Seward soon departed, bearing with him my heartfelt thanks. Left alone again, I felt distinctly better for having unburdened my mind, and, as I hoped, gained an able partner in my struggle on Holmes' behalf.
He was up not long after, and looked better for his long rest, though he rubbed his eyes on entering the sitting-room, and actually stumbled momentarily against me. This dazed condition quickly passed, however, and his manner was alert as he looked about him. "I see we have had visitors," was his first comment.
"Two acquaintances of mine," I answered, relieved that my friend gave no sign of being aware that I had administered a drug to him by means of last night's curried chicken.
Evidently Holmes' thoughts had already passed on to other matters. "I must return this morning, Watson, to an old acquaintance of mine whom I visited briefly yesterday—no doubt you remember the blind German mechanic, Von Herder?"
"Of course—the man who built air-guns for Colonel Sebastian Moran, of evil memory. Do you go to visit the blind man in prison?"
"No." Holmes smiled to see my quick expression of concern. "Nor is the blind man still to be counted among my enemies. Since he has quite reformed, he has come to live in London; a change of address which I had some small hand in arranging for him, and for which he has been kind enough to express his gratitude, by placing his skills at my disposal. In fact, I expect that he has been at work for me all night."
"If you go to see him, I shall come with you."
"That is impossible. His reformation is quite genuine, but the presence of someone he does not know is likely to upset him." Holmes fell abruptly silent. He was standing at the window, so that for a moment I thought he had spied something of unusual interest in the street. But then he said, without turning: "Do you remember, Watson? It was the sight of my face that sent her running, screaming, to her death."
"Of course I remember, Holmes. But it was not your fault."
He turned to face me. "Have you thought about vampires, Watson, as I urged you?"
"Yes." It was an unwilling answer, and I was agreeably distracted by the arrival of the girl with the breakfast which Holmes had ordered on awakening.
"Good, very good!" He sounded almost hearty. "When the time comes, I must have with me someone I can trust." And he sat down and attacked his bacon and eggs with an energy that gave me hope.
When the girl was safely out of hearing again, I said: "You may of course trust me in this."
His eyes fastened on mine with a suddenly alert suspicion. "Watson, you must pledge me this instant, upon your honor, that you will never mention the subject of vampires to my brother Mycroft; it is the one thing that would undo him utterly. Have I your pledge?"
"You have," I answered in a heavy voice, and with the gravest mental reservations. Actually I had been considering for some time that circumstances might very soon oblige me to consult with Mycroft. As most of my readers may know, Holmes' older brother was, to the best of my knowledge, his next of kin—indeed, his only living relative. Mycroft was employed by the Government, and never left London. So constant were his habits, in fact, that I had put off consulting him, feeling that I should have no trouble locating him for that purpose at any hour of the day or night.
Some train of thought begun with Mycroft had plunged Holmes into an introspective pause, almost a reverie, his plate of food abandoned before him as if he had suddenly forgotten it.
"I have never spoken to you of my childhood, have I, Watson?"
"No, Holmes, you never have."
"There were painful things in it, which I suppose is common enough. But not such things… at any rate, Mycroft's childhood must have been worse, for he was seven years my senior, and must have seen more, and understood more at the time. I am referring to things one might think too horrible for any child to bear. Therefore the effects upon him were more severe than upon myself. I must warn you again, the mere mention of vampires could destroy him."
I waited, listening attentively, which is often the best thing a doctor can do for any patient.
Holmes went on, in the same distracted tone: "My father was, as I think I have mentioned, a country squire. A kindly man, of considerable intelligence, though little fame. Also he was a man of great strength, for he survived… much."
I waited still.
When Holmes resumed again, his voice had taken on the strain that of late had become all too frequent in it. "You know that Mycroft and I have both devoted our lives to intellectual pursuits. And neither of us has married…"
I had the strong impression that my friend was trembling upon the brink of some revelation or confession, which in prospect seemed to me likely to be terrible—the more terrible inasmuch as I could not for the life of me imagine what it might be, or whether, indeed, it would have any basis at all but the fancies engendered in a disordered brain.
At this crucial moment we were interrupted by the bell. When I came back with telegram in hand, I saw with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment that in the brief interval my friend had pulled himself together, and the revelation was not to come.
The telegram was from Superintendent Marlowe, addressed to Holmes, who promptly tore it open, and read it with an expression of satisfaction.
"He has, as you may recall, Watson, a whole chain of warehouses under his direction; and this communication is in reply to one of my own, asking Mr. Marlowe in which building I should be likely to find a very large box or trunk, unloaded on or about the tenth of this month from some ship arriving at the East India docks from Mediterranean ports, and unclaimed by the owner. I shall be surprised now if we cannot put our hands on this piece of baggage in a matter of hours, and with luck we shall see its owner in a day or two."
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as I had recovered from the shock of being thus addressed by my true name, I turned to study more carefully the four people who confronted me. Only as I did so did I recognize, at the right hand of their leader and half a step behind him, the strongly-built man who had so mysteriously and opportunely come to my aid at Barley's. He had impressed me then as brave; now his brow was furrowed, though not, I thought, with any fear of me. He kept darting glances at the dominant figure of his chief, and bit his mustache as if in worry.
The third man was quite young, and almost tremulous—I dismissed him, and my gaze moved on, to rest on the young woman. It would perhaps be an exaggeration to write that all idea of danger was at once swept from my mind. Let me say instead that her presence placed before me so strongly all of life's joyous possibilities, that its cares and even its perils appeared much diminished in importance.
"Your look mocks me, sir," she said, with hardly any tremor in her voice, while her eyes boldly met mine.
My admiration was increased. "Nay, I never mock beauty, and still less courage," I replied. And now at last I locked my gaze against their leader's. He reminded me of someone—I could not at first think who. "Fair warning," I added. "Do not fire those guns at me."