I had intended asking Boswell what had become of my copy of the Baedeker's Hades when he next returned, but the output of the machine that evening so interested me that the hand-book was entirely forgotten. If there ever was a hero in this world who could compare with D'Artagnan in my estimation for sheer ability in a given line that hero was Sherlock Holmes. With D'Artagnan and Holmes for my companions I think I could pass the balance of my days in absolute contentment, no matter what woful things might befall me. So it was that, when I next heard the tapping keys and dulcet bell of my Enchanted Type-writer, and, after listening intently for a moment, realized that my friend Boswell was ****** a copy of a Sherlock Holmes Memoir thereon for his next Sunday's paper, all thought of the interesting little red book of the last meeting flew out of my head. I rose quickly from my couch at the first sounding of the gong.
"Got a Holmes story, eh?" I said, walking to his side, and gazing eagerly over the spot where his shoulder should have been.
"I have that, and it's a winner," he replied, enthusiastically.
"If you don't believe it, read it. I'll have it copied in about two minutes."
"I'll do both," I said. "I believe all the Sherlock Holmes stories I read. It is so much pleasanter to believe them true.
If they weren't true they wouldn't be so wonderful."
With this I picked up the first page of the manuscript and shortly after Boswell presented me with the balance, whereon I read the following extraordinary tale:
A MYSTERY SOLVED
A WONDERFUL ACHIEVEMENT IN FERRETING
From Advance Sheets of MEMOIRS I REMEMBER
BY SHERLOCK HOLMES, ESQ.
Ferreter Extraordinary by Special Appointment to his Majesty Apollyon ---------------
WHO THE LADY WAS!
It was not many days after my solution of the Missing Diamond of the Nizam of Jigamaree Mystery that I was called upon to take up a case which has baffled at least one person for some ten or eleven centuries. The reader will remember the mystery of the missing diamond--the largest known in all history, which the Nizam of Jigamaree brought from India to present to the Queen of England, on the occasion of her diamond jubilee. I had been dead three years at the time, but, by a special dispensation of his Imperial Highness Apollyon, was permitted to return incog to London for the jubilee season, where it so happened that I put up at the same lodging-house as that occupied by the Nizam and his suite. We sat opposite each other at table d'hote, and for at least three weeks previous to the losing of his treasure the Indian prince was very morose, and it was very difficult to get him to speak. I was not supposed to know, nor, indeed, was any one else, for that matter, at the lodging-house, that the Nizam was so exalted a personage. He like myself was travelling incog and was known to the world as Mr. Wilkins, of Calcutta--a very wise precaution, inasmuch as he had in his possession a gem valued at a million and a half of dollars. I recognized him at once, however, by his unlikeness to a wood-cut that had been appearing in the American Sunday newspapers, labelled with his name, as well as by the extraordinary lantern which he had on his bicycle, a lantern which to the uneducated eye was no more than an ordinary lamp, but which to an eye like mine, familiar with gems, had for its crystal lens nothing more nor less than the famous stone which he had brought for her Majesty the Queen, his imperial sovereign. There are few people who can tell diamonds from plate-glass under any circumstances, and Mr. Wilkins, otherwise the Nizam, realizing this fact, had taken this bold method of secreting his treasure. Of course, the moment I perceived the quality of the man's lamp I knew at once who Mr. Wilkins was, and I determined to have a little innocent diversion at his expense.
"It has been a fine day, Mr. Wilkins," said I one evening over the pate.
"Yes," he replied, wearily. "Very--but somehow or other I'm depressed to-night."
"Too bad," I said, lightly, "but there are others. There's that poor Nizam of Jigamaree, for instance--poor devil, he must be the bluest brown man that ever lived."
Wilkins started nervously as I mentioned the prince by name.
"Wh-why do you think that?" he asked, nervously fingering his butter-knife.
"It's tough luck to have to give away a diamond that's worth three or four times as much as the Koh-i-noor," I said. "Suppose you owned a stone like that. Would you care to give it away?"
"Not by a damn sight!" cried Wilkins, forcibly, and I noticed great tears gathering in his eyes.
"Still, he can't help himself, I suppose," I said, gazing abruptly at his scarf-pin. "That is, he doesn't KNOW that he can. The Queen expects it. It's been announced, and now the poor devil can't get out of it--though I'll tell you, Mr. Wilkins, if I were the Nizam of Jigamaree, I'd get out of it in ten seconds."
I winked at him significantly. He looked at me blankly.
"Yes, sir," I added, merely to arouse him, "in just ten seconds! Ten short, beautiful seconds."
"Mr. Postlethwaite," said the Nizam--Postlethwaite was the name I was travelling under--"Mr. Postlethwaite," said the Nizam--otherwise Wilkins--"your remarks interest me greatly."
His face wreathed with a smile that I had never before seen there. "I have thought as you do in regard to this poor Indian prince, but I must confess I don't see how he can get out of giving the Queen that diamond. Have a cigar, Mr. Postlethwaite, and, waiter, bring us a triple magnum of champagne. Do you really think, Mr. Postlethwaite, that there is a way out of it? If you would like a ticket to Westminster for the ceremony, there are a half-dozen."
He tossed six tickets for seats among the crowned heads across the table to me. His eagerness was almost too painful to witness.
"Thank you," said I, calmly pocketing the tickets, for they were of rare value at that time. "The way out of it is very ******."
"Indeed, Mr. Postlethwaite," said he, trying to keep cool.
