1 The Old School Friend

ThE Naval TREatY

Chapter 1 The Old School Friend Percy Phelps was one of my best friends at school. He was a brilliant student, winning every prize the school had to offer. Many of the other boys envied him. They called him "Tadpole" Phelps because of his small size, and he was frequently bullied. This didn't hold him back, though. He went on to win a place at Cambridge University, where he gained a first-class degree. With help from his uncle, the famous politician

Lord Holdhurst, he got a good job at the Foreign Office. I lost touch with my friend at this point, so I was surprised to receive a letter from him one day in July 1889. He wrote: My dear Watson, No doubt you remember your old friend "Tadpole" Phelps. You will recall how I had an important job at the Foreign Office. All was going well until, about nine weeks ago, a horrible thing happened that has destroyed my career. It caused me a mental breakdown from which I am only just recovering. I'm still very weak and cannot travel. Do you think you could bring your friend, the detective Sherlock Holmes, to see me? He may be the only person who can help. Your old schoolmate, Percy Phelps. I was quite moved by the letter and immediately set off to visit Holmes to see if I could interest him in the case. I found him at his Baker Street home, gazing out of his window, looking bored. "Do you have a case for me, Watson?" he asked. "I desperately need a case."

"Maybe I do," I said, and showed him the letter. When he had read it, I saw a gleam in his eye and knew his curiosity had been pricked. He immediately began putting on his coat. "Where are you going?" I asked. "To see Mr. Phelps. There's no time like the present. Coming, Watson?" We were fortunate to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in a little over an hour we found ourselves at Briar House, Phelps's home near the Surrey town of Woking. It was a large house with a beautiful garden. The butler showed us into an elegant drawing

room. A few moments later, a plump young man entered and greeted us warmly. "I'm so glad you've come," he said. "Percy was hoping you would." "You're not a member of the family," said Holmes. The man looked surprised. "How did you know?" Holmes pointed out the initials on the locket dangling from his neck: J. H. "Oh, well spotted!" he said. "My name's Joseph Harrison. I may not be a Phelps, but Percy is due to marry my sister Annie, so I shall

at least be related to him by marriage. I'll show you in now if you like—he's impatient to see you." The ground-floor room was large and airy, with pleasant views onto the garden. My old friend was lying on a sofa near the open window, looking very pale and worn. A woman was with him, who introduced herself as Annie Harrison. Phelps smiled weakly when he saw me. "I barely recognize you with that moustache, Watson, but I suppose I must have changed, too. And I presume this is your celebrated friend, Mr. Holmes?" I introduced them, and we sat down.