cannot agree with those who rank modestyamong the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly asthey are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure fromtruth as to exaggerate one's own powers. When I say, therefore, thatMycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that Iam speaking the exact and literal truth."

  "Is he your junior?"

  "Seven years my senior."

  "How comes it that he is unknown?"

  "Oh, he is very well known in his own circle."

  "Where, then?"

  "Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example."

  I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimedas much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.

  "The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one ofthe queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five to twenty toeight. It's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful eveningI shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities."

  Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent'sCircus.

  "You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that Mycroft does not usehis powers for detective work. He is incapable of it."

  "But I thought you said--"

  "I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If theart of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, mybrother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he hasno ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verifyhis own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take thetrouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problemto him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved tobe the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working outthe practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laidbefore a judge or jury."

  "It is not his profession, then?"

  "By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the meresthobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, andaudits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodgesin Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morningand back every evening. From year's end to year's end he takes no otherexercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club,which is just opposite his rooms."

  "I cannot recall the name."

  "Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some fromshyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of theirfellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latestperiodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Clubwas started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable menin town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of anyother one. Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under anycircumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice ofthe committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was oneof the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere."

  We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from theSt. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distancefrom the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way intothe hall. Through the glass paneling I caught a glimpse of a large andluxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting aboutand reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into asmall chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me fora minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be hisbrother.

  Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. His bodywas absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preservedsomething of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in thatof his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray,seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I hadonly observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full powers.

  "I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fat handlike the flipper of a seal. "I hear of Sherlock everywhere since youbecame his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you roundlast week, to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you mightbe a little out of your depth."

  "No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling.

  "It was Adams, of course."

  "Yes, it was Adams."

  "I was sure of it from the first." The two sat down together in thebow-window of the club. "To any one who wishes to study mankind this isthe spot," said Mycroft. "Look at the magnificent types! Look at thesetwo men who are coming towards us, for example."

  "The billiard-marker and the other?"

  "Precisely. What do you make of the other?"

  The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over thewaistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could seein one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hatpushed back and several packages under his arm.

  "An old soldier, I perceive," said Sherlock.

  "And very recently discharged," remarked the brother.

  "Served in India, I see."

  "And a non-commissioned officer."

  "Royal Artillery, I fancy," said Sherlock.

  "And a widower."

  "But with a child."

  "Children, my dear boy, children."

  "Come," said I, laughing, "this is a little too much."

  "Surely," answered Holmes, "it is not hard to say that a man with thatbearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, ismore than a private, and is not long from India."

  "That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing hisammunition boots, as they are called," observed Mycroft.

  "He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, asis shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight isagainst his being a sapper. He is in the artillery."

  "Then, of course, his complete mourning shows
that he has lost some onevery dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as thoughit were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive.There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. The wifeprobably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under hisarm shows that there is another child to be thought of."

  I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brotherpossessed even keener faculties that he did himself. He glanced acrossat me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, andbrushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, redsilk handkerchief.

  "By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something quite after yourown heart--a most singular problem--submitted to my judgment. I reallyhad not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion,but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. If you would careto hear the facts--"

  "My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted."

  The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and,ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.

  "I have asked Mr. Melas to step across," said he. "He lodges on thefloor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which ledhim to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction,as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his livingpartly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide toany wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. Ithink I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his ownfashion."

  A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose oliveface and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though hisspeech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerlywith Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when heunderstood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story.

  "I do not believe that the police credit me--on my word, I do not," saidhe in a wailing voice. "Just because they have never heard of it before,they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall neverbe easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with thesticking-plaster upon his face."

  "I am all attention," said Sherlock Holmes.

  "This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. Melas. "Well then, it was Mondaynight--only two days ago, you understand--that all this happened. I aman interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you. I interpretall languages--or nearly all--but as I am a Greek by birth and with aGrecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principallyassociated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter inLondon, and my name is very well known in the hotels.

  "It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours byforeigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive lateand wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday nightwhen a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to myrooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at thedoor. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, andas he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of aninterpreter were indispensable. He gave me to understand that his housewas some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in agreat hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended tothe street.

  "I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was nota carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy thanthe ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, thoughfrayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to meand we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue.We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as tothis being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrestedby the extraordinary conduct of my companion.

  "He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with leadfrom his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times,as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a wordupon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows oneach side, and I found to my astonishment that they were covered withpaper so as to prevent my seeing through them.

  "'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'The fact isthat I have no intention that you should see what the place is to whichwe are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you couldfind your way there again.'

