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XII. The Final Problem

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the

last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by

which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an

incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion,

I have endeavoured to give some account of my strange experiences

in his company from the chance which first brought us together at

the period of the “Study in Scarlet,” up to the time of his

interference in the matter of the “Naval Treaty”—an interference

which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious

international complication. It was my intention to have stopped

there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a

void in my life which the lapse of two years has done little to

fill. My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in

which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother,

and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public

exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolute truth of the

matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when no good

purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know,

there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in

the _Journal de Genève_ on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter’s despatch

in the English papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letter

to which I have alluded. Of these the first and second were

extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an

absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell for the

first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent

start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had

existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.

He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion

in his investigation, but these occasions grew more and more

seldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only three

cases of which I retain any record. During the winter of that

year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he

had been engaged by the French government upon a matter of

supreme importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated

from Narbonne and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay

in France was likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise,

therefore, that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the

evening of the 24th of April. It struck me that he was looking

even paler and thinner than usual.

“Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,” he

remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; “I have

been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my

closing your shutters?”

The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at

which I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall and

flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.

“You are afraid of something?” I asked.

“Well, I am.”

“Of what?”

“Of air-guns.”

“My dear Holmes, what do you mean?”

“I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that

I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity

rather than courage to refuse to recognise danger when it is

close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?” He drew in the

smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful

to him.

“I must apologise for calling so late,” said he, “and I must

further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave

your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall.”

“But what does it all mean?” I asked.

He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two

of his knuckles were burst and bleeding.

“It is not an airy nothing, you see,” said he, smiling. “On the

contrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is

Mrs. Watson in?”

“She is away upon a visit.”

“Indeed! You are alone?”

“Quite.”

“Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should

come away with me for a week to the Continent.”

“Where?”

“Oh, anywhere. It’s all the same to me.”

There was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmes’s

nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale,

worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest tension.

He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips

together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained the

situation.

“You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?” said he.

“Never.”

“Aye, there’s the genius and the wonder of the thing!” he cried.

“The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That’s

what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you,

Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I

could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had

reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more

placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which

I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and

to the French republic, have left me in such a position that I

could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most

congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical

researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet

in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty

were walking the streets of London unchallenged.”

“What has he done, then?”

“His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good

birth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a

phenomenal mathematical faculty. At the age of twenty-one he

wrote a treatise upon the Binomial Theorem, which has had a

European vogue. On the strength of it he won the Mathematical

Chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all

appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had

hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal

strain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was

increased and rendered infinitely more dangerous by his

extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumours gathered round him in

the university town, and eventually he was compelled to resign

his chair and to come down to London, where he set up as an Army

coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am telling you

now is what I have myself discovered.

“As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the higher

criminal world of London so well as I do. For years past I have

continually been conscious of some power behind the malefactor,

some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the

law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again

in cases of the most varying sorts—forgery cases, robberies,

murders—I have felt the presence of this force, and I have

deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which

I have not been personally consulted. For years I have

endeavoured to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at

last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until

it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor

Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half

that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great

city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has

a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in

the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations,

and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little

himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and

splendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a paper to be

abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be

removed—the word is passed to the Professor, the matter is

organized and carried out. The agent may be caught. In that case

money is found for his bail or his defence. But the central power

which uses the agent is never caught—never so much as suspected.

This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and which I

devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up.

“But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly

devised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get

evidence which would convict in a court of law. You know my

powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was

forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my

intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my

admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip—only a

little, little trip—but it was more than he could afford when I

was so close upon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that

point, I have woven my net round him until now it is all ready to

close. In three days—that is to say, on Monday next—matters will

be ripe, and the Professor, with all the principal members of his

gang, will be in the hands of the police. Then will come the

greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over

forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we move at

all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands

even at the last moment.

“Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of

Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily

for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils round

him. Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often

headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account

of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place

as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history

of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have

I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I

just undercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and

three days only were wanted to complete the business. I was

sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened

and Professor Moriarty stood before me.

