His Last Bow by Arthur Conan Doyle (good books to read in english .txt) 📕

out now into a furious stream of German

invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his

swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and

swore.

 

“Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all

languages,” he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure

exhaustion. “Hullo! Hullo!” he added as he looked hard at the

corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. “This should

put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster

was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him.

Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for.”

 

The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the

sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and

hatred at his captor.

 

“I shall get level with you, Altamont,” he said, speaking with

slow deliberation. “If it takes me all my life I shall get level

with you!”

 

“The old sweet song,” said Holmes. “How often have I heard it in

days gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented

Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known

to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South

Downs.”

 

“Curse you, you double traitor!” cried the German, straining

against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes.

 

“No, no, it is not so bad as that,” said Holmes, smiling. “As my

speech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence

in fact. I used him and he is gone.”

 

“Then who are you?”

 

“It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to

interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first

acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good

deal of business in Germany in the past and my name is probably

familiar to you.”

 

“I would wish to know it,” said the Prussian grimly.

 

“It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler

and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the

Imperial Envoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the

Nihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was your

mother’s elder brother. It was I—”

 

Von Bork sat up in amazement.

 

“There is only one man,” he cried.

 

“Exactly,” said Holmes.

 

Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. “And most of that

information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth?

What have I done? It is my ruin forever!”

 

“It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will

require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your

admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and

the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster.”

 

Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair.

 

“There are a good many other points of detail which will, no

doubt, come to light in good time. But you have one quality

which is very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a

sportsman and you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that

you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been

outwitted yourself. After all, you have done your best for your

country, and I have done my best for mine, and what could be more

natural? Besides,” he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand

upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, “it is better than to

fall before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready,

Watson. If you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we

may get started for London at once.”

 

It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and a

desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends

walked him very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod

with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations

of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. After a

short, final struggle he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot,

into the spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was

wedged in beside him.

 

“I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit,”

said Holmes when the final arrangements were made. “Should I be

guilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your

lips?”

 

But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German.

 

“I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said he, “that if

your government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act

of war.”

 

“What about your government and all this treatment?” said Holmes,

tapping the valise.

 

“You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my

arrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and

outrageous.”

 

“Absolutely,” said Holmes.

 

“Kidnapping a German subject.”

 

“And stealing his private papers.”

 

“Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here.

If I were to shout for help as we pass through the village—”

 

“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably

enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us

‘The Dangling Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a

patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed,

and it would be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von

Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to

Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend, Baron Von

Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he

has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you,

Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I

understand, so London won’t be out of your way. Stand with me

here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we

shall ever have.”

 

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes,

recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner

vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned

to the car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a

thoughtful head.

 

“There’s an east wind coming, Watson.”

 

“I think not, Holmes. It is very warm.”

 

“Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age.

There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never

blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a

good many of us may wither before its blast. But it’s God’s own

wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie

in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. Start her up,

Watson, for it’s time that we were on our way. I have a check

for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the

drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”