  "As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. Mycompanion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart fromthe weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a strugglewith him.

  "'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I stammered. 'Youmust be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.'

  "'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'll make itup to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any timeto-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is againstmy interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you toremember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are inthis carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.'

  "His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them whichwas very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could behis reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever itmight be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in myresisting, and that I could only wait to see what might befall.

  "For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as towhere we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a pavedcauseway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt;but, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all whichcould in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were.The paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtainwas drawn across the glass work in front. It was a quarter-past sevenwhen we left Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutesto nine when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let downthe window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lampburning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, andI found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawnand trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these were privategrounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possiblyventure to say.

  "There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that Icould see little save that the hall was of some size and hung withpictures. In the dim light I could make out that the person who hadopened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with roundedshoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me thathe was wearing glasses.

  "'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he.

  "'Yes.'

  "'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could notget on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll not regret it,but if you try any tricks, God help you!' He spoke in a nervous, jerkyfashion, and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow heimpressed me with fear more than the other.

  "'What do you want with me?' I asked.

  "'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us,and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told tosay, or--' here came the nervous giggle again--'you had better neverhave been born.'

  "As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room whichappeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light wasafforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainlylarge, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I steppedacross it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, ahigh white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanesearmor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and theelderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had leftus, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with hima gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowlytowards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enables me tosee him more clearly I was thrilled with hor
ror at his appearance. Hewas deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brillianteyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But whatshocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his facewas grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one largepad of it was fastened over his mouth.

  "'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as this strangebeing fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are his hands loose? Now,then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, andhe will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is preparedto sign the papers?'

  "The man's eyes flashed fire.

  "'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.

  "'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.

  "'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom Iknow.'

  "The man giggled in his venomous way.

  "'You know what awaits you, then?'

  "'I care nothing for myself.'

  "These are samples of the questions and answers which made up ourstrange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had toask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and againI had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. Itook to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocentones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anythingof the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played amore dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:

  "'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?'

  "'I care not. I am a stranger in London.'

  "'Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?'

  "'Let it be so. Three weeks.'

  "'The property can never be yours. What ails you?'

  "'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.'

  "'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?'

  "'I will never sign. I do not know.'

  "'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?'

  "'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.'

  "'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?'

  "'Then I shall never see her. Athens.'

  "Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out thewhole story under their very noses. My very next question might havecleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a womanstepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know morethan that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in somesort of loose white gown.

  "'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. 'I could notstay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only--Oh, my God, it isPaul!'

  "These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man witha convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out'Sophy! Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was but foran instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushedher out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciatedvictim, and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I wasleft alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague ideathat I might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which Ifound myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up Isaw that the older man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixedupon me.

  "'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'You perceive that we have takenyou into our confidence over some very private business. We should nothave troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who beganthese negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It wasquite necessary for us to find some one to take his place, and we werefortunate in hearing of your powers.'

  "I bowed.

  "'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me, 'whichwill, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,' he added, tapping melightly on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul aboutthis--one human soul, mind--well, may God have mercy upon your soul!"

  "I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which thisinsignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as thelamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and hislittle pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his faceforward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitchinglike a man with St. Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that hisstrange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady.The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, andglistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.

  "'We shall know if you speak of this,' said he. 'We have our own meansof information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friendwill see you on your way.'

  "I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtainingthat momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followedclosely at my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word.In silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windowsraised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.

  "'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my companion. 'I am sorryto leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Anyattempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury toyourself.'

  "He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring outwhen the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. Ilooked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy commonmottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far away stretched aline of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On theother side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.

  "The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stoodgazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw someone coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made outthat he was a railway porter.

  "'Can you tell me what place this is?' I asked.

  "'Wandsworth Common,' said he.

  "'Can I get a train into town?'

  "'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,' said he, 'you'lljust be in time for the last to Victoria.'

  "So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where Iwas, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. ButI know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappyman if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning,and subsequently to the police."

  We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to thisextraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.

  "Any steps?" he asked.

  Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.

  "'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of a Greekgentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speakEnglish, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one givinginformation about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473.' Thatwas in all the dailies. No answer."

  "How about the Greek Legation?"

  "I have inquired. They know nothing."

  "A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?"

  "Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said Mycroft, turning tome. "Well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you doany good."

  "Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'll let youknow, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainlybe on my guard, if I were you, for of course they must know throughthese advertisements that you have betrayed them."

  As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office andsent off several wires.

  "You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no meanswasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this waythrough Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, althoughit can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishingfeatures."

  "You have hopes of solving it?"

  "Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail
to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory whichwill explain the facts to which we have listened."

  "In a vague way, yes."

  "What was your idea, then?"

  "It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried offby the young Englishman named Harold Latimer."

  "Carried off from where?"

  "Athens, perhaps."

  Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could not talk a word ofGreek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference--that she hadbeen in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece."

  "Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England,and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him."

  "That is more probable."

  "Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be the relationship--comesover from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into thepower of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and useviolence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make overthe girl's fortune--of which he may be trustee--to them. This he refusesto do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter,and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before.The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out bythe merest accident."

  "Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you are not farfrom the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only tofear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time wemust have them."

  "But how can we find where this house lies?"

  "Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was SophyKratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be ourmain hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It isclear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established theserelations with the girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother inGreece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have beenliving in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shallhave some answer to Mycroft's advertisement."

  We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking.Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our roomhe gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equallyastonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair.

  "Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at oursurprised faces. "You don't expect such energy from me, do you,Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me."

  "How did you get here?"

  "I passed you in a hansom."

  "There has been some new development?"

  "I had an answer to my advertisement."

  "Ah!"

  "Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving."

  "And to what effect?"

  Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.

  "Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by amiddle-aged man with a weak constitution. 'Sir,' he says, 'in answer toyour advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I know theyoung lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me Icould give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is livingat present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours faithfully, J. Davenport.'

  "He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do you not thinkthat we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"

  "My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister'sstory. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson,and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done todeath, and every hour may be vital."

  "Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may need aninterpreter."

  "Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for a four-wheeler, andwe shall be off at once." He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and Inoticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes," said he, inanswer to my glance; "I should say from what we have heard, that we aredealing with a particularly dangerous gang."

  It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the roomsof Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.

  "Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.

  "I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door; "I onlyknow that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage."

  "Did the gentleman give a name?"

  "No, sir."

  "He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"

  "Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face,but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that hewas talking."

  "Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This grows serious,"he observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. "These men have got hold ofMelas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are wellaware from their experience the other night. This villain was able toterrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubtthey want his professional services, but, having used him, they may beinclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery."

  Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soonor sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it wasmore than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply withthe legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was aquarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before thefour of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a milebrought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark house standing back from theroad in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way upthe drive together.

  "The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "The house seemsdeserted."

  "Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes.

  "Why do you say so?"

  "A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the lasthour."

  The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of thegate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?"

  "You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. Butthe outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much so that we cansay for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on thecarriage."

  "You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging hisshoulder. "It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if wecannot make some one hear us."

  He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but withoutany success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes.

  "I have a window open," said he.

  "It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not againstit, Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way inwhich my friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that under thecircumstances we may enter without an invitation."

  One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which wasevidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspectorhad lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, thecurtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had describedthem. On the table lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and theremains of a meal.

  "What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly.

  We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming fromsomewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into thehall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspectorand I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as hisgreat bulk would permit.

  Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the centralof these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into adull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but thekey had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushedin, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.

  "It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will clear."

  Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from adull blue flame which
flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre.It threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadowsbeyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against thewall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalationwhich set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of thestairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, hethrew up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.

  "We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "Where is acandle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold thelight at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"

  With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into thewell-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, withswollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted weretheir features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we mighthave failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who hadparted from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His handsand feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eyethe marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similarfashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with severalstrips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over hisface. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showedme that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however,still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia andbrandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and ofknowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in whichall paths meet.

  It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did butconfirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, haddrawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him withthe fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him forthe second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which thisgiggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for hecould not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek.He had been taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter ina second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the twoEnglishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did notcomply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against everythreat, they had hurled him back into his prison, and afterreproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaperadvertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, and heremembered nothing more until he found us bending over him.

  And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, theexplanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were ableto find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered theadvertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecianfamily, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England.While there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who hadacquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to flywith him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselveswith informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their handsof the matter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudentlyplaced himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose namewas Wilson Kemp--a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, findingthat through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in theirhands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by cruelty andstarvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property. Theyhad kept him in the house without the girl's knowledge, and the plasterover the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficultin case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perception,however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasionof the interpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. Thepoor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one aboutthe house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both ofwhom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out,and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with thegirl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the furnished house whichthey had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both uponthe man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them.

  Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us fromBuda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling with awoman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems,and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarreled and hadinflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy,of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one couldfind the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and herbrother came to be avenged.