There is evidence that a woman, who might have been Mme.Fournaye, was seen for some hours on Monday night watching the house in Godolphin Street.""What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the account aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but if Ihave told you nothing in the last three days it is because there is nothing to tell.Even now this report from Paris does not help us much.""Surely it is final as regards the man's death.""The man's death is a mere incident -- a trivial episode -- in comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document and save a European catastrophe.Only one important thing has happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has happened.I get reports almost hourly from the Government, and it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble.Now, if this letter were loose -- no, it CAN'T be loose -- but if it isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it?
Why is it held back? That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer.Was it, indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night when the letter disappeared?
Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could I search for it without the French police having their suspicions aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals are.Every man's hand is against us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal.Should I bring it to a successful conclusion it will certainly represent the crowning glory of my career.Ah, here is my latest from the front!"He glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in.
"Halloa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of interest.
Put on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to Westminster."It was my first visit to the scene of the crime -- a high, dingy, narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century which gave it birth.Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big constable had opened the door and let us in.The room into which we were shown was that in which the crime had been committed, but no trace of it now remained, save an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet.This carpet was a small square drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks highly polished.Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had been used on that tragic night.