“My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a

start when I saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts

standing there on my threshhold. His appearance was quite

familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes

out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his

head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining

something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are

rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is

forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously

reptilian fashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his

puckered eyes.

“‘You have less frontal development than I should have expected,’

said he, at last. ‘It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded

firearms in the pocket of one’s dressing-gown.’

“The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognised

the extreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable

escape for him lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I had

slipped the revolver from the drawer into my pocket, and was

covering him through the cloth. At his remark I drew the weapon

out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and

blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me

feel very glad that I had it there.

“‘You evidently don’t know me,’ said he.

“‘On the contrary,’ I answered, ‘I think it is fairly evident

that I do. Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you

have anything to say.’

“‘All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,’ said he.

“‘Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,’ I replied.

“‘You stand fast?’

“‘Absolutely.’

“He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol

from the table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which

he had scribbled some dates.

“‘You crossed my path on the 4th of January,’ said he. ‘On the

23rd you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously

inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely

hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find

myself placed in such a position through your continual

persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty.

The situation is becoming an impossible one.’

“‘Have you any suggestion to make?’ I asked.

“‘You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,’ said he, swaying his face about.

‘You really must, you know.’

“‘After Monday,’ said I.

“‘Tut, tut,’ said he. ‘I am quite sure that a man of your

intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this

affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You have worked

things in such a fashion that we have only one resource left. It

has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you

have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it

would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure.

You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.’

“‘Danger is part of my trade,’ I remarked.

“‘That is not danger,’ said he. ‘It is inevitable destruction.

You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty

organization, the full extent of which you, with all your

cleverness, have been unable to realize. You must stand clear,

Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.’

“‘I am afraid,’ said I, rising, ‘that in the pleasure of this

conversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits

me elsewhere.’

“He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head

sadly.

“‘Well, well,’ said he, at last. ‘It seems a pity, but I have

done what I could. I know every move of your game. You can do

nothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr.

Holmes. You hope to place me in the dock. I tell you that I will

never stand in the dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that you

will never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction

upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.’

“‘You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,’ said I.

‘Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured

of the former eventuality I would, in the interests of the

public, cheerfully accept the latter.’

“‘I can promise you the one, but not the other,’ he snarled, and

so turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking

out of the room.

“That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I

confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft,

precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which

a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you will say: ‘Why not

take police precautions against him?’ The reason is that I am

well convinced that it is from his agents the blow will fall. I

have the best proofs that it would be so.”

“You have already been assaulted?”

“My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the

grass grow under his feet. I went out about midday to transact

some business in Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which

leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a

two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a

flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the

fraction of a second. The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane and

was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that,

Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from

the roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at

my feet. I called the police and had the place examined. There

were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some

repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had toppled

over one of these. Of course I knew better, but I could prove

nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my brother’s rooms

in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to

you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. I

knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but I can

tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible

connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose

front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring

mathematical coach, who is, I daresay, working out problems upon

a blackboard ten miles away. You will not wonder, Watson, that my

first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and

that I have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the

house by some less conspicuous exit than the front door.”

I had often admired my friend’s courage, but never more than now,

as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must

have combined to make up a day of horror.

“You will spend the night here?” I said.

“No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my

plans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now

that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes,

though my presence is necessary for a conviction. It is obvious,

therefore, that I cannot do better than get away for the few days

which remain before the police are at liberty to act. It would be

a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the

Continent with me.”

“The practice is quiet,” said I, “and I have an accommodating

neighbour. I should be glad to come.”

“And to start to-morrow morning?”

“If necessary.”

“Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions,

and I beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter,

for you are now playing a double-handed game with me against the

cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of criminals in

Europe. Now listen! You will dispatch whatever luggage you intend

to take by a trusty messenger unaddressed to Victoria to-night.

In the morning you will send for a hansom, desiring your man to

take neither the first nor the second which may present itself.

Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive to the Strand

end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the cabman upon

a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away.

