The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans
IN THE THIRD WEEK OF NOVEMBER, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobbyāthe music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comradeās impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction.
āNothing of interest in the paper, Watson?ā he said.
I was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anything of criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come within the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes groaned and resumed his restless meanderings.
āThe London criminal is certainly a dull fellow,ā said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. āLook out this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.ā
āThere have,ā said I, ābeen numerous petty thefts.ā
Holmes snorted his contempt.
āThis great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than that,ā said he. āIt is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal.ā
āIt is, indeed!ā said I heartily.
āSuppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty men who have good reason for taking my life, how long could I survive against my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, and all would be over. It is well they donāt have days of fog in the Latin countriesāthe countries of assassination. By Jove! Here comes something at last to break our dead monotony.ā
It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst out laughing.
āWell, well! What next?ā said he. āBrother Mycroft is coming round.ā
āWhy not?ā I asked.
āWhy not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehallāthat is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?ā
āDoes he not explain?ā
Holmes handed me his brotherās telegram:
Must see you over Cadogan West. Coming at once.
MYCROFT.
āCadogan West? I have heard the name.ā
āIt recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit. By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?ā
I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of the Adventure of the Greek Interpreter.
āYou told me that he had some small office under the British government.ā
Holmes chuckled.
āI did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that he is under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he IS the British government.ā
āMy dear Holmes!ā
āI thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the most indispensable man in the country.ā
āBut how?ā
āWell, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?ā
āI have it,ā I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon the sofa. āYes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogan West was the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning.ā
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
āThis must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?ā
āThere has been an inquest,ā said I, āand a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case.ā
āJudging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one.ā He snuggled down in his armchair. āNow, Watson, let us have the facts.ā
āThe manās name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal.ā
āGovernment employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!ā
āHe left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system in London.ā
āWhen?ā
āThe body was found at six on Tuesday morning. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushedāan injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train. The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain.ā
āVery good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue.ā
āThe trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions. It can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state.ā
āHis ticket, of course, would show that.ā
āThere was no ticket in his pockets.ā
āNo ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting oneās ticket. Presumably, then, the young man had one. Was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there was no sign of robbery?ā
āApparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. His purse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this his identity was established. There were also two dress-circle tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also a small packet of technical papers.ā
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
āThere we have it at last, Watson! British governmentāWoolwich. Arsenalātechnical papersāBrother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself.ā
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yardāthin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word. Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an armchair.
āA most annoying business, Sherlock,ā said he. āI extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that I should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiraltyāit is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?ā
āWe have just done so. What were the technical papers?ā
āAh, thereās the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The press would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched youth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine.ā
Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant.
āSurely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it.ā
āOnly as a name.ā
āIts importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Bruce-Partingtonās operation. Two years ago a very large sum was smuggled through the Estimates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly of the invention. Every effort has been made to keep the secret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office for the purpose. And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London. From an official point of view itās simply awful.ā
āBut you have recovered them?ā
āNo, Sherlock, no! Thatās the pinch. We have not. Ten papers were taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of Cadogan West. The three most essential are goneāstolen, vanished. You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. Itās a vital international problem that you have to solve. Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be set right? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done good service for your country.ā
āWhy do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as far as I.ā
āPossibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details. Give me your details, and from an armchair I will return you an excellent expert opinion. But to run here and run there, to cross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to my eyeāit is not my metier. No, you are the one man who can clear the matter up. If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours listāā
My friend smiled and shook his head.
āI play the game for the gameās own sake,ā said he. āBut the problem certainly presents some points of interest, and I shall be very pleased to look into it. Some more facts, please.ā
āI have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of service. The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hours on Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three oāclock taking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Sinclair at Barclay Square during the whole of the evening when this incident occurred.ā
āHas the fact been verified?ā
āYes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem.ā
āWho was the other man with a key?ā
āThe senior clerk and d...