to be seen. The crowd of attendants was silent, frozen. The tiger began licking the honey off Prinzip’s back. The man was shaking with fear. I quietly took my gun, stepped out of the circle, and with one shot felled the tiger. Then, I shot one warning shot at the Archduke and ordered him out of the machan or I would shoot him dead.
“Bewildered and drunk, the Archduke struggled down. His minions were about to grab me when I was surrounded by a group of the Maharajah’s men, who escorted me a short distance away. The Maharajah then ordered Prinzip and his wife to be treated and freed, and they were brought to where I was. In minutes, the three of us were on elephants, our destination the Indian border. Faced with a dead European or an angry potentate, the shrewd Maharajah chose the latter, making it clear that the Archduke was expected to leave his territory as soon as possible. Furious, the Archduke ordered his party to pack and leave.
“We escaped to India, where I parted company with the Prinzips, who disappeared from my view until I saw their photographs at Vrukonovic’s flat. I gather that in the face of the Maharajah’s sovereign authority and his superior military might the humiliated Archduke made a fast retreat out of Nepal and headed to the Viceroy’s palace in Delhi, the incidents described here never coming to public notice. Later, I received a personal handwritten note from the Maharajah, complimenting me for my help in avoiding needless bloodshed.
“I leave the past to you, Holmes. It is the wire that interests me.”
“I give it to you with great pleasure, Herr Kurtz.”
Kurtz took it and greedily perused it. “What does it mean?” he asked.
“I suggest that you submit it for analysis to your experts in Vienna. Waste no time. And Kurtz, at the earliest opportunity, get word to the Archduke that he should stay within the protected walls of his palace until Die Tote Stadt is apprehended. I can assure you that although we may have thought that an assassination attempt might take place against the Emperor, the Kaiser, or the Czar, the chosen victim is the Archduke, of this I have no doubt.”
Kurtz rose stiffly and left.
“The attack dog returns to his master,” said Holmes.
“Now what, Holmes?” I asked.
“My guess is, Watson, that Gordonov is already off the train at some previously agreed stop before Trieste and that all we have to do now is await the assassination attempt, which we shall attend.”
Holmes’s words I found puzzling.
“How indeed do you know that?”
“Just before we left London, Watson, I deciphered the message. It is quite simple: the wire itself stands for a curved road on which the Archduke is supposed to travel. The letters are the initials of the assassins and their positions along the route. The groups of assassins are placed mostly at the curve in the road. You will remember that the letters RH remained undeciphered. They stand for Rat Haus, or City Hall in German. A building located right in the curve. Thus, the Archduke is expected to cross a river that begins with Nil, and that is the Nilichka. He is to be greeted by local dignitaries at the Rat Haus and then proceed. At the curve, before or after he enters the Rat Haus, his limousine must slow down. It is there, then, near the Rat Haus, that the attempt will be made. There is only one city on the Archduke’s tour that meets all these requirements.”
“And which is that?”
“The sleepy city of Sarajevo.”
In Trieste, Holmes wired Sidgwick who informed us that the best information of the British Government was that the Archduke would visit Sarajevo on 28 June, and that he would enter the Rat Haus at approximately three p.m. He would be accompanied by his wife and an armed bodyguard which was thought sufficient to ward off any attempt on his life. The Foreign Office also had information that the Archduke, when told of the possible assassination plot somewhere along his route, refused to change it, declaring that he was safe among his people.
After a week in Trieste, Holmes and I journeyed to Vienna and then to Sarajevo. After a walk along the road the Archduke would travel, we settled into a small inn near the central square run by a Frau Dreisschok, a rather slatternly woman of indeterminate age and features, since her disheveled hair fell in long thick locks over her face. There we waited. Holmes had talks with the local police, who arranged for us to be at the Rat Haus as the Archduke entered.
And so, on that fatal afternoon, Holmes and I took our places in the large crowd that had assembled to greet the Archduke and his wife, Sophie. Somewhere in that great mass, standing nearby, was the assassin, Prinzip, his accomplice Jetic, and perhaps his sister. Holmes kept staring through the endless people, hoping to recognize Prinzip after so many years.
The news passed through the crowd that the royal limousine was well on its way. In minutes we heard its motor and then saw the ornate automobile, its flags flying around the faces of its royal occupants. For a moment, Holmes’s glance caught that of the Archduke and a look of puzzlement and fear crossed the Duke’s face. He stood up as the car slowed. Holmes stood frozen, staring in disdain at the Austrian.
At that moment, a man and a woman came forth from the back of the crowd and pointed their guns at the royal vehicle. Shots were heard, and the Archduke fell over the side of his car as if from a tree. His wife slumped in her seat, fatally wounded. Kurtz, who was sitting in the front seat, tried to protect his master, but it was too late. He received a bullet directly to the head. I rushed to the vehicle to do what I could, but it was clear to me that the Archduke and Kurtz were dead. Sophie was alive for only a few minutes before she succumbed to the attackers’ bullets.
The crowd began to go mad and Holmes motioned that we should leave quickly. We barely made it back to our rooms when we heard the police firing into what had become an unruly mob. That evening we learned that Prinzip and his wife had been apprehended and were to be tried for murder.
It was several days before we returned to London. We consulted several times with the Viennese police, Holmes revealing all that he then knew There is no need to recount the events that took place in the aftermath of the assassination, for we are living through them now.
“Well, Watson, without Mycroft, the Foreign Office has behaved as incompetently as one might have feared,” said Holmes handing me the paper. “We shall be at war soon. Those who have a lust for blood shall have a surfeit of it this time.”
Holmes took his violin from its case and began tuning it slowly. It was late July, a month after the Archduke’s death, and Holmes’s prediction was soon to become true. For my good friend, there was to be no respite. He responded to his country’s needs with courage and determination. He had no illusions, however, about the dreadful events that were to begin shortly.
THE CASE OF THE PLANGENT COLONEL
IT WAS ON AN UNUSUALLY WARM DAY IN LATE APRIL of 1898 that the incidents alluded to below first came to notice. Holmes had left a note saying that a minor matter had taken him to Castel Gondolfo and that he would return in the afternoon. Having no special tasks to which to attend, I determined to put my solitude to good use by taking a long morning stroll in the Villa Borghese. I spent the better part of an hour in the museum with Canova’s celebrated statue of Madame Recamier, and after my walk, I sat on a bench in the cool shade of the Roman pines, studying, with great pleasure, the wide variety of Romans who passed by. I then took a light meal at one of my favorite
The city was already quiet with the siesta, that afternoon restorative nap which characterises so strongly the life of the Italian. I too felt that sweet lethargy to which the Roman air, coupled with a few glasses of cool frascati, inevitably leads one. As I began the climb to our quarters, I was suddenly met on the first landing by a young woman hurriedly running down the staircase. She addressed me instantly in English.
“Please forgive me, but might you be Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
“I am not,” I answered, “but I know him well. Is he not there?”
“The landlady let me knock on his door, but there was no answer.”
“Hallo, Watson, and whom have we here?” said a voice suddenly from below.
I turned to see Holmes, a smile on his face, obviously satisfied with his trip.
“This young woman is looking for you, Holmes.”
“Then let us make the climb together. I trust that la signora Manfredini will prepare a cup of tea for us.”