Have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash

through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a

quarter-past nine. You will find a small brougham waiting close

to the curb, driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped

at the collar with red. Into this you will step, and you will

reach Victoria in time for the Continental express.”

“Where shall I meet you?”

“At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front

will be reserved for us.”

“The carriage is our rendezvous, then?”

“Yes.”

It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It

was evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the

roof he was under, and that that was the motive which impelled

him to go. With a few hurried words as to our plans for the

morrow he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering

over the wall which leads into Mortimer Street, and immediately

whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him drive away.

In the morning I obeyed Holmes’s injunctions to the letter. A

hansom was procured with such precaution as would prevent its

being one which was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately

after breakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at

the top of my speed. A brougham was waiting with a very massive

driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I had

stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to Victoria

Station. On my alighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed

away again without so much as a look in my direction.

So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and

I had no difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had

indicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train which

was marked “Engaged.” My only source of anxiety now was the

non-appearance of Holmes. The station clock marked only seven

minutes from the time when we were due to start. In vain I

searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the

lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a

few minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who was

endeavouring to make a porter understand, in his broken English,

that his luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then, having

taken another look round, I returned to my carriage, where I

found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my

decrepit Italian friend as a traveling companion. It was useless

for me to explain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for

my Italian was even more limited than his English, so I shrugged

my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for

my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as I thought that

his absence might mean that some blow had fallen during the

night. Already the doors had all been shut and the whistle blown,

when—

“My dear Watson,” said a voice, “you have not even condescended

to say good-morning.”

I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic

had turned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were

smoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip

ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes

regained their fire, the drooping figure expanded. The next the

whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as quickly as he

had come.

“Good heavens!” I cried. “How you startled me!”

“Every precaution is still necessary,” he whispered. “I have

reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is

Moriarty himself.”

The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing

back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the

crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train

stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering

momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station.

“With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather

fine,” said Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black

cassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he packed them

away in a hand-bag.

“Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?”

“No.”

“You haven’t seen about Baker Street, then?”

“Baker Street?”

“They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.”

“Good heavens, Holmes! This is intolerable.”

“They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man

was arrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had

returned to my rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of

watching you, however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to

Victoria. You could not have made any slip in coming?”

“I did exactly what you advised.”

“Did you find your brougham?”

“Yes, it was waiting.”

“Did you recognise your coachman?”

“No.”

“It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in

such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But

we must plan what we are to do about Moriarty now.”

“As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with

it, I should think we have shaken him off very effectively.”

“My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I

said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same

intellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I were

the pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an

obstacle. Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?”

“What will he do?”

“What I should do?”

“What would you do, then?”

“Engage a special.”

“But it must be late.”

“By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always

at least a quarter of an hour’s delay at the boat. He will catch

us there.”

“One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him

arrested on his arrival.”

“It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the

big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the

net. On Monday we should have them all. No, an arrest is

inadmissible.”

“What then?”

“We shall get out at Canterbury.”

“And then?”

“Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and

so over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He

will get on to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two

days at the depôt. In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a

couple of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the

countries through which we travel, and make our way at our

leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle.”

At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we

should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to

Newhaven.

I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly

disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes

pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.

“Already, you see,” said he.

Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of

smoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying

along the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly

time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed

with a rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our

faces.

“There he goes,” said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing

and rock over the points. “There are limits, you see, to our

friend’s intelligence. It would have been a _coup-de-maître_ had

he deduced what I would deduce and acted accordingly.”

“And what would he have done had he overtaken us?”

“There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a

murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may

play. The question now is whether we should take a premature

lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach the

buffet at Newhaven.”

We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there,

moving on upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday

morning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in the

evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore

it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate.

“I might have known it!” he groaned. “He has escaped!”

“Moriarty?”

“They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He

has given them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country

there was no one to cope with him. But I did think that I had put

the game in their hands. I think that you had better return to

England, Watson.”

“Why?”

“Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man’s

occupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read

his character right he will devote his whole energies to

revenging himself upon me. He said as much in our short

interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should certainly

recommend you to return to your practice.”

It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old

campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasburg

_salle-à-manger_ arguing the question for half an hour, but the

same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to

Geneva.

For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and

then, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass,

still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen.

It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the

virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that

never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay

across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely

mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his

sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well

convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves

clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.

Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along

the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had

been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and

roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up

on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his

neck in every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured

him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the spring-time

at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air

of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected.

And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the

contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant

spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could

be assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he

would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.

“I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not

lived wholly in vain,” he remarked. “If my record were closed

to-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of

London is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I

am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side.

Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished

by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our

artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs will

draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by

the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable

criminal in Europe.”

I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for

me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell,

and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no

detail.

It was on the 3rd of May that we reached the little village of

Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by

Peter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and

spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter

at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon

of the 4th we set off together, with the intention of crossing

the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui. We

had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls

of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without

making a small détour to see them.

It is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the

melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the

spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft

into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by

glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming,

boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots

the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green

water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of

spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their

constant whirl and clamour. We stood near the edge peering down

at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black

rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming

up with the spray out of the abyss.

The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a

complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to

return as he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss

lad come running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the

mark of the hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me

by the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of

our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last

stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was

journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden

hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could

hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to

her to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc.

The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself

look upon my compliance as a very great favour, since the lady

absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but

feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.

The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible

to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange

land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally

agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messenger

with him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. My

friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and

would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to

rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with

his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the

rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to

see of him in this world.

When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was

impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see

the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and

leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking very

rapidly.

I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green

behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked but

he passed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.

It may have been a little over an hour before I reached

Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.

“Well,” said I, as I came hurrying up, “I trust that she is no

worse?”

A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver

of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.

“You did not write this?” I said, pulling the letter from my

pocket. “There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?”

“Certainly not!” he cried. “But it has the hotel mark upon it!

Ha, it must have been written by that tall Englishman who came in

after you had gone. He said—”

But I waited for none of the landlord’s explanations. In a tingle

of fear I was already running down the village street, and making

for the path which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an

hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had passed before

I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. There was

Holmes’s Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which I

had left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was in vain

that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in

a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.

It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and

sick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that

three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on

the other, until his enemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had

gone too. He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty, and had

left the two men together. And then what had happened? Who was to

tell us what had happened then?

I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed

with the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes’s

own methods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy.

It was, alas, only too easy to do. During our conversation we had

not gone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock marked the

place where we had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft

by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread

upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the

farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were

none returning. A few yards from the end the soil was all

ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which

fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face

and peered over with the spray spouting up all around me. It had

darkened since I left, and now I could only see here and there

the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far away

down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I

shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the fall was borne

back to my ears.

But it was destined that I should after all have a last word of

greeting from my friend and comrade. I have said that his

Alpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted on

to the path. From the top of this boulder the gleam of something

bright caught my eye, and, raising my hand, I found that it came

from the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. As I took

it up a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered

down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of

three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It was

characteristic of the man that the direction was a precise, and

the writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in

his study.

“My dear Watson,” he said, “I write these few lines through the

courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final

discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been

giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English

police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly

confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his

abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free

society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear

that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and

especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to

you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis,

and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to

me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I

was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax,

and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion

that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector

Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are

in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed

‘Moriarty.’ I made every disposition of my property before

leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give

my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear

fellow,

“Very sincerely yours,

“Sherlock Holmes.”

A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An

examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal

contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end

in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each

other’s arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely

hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful caldron of

swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most

dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their

generation. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can

be no doubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty

kept in his employ. As to the gang, it will be within the memory

of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had

accumulated exposed their organization, and how heavily the hand

of the dead man weighed upon them. Of their terrible chief few

details came out during the proceedings, and if I have now been

compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to

those injudicious champions who have endeavoured to clear his

memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best

and the wisest man whom I have ever known.