The Adventure of the Plated Spoon and Other Tales of Sherlock Holmes by Loren D. Estleman Page A

presaged in Sir Crichton’s case? Can you doubt any longer? She did not want you to share my fate, Petrie.”
    â€œSmith,” I said unsteadily, “I have followed your lead blindly in this horrible business and have not pressed for an explanation, but I must insist before I go one step farther upon knowing what it all means.”
    â€œJust a few steps farther,” he rejoined, “as far as a cab. We are hardly safe here. Oh, you need not fear shots or knives. The man whose servants are watching us now scorns to employ such clumsy, tell-tale weapons.”
    Only three cabs were on the rank, and, as we entered the first, something hissed past my ear, missed both Smith and me by a miracle, and, passing over the roof of the taxi, presumably fell in the enclosed garden occupying the center of the square.
    â€œWhat was that?” I cried.
    â€œGet in—quickly!” Smith rapped back. “It was attempt number one! More than that I cannot say. Don’t let the man hear. He has noticed nothing. Pull up the window on your side, Petrie, and look out behind. Good! We’ve started.”
    The cab moved off with a metallic jerk, and I turned and looked back through the little window in the rear.
    â€œSomeone has got into another cab. It is following ours, I think.”
    Nayland Smith lay back and laughed unmirthfully.
    â€œPetrie,” he said, “if I escape alive from this business I shall know that I bear a charmed life.”
    I made no reply, as he pulled out the dilapidated pouch and filled his pipe.
    â€œYou have asked me to explain matters,” he continued, “and I will do so to the best of my ability. You no doubt wonder why a servant of the British Government, lately stationed in Burma, suddenly appears in London, in the character of a detective. I am here, Petrie—and I bear credentials from the very highest sources—because, quite by accident, I came upon a clew. Following it up, in the ordinary course of routine, I obtained evidence of the existence and malignant activity of a certain man. At the present stage of the case I should not be justified in terming him the emissary of an Eastern Power, but I may say that representations are shortly to be made to that Power’s ambassador in London.”
    He paused and glanced back towards the pursuing cab.
    â€œThere is little to fear until we arrive home,” he said calmly. “Afterwards there is much. To continue: This man, whether a fanatic or a duly appointed agent, is, unquestionably, the most malign and formidable personality existing in the known world today. He is a linguist who speaks with almost equal facility in any of the civilized languages, and in most of the barbaric. He is an adept in all the arts and sciences that a great university could teach him. He also is an adept in certain obscure arts and sciences, which no university of today can teach. He has the brains of any three men of genius. Petrie, he is a mental giant.”
    â€œYou amaze me!” I said.
    â€œAs to his mission among men: Why did M. Jules Furneaux fall dead in a Paris opera house? Because of heart failure? No! Because his last speech had shown that he held the key to the secret of Tongking. What became of the Grand Duke Stanislaus? Elopement? Suicide? Nothing of the kind. He alone was fully alive to Russia’s growing peril. He alone knew the truth about Mongolia. Why was Sir Crichton Davey murdered? Because had the work he was engaged upon ever seen the light, it would have shown him to be the only living Englishman who understood the importance of the Tibetan frontiers. I say to you solemnly, Petrie, that these are but a few. Is there a man who would arouse the West to a sense of the awakening of the East, who would teach the deaf to hear, the blind to see, that the millions only await their leader? He will die. And this is only one phase of the devilish campaign. The others I can merely