We passed no one on the road through the village, and reached the railway station with just a few minutes to spare. There, Kraus was momentarily nonplussed when he learnt that the last train was headed east, towards the Colchester line, and he would not be able to reach Cambridge that night.

“We can get from Colchester up to Ipswich, at least,” cried Harte. “You must come with me and stay the night at my house, Herr Kraus. You can make your way over to Cambridge on the other line, via Bury St Edmunds, tomorrow morning.”

Kraus seemed reluctant to impose upon the solicitor’s generosity, but his wife assured him that it was the only sensible thing to do, and he at length agreed. Harte then quickly sent a wire to his wife, instructing her to expect visitors, and as he rejoined us on the platform, the last train of the day drew noisily into the station of Little Gissingham.

Herr Kraus, his wife and son, Rhodes Harte and Emily Jane were quickly aboard, and the doors were slammed shut. Then, with a roar of steam and smoke, the train pulled away, quickly picked up speed and vanished into the darkness. For a few moments, Holmes and I stood there in silence, watching the red lamp on the last carriage until it had vanished round the curve, then we made our way out to the station yard.

“It is a terrible business,” remarked my friend, shaking his head as he regarded the two lifeless figures lying in the back of the trap. “Our only consolation can be that were it not they lying there, Watson, then it would be you and I. Come! Let us find the local constable and see if we can begin to explain how it is that two professional gentlemen from London are wandering the countryside with a cart containing dead men. It may prove somewhat difficult, especially as we have quite improperly permitted most of the witnesses to depart the scene, but we must do our best.”

The inquest upon the two dead men was held ten days later, at which, after much testimony had been heard, the verdict was recorded that they had been killed in self-defence. As to Herr Kraus and his family, I understand that they stayed only a short time in Cambridge, before moving once more, but I have little further information. I do recall that it was five years after the events I have described above that Adolf Kraus’s famous book, The Spirit of Man in World Literature, was published to great acclaim, but where he and his family were living then I cannot say, for they had by that time passed quite beyond my knowledge.

The Adventure of

THE AMETHYST RING

SHERLOCK HOLMES had called at my house in Paddington on a cold and foggy day in January, just as I was finishing my morning surgery. Now, my last patient having departed, he handed me a visiting card he had received in the post that morning. It had scalloped edges, tinted a pale coral-pink, and the brief message upon it stated that Mr and Mrs A. Carter-Smythe would be giving an informal supper party on the evening of the twenty-fifth, to which Holmes was invited.

“I have not heard you mention these people before,” I remarked, looking up from the card.

“That is scarcely surprising,” returned my friend, “considering that I was perfectly unaware of their existence until that card arrived this morning. They have evidently heard or seen my name somewhere, and consider that my presence at their gathering would provide an amusing diversion for their other guests.”

“Will you go?” I asked.

“It is not my taste to act as an adornment at someone else’s supper table,” said he with a shake of the head. “I may say, Watson,” he continued in a tone of reproach, “that there has been a distinct increase in the number of such unwelcome social summonses since the publication of your Study in Scarlet brought my name before the public.”

“I regret any inconvenience I may have caused you,” I responded somewhat tartly. “My intention was simply to gain for you the credit I felt you deserved in the matter.”

“No doubt,” said he. “No doubt also,” he continued after a moment, “Mr and Mrs A. Carter-Smythe would be surprised if they knew where I have spent the last twenty-four hours. They might be somewhat less keen to welcome me to their supper party if they were aware of the company I have been keeping. I have been down in Rotherhithe,” he continued in answer to my query, “by the docks. I have been looking into the disappearance of one Jack Prentice, landlord of The Seven Stars, an old riverside inn there.”

“That does not sound much of a case for you, professionally speaking,” I remarked with a chuckle. “Why, the number of men who supposedly ‘disappear’ in London each year is perfectly phenomenal! I read an article on the subject in one of the monthly magazines not long ago. The author was a retired police officer, who stated that of the many hundreds of people reported as ‘missing’ each year, a sizeable number simply disappear of their own volition, to escape from pressing debts, unbearable spouses and the like.”

Holmes nodded. “I am aware of those facts,” said he, “but there is something about this case that intrigues me, Watson. It possesses certain features that are decidedly uncommon. In contrast to the examples you quote, for instance, it seems that Prentice has managed his life in a very orderly manner in recent years and does not owe anyone a penny; furthermore, his marriage is, by all accounts, an unusually happy one. Everyone I have spoken to avers that he would do anything rather than cause his wife distress. But why, then, did he leave his house in the middle of a rainy night, without a word to his wife? Where did he go to? Why did he take a candlestick with him? And what is the meaning of the mysterious sheet of symbols he left behind? I can give you the details if you wish. As a matter of fact, it is this case that has brought me to see you. I was rather hoping that you might be able to accompany me to Rotherhithe. There is something I wish to investigate further there, and your presence would be of great assistance to me.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Some of the shops have announced end-of-season sales this week,” I said, “and I did promise my wife that I would take her today.”

“Oh, well,” said my friend in a tone of disappointment. “If you can’t come with me, I shall just have to manage alone.”

“Wait one moment,” I said as he made to stand up. I ran upstairs to speak to my wife, but was back again in a couple of minutes. “It is all arranged,” I said. “She will go with Dora, my neighbour’s wife, instead. To be honest,” I continued as I put on my hat and coat, “I think she would prefer to go with Dora. It may sound highly companionable to attend such events with one’s spouse, but it is probably a more enjoyable experience if one’s companion fully shares one’s enthusiasm for it. Speaking personally, I am somewhat more interested in learning about the disappearance of Jack Prentice!”

“I can give you all the details as we travel,” said Holmes. “It won’t take us long to get to Rotherhithe. We can get a Metropolitan train here at Paddington, which will take us all the way there. If only all my clients were so conveniently situated!”

Ten minutes later, we were seated in the corner of a first-class carriage, rattling along beneath the Marylebone Road, and my friend was explaining to me what it was about this unpromising-sounding case that he had found so intriguing.

“I might mention,” said he, “that the authorities are taking more than simply a passing interest in the matter. This is chiefly on account of the missing man’s former activities; for in years gone by he was frequently suspected of being involved in the disposal of stolen goods. Indeed, he served a sentence of two years in Pentonville Prison for such a crime, in the mid-’70s, although his conduct since then has been exemplary. But,” he continued, taking a small notebook from his pocket, “I shall give you the facts in order: