The Return of Sherlock Holmes | Page 7

wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this
afternoon."
"But why?"
"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason for
wishing certain people to think that I was there when I was really
elsewhere."
"And you thought the rooms were watched?"
"I KNEW that they were watched."
"By whom?"
"By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose leader
lies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew, and
only they knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they believed that
I should come back to my rooms. They watched them continuously,
and this morning they saw me arrive."
"How do you know?"
"Because I recognized their sentinel when I glanced out of my window.
He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by trade,
and a remarkable performer upon the jew's-harp. I cared nothing for
him. But I cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who
was behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped
the rocks over the cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in

London. That is the man who is after me to-night Watson, and that is
the man who is quite unaware that we are after him."
My friend's plans were gradually revealing themselves. From this
convenient retreat, the watchers were being watched and the trackers
tracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait, and we were the
hunters. In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the
hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmes was
silent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenly alert, and that
his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was a
bleak and boisterous night and the wind whistled shrilly down the long
street. Many people were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in
their coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen
the same figure before, and I especially noticed two men who appeared
to be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house
some distance up the street. I tried to draw my companion's attention to
them; but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience, and continued to
stare into the street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and
tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that
he was becoming uneasy, and that his plans were not working out
altogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached and the
street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to him,
when I raised my eyes to the lighted window, and again experienced
almost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm, and
pointed upward.
"The shadow has moved!" I cried.
It was indeed no longer the profile, but the back, which was turned
towards us.
Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or
his impatience with a less active intelligence than his own.
"Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I such a farcical bungler,
Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and expect that some of
the sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? We have been in

this room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has made some change in that
figure eight times, or once in every quarter of an hour. She works it
from the front, so that her shadow may never be seen. Ah!" He drew in
his breath with a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head
thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside the
street was absolutely deserted. Those two men might still be crouching
in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark,
save only that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figure
outlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard that thin,
sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. An instant
later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt
his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were
quivering. Never had I known my friend more moved, and yet the dark
street still stretched lonely and motionless before us.
But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had already
distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the
direction of Baker Street, but from the back of the very house in which
we lay concealed. A door opened and shut. An instant later steps crept
down the passage--steps