“It is scarcely decipherable,” I remarked, as Harte turned back the flap so we could see. “The lettering has been almost completely worn away.”

Holmes shook his head. “Not worn away,” said he, “but deliberately scratched away, probably with a small penknife. The general hue of the inside of the satchel is a somewhat grubby grey; but you can see that where the letters have been obliterated, the colour is slightly lighter, indicating that the obliteration of the name has been done relatively recently, perhaps within the last year or two. For some reason, the owner of this satchel has wished to conceal his identity.”

“Perhaps it belonged previously to someone else,” I suggested, “and the new owner simply wished to remove the previous owner’s name.”

“I think not, Watson. For it is evident that although he has deliberately scratched away most of the name, he has left the initial letters untouched. They are, as you see, ‘A. K.’, the same initials as in the books. Clearly, he does not care if the initials are seen – he can, after all, make up a new name to match them – but it is vitally important to him that his true name is never seen. This suggests, although not conclusively, that he has reason to suppose that his true name is one that would be recognized. There is corroboration in the satchel, incidentally, that whatever the English scholar’s true name is, it is not Kennett; for the space taken up by the second name in the satchel is definitely too short to accommodate ‘Kennett’, and, in any case, so far as I could determine with the aid of a lens, it ends with an ‘s’.”

I nodded my agreement on the point.

“May I further draw your attention to the smaller letters and figures below the excised name?” Holmes continued.

“I noticed them earlier,” I remarked. “There is the name ‘KARL’, followed by a three and an eight. What the name ‘KARL’ might signify, I cannot imagine, although as it is a Germanic name, it lends support to your hypothesis that the satchel’s owner is not a native Englishman. As to the numbers, perhaps they constitute some sort of code, inscribed by the manufacturer of the satchel, or by the shop from which it was purchased.”

“And yet,” remarked Holmes, “the numbers have been inscribed with the same pen and ink as the rest of the lettering.”

“Why, so they have!” cried Harte.

“This suggests that they are figures of significance for the owner of the satchel. As to ‘KARL’, that may not be a personal name at all. The obliterated letters above, following the initials ‘A. K.’, must surely be the owner’s name, so why would a second name be inscribed in the satchel? Now ‘KARL’ has a full stop after it, which suggests it may be an abbreviation. It is therefore at least possible, it seems to me, that it is an abbreviation for the German name of what we know as Charles University in Prague, the oldest university in Central Europe. If that is so, the figures may well be the date – 1838 – when the satchel was purchased by A. K. as a young student. That would suggest that he was born about 1820, which would make him about sixty-one or sixty-two now. Did the man on the train appear to be of that age, Mr Harte?”

“Almost exactly, I should say.”

“Very well, then. The supposition is confirmed, not conclusively, but very strongly. That the satchel has been owned by A. K. for many years is indicated also by the numerous repairs which have been made to it, some of which appear to have been made many years ago. The shoulder strap, for instance, is clearly a replacement for an earlier one – the colour and texture of the leather are slightly different from the rest of the satchel – but such a strap might well be expected to last for twenty years or more, and the present one has the appearance of having been in place for a good ten years.”

“Where does this bring us to?” enquired Harte after a moment.

“It brings us to the true identity of the satchel’s owner,” returned Holmes, taking his pipe from his pocket and beginning to fill it. “It has taken me some time to explain to you my reasoning from the clues which the satchel and its contents presented. It is always far more laborious and time-consuming to explain such reasoning than it is to perform it. Sophocles, in one of his plays, describes man’s thought as ‘wind-swift’, and that is an accurate observation. But a perception that occupies one for less than a second is likely to take several minutes to explain. Dr Watson has sometimes considered that my occasional neglect to explain to him my reasoning springs from some perverse urge to secrecy; but generally it is that I simply do not have the time for explanations. My perceptions may be so swift as to seem like instantaneous intuitions, but the explanation of them is always likely to prove a somewhat lengthy monologue.

“To return now to specifics, and to the true identity of the English scholar,” continued Holmes after a moment, putting a match to his pipe, “we conjecture from the indications available to us that he is intelligent and cultured. He is possibly a foreigner, although he speaks English like a native. He is probably about sixty-two years of age, and may be a graduate of Prague University. He is a personal acquaintance of the eminent Professor Walters of Cambridge, and although something of a novice in the field of English literature, he is probably eminent in some field himself, for he has made great efforts to conceal his identity. Though his name is not Kennett, his initials are ‘A. K.’ and his second name ends with an ‘s’. In short, Mr Harte, the man you conversed with so amicably on the train can be none other than Adolf Kraus.”

The solicitor shook his head in evident puzzlement. “The name sounds vaguely familiar,” said he, “but I cannot quite place it.”

“Surely,” I interjected, “you do not mean the former Prime Minister of Bohemia?”

“Precisely, Watson. He is, according to my reference book, sixty-two years of age. He first attended Prague University in 1838, and continued his studies subsequently at Vienna, and at Cambridge, here in England. He later returned to teach at Prague, where he became Professor of Cultural History in 1861. During his stay in England, incidentally, he met and subsequently married Constance Dowling, daughter of the professor of moral philosophy, a circumstance which would, of course, have served to improve his English accent.”

“But what on earth is he doing here, sequestered in one of the most rural corners of England?” I asked in astonishment.

“Leading as quiet a life as possible, I imagine.”

“But why?”

“Do you not recall the troubles in Bohemia, a few years ago, which reached a climax with riots in the streets of Prague?”

“I heard something of the matter at the time,” I replied, “though I cannot claim a very thorough understanding of what lay behind it all. As far as I recall, it blew over fairly quickly.”

Holmes shook his head. “I rather suspect that for some it did not blow over at all,” said he. “Lives were lost, and no doubt grudges were borne, when the authorities used force to put down the riots. Adolf Kraus was prime minister at the time, and was blamed by some elements for what had happened. To what extent that censure was justified, I do not know, but I do know that two separate attempts were later made upon his life, and that he and his family were hounded out of the country.”

Harte’s features expressed incredulity. “I cannot believe that the gentleman I met on the train could be guilty of any dishonourable act,” said he.

“From my own information, I should be inclined to agree with you,” responded Holmes, “but, of course, it matters little what you or I believe.”

“I understand,” said Harte, nodding his head. “It is your opinion, then, that Kraus is in hiding from his enemies?”

“That is what we must assume. It would explain why he and his family have chosen to live in what sounds from your account to be one of the most isolated houses in southern England. But I fear that his enemies have once more caught up with him, and that his life is once more in peril. The man you saw hiding in the bushes at Owl’s Hill must have been an advance scout for the assassins. Now that they have found their quarry, they will waste no time in exacting their revenge. Adolf Kraus’s life hangs by a thread at the moment, and with each hour that passes his peril increases. Now, Mr Harte, perhaps you will understand the sense of urgency that overwhelmed me in Baker Street, and understand, too, why arms may be necessary. We must at all costs prevent the terrible crime that is in prospect!”