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Page 132
"After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I
have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning.
I suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman
advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect to score
every time."
The table was all laid, and just as I was about to
ring Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A
few minutes later she brought in three covers, and we
all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious,
and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.
"Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes,
uncovering a dish of curried chicken. "Her cuisine is
a little limited, but she has as good an idea of
breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you here,
Watson?"
"Ham and eggs," I answered.
"Good! What are you going to take, Mr.
Phelps--curried fowl or eggs, or will you help
yourself?"
"Thank you. I can eat nothing," said Phelps.
"Oh, come! Try the dish before you."
"Thank you, I would really rather not."
"Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle,
"I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?"
Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a
scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as
the plate upon which he looked. Across the centre of
it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper. He
caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then
danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom
and shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back
into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own
emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to
keep him from fainting.
"There! there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him
upon the shoulder. "It was too bad to spring it on
you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I
never can resist a touch of the dramatic."
Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless
you!" he cried. "You have saved my honor."
"Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes.
"I assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a
case as it can be to you to blunder over a
commission."
Phelps thrust away the precious document into the
innermost pocket of his coat.
"I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any
further, and yet I am dying to know how you got it and
where it was."
Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned
his attention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit
his pipe, and settled himself down into his chair.
"I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do
it afterwards," said he. "After leaving you at the
station I went for a charming walk through some
admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village
called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, and took
the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a
paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained
until evening, when I set off for Woking again, and
found myself in the high-road outside Briarbrae just
after sunset.
"Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never
a very frequented one at any time, I fancy--and then I
clambered over the fence into the grounds."
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