His Last Bow | Page 2

his stories wrong end foremost.
Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence,
exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and
unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of
advice and assistance."
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional
appearance.
"I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in
my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you
the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I
am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me."
But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and
official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as
Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within
his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and
introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey
Constabulary.
"We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this
direction." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr.
John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?"
"I am."

"We have been following you about all the morning."
"You traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said Holmes.
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross
Post-Office and came on here."
"But why do you follow me? What do you want?"
"We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up to
the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near
Esher."
Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck
from his astonished face.
"Dead? Did you say he was dead?"
"Yes, sir, he is dead."
"But how? An accident?"
"Murder, if ever there was one upon earth."
"Good God! This is awful! You don't mean--you don't mean that I am
suspected?"
"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know by
it that you had planned to pass last night at his house."
"So I did."
"Oh, you did, did you?"
Out came the official notebook.
"Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire is a plain
statement, is it not?"

"And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against
him."
"Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I
think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I
suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and
that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done
had you never been interrupted."
Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his
face. With a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at
once into his extraordinary statement.
"I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a
large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer
called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his
table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was,
I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the
embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as
good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life.
"In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I.
He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of
our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it
ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria
Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher
to fulfil this engagement.
"He had described his household to me before I went there. He lived
with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all
his needs. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping
for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom
he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I
remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the
heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good
deal queerer than I thought.
"I drove to the place--about two miles on the south side of Esher. The

house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving
drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old,