3 Holmes Starts to Investigate

Chapter 3 Holmes Starts to Investigate Percy Phelps managed another weak smile. "That's almost the end of my story, Mr. Holmes. On my arrival here, my physician, Dr. Ferrier, took immediate charge of my health. He decided that this should be my sick room, so Joseph had to move out. I have lain here for the past nine weeks. During the day, I'm cared for by my lovely Annie, while a hired nurse looks after me by night. "Gradually, the madness has lifted and my reason has returned. As soon as I felt able to, I contacted Mr. Forbes. He tells me they've made no progress on the case. As well as investigating the Tanners, they've been tailing Charles Gorot, my colleague who stayed behind that night to finish some work. They've found nothing to implicate any of them. Mr. Holmes, you're my final hope. If you can't help me, I'm finished."

Phelps sank back on his cushions, overcome with emotion. Annie gave him a teaspoon of soothing medicine. "Is there any chance you can help, Mr. Holmes?" she asked. "It's a tangled affair," Holmes replied, "but I promise to give it my fullest attention."

"I shan't be able to sleep until you return," said Phelps. On the train back to London, Holmes and I discussed the case. "The first question to ask when attempting to solve a crime like this is who benefits from it," said Holmes. "The French government would benefit from stealing the treaty, and so would anyone who might wish to sell it to them," I said. "That's true," agreed Holmes. "And then there's Lord Holdhurst." "Lord Holdhurst?" I exclaimed. "He'd be the last person to want the French to get hold of it."

"Maybe. But it's just possible that he wouldn't be sorry to see it accidentally destroyed. Let's see if we can pick up any clues when we interview his lordship later today. Meanwhile, I have already sent out inquiries." "Already? But we've only just left Percy's house." "I sent messages from Woking Station to every evening paper in London. This advertisement will appear in all of them." He handed me a sheet torn from a notebook. On it was scribbled in pencil:

￡10 reward. The number of the cab that dropped someone at the Foreign Office on Charles Street at quarter to ten on the evening of May 23. "Are you sure the thief came in a cab?" I asked. "Reasonably. If Phelps is right and there's no hiding place in the room or corridors, then the thief must have come from outside. On such a wet night, he'd have left damp footmarks on the floor, but there weren't any, so a cab must have brought him to the door." "I see what you mean." "I've also been thinking about that bell," said Holmes. "Why should it ring? Did the thief do it out of bravado? Did he ring it by accident? Or was it rung by someone else who wished to prevent the crime?" Holmes sank back in his seat in a state of deep contemplation. If he arrived at any answers to these questions, he didn't share them with me. We reached Waterloo at twenty past three, and after a hasty lunch at the station café we headed to Scotland Yard, headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.

Mr. Forbes the detective, a small, foxy man, was waiting for us. "I know your methods, Mr. Holmes," he said stiffly. "You use all the information the police give you and then take credit for solving the case." "On the contrary," said Holmes. "Out of my last fifty-three cases, my name has only appeared in four. I don't blame you for not knowing this because you're young and inexperienced, but if you want to do well in your career, I suggest you work with me, not against me." On hearing this, Forbes's attitude changed completely. "In that case," he said, "I'd be