A
letter from Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond
von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Falstein
von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Falstein
. .‘The man who wrote it was presumably well-to-do,’
I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. ‘Such paper
could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong
and stiff.’
.
.‘Peculiar—that is the very word,’ said Holmes. ‘It is not an English
paper at all. Hold it up to the light.’
.
.I did so, and saw a large E with a small g,
a P, and a large G with a small t woven into the texture
of the paper.
.
.‘What do you make of that?’ asked Holmes.
.
.‘The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.’
.
.‘Not at all. The G with the small t stands for
“Gesellschaft,” which is the German for “Company.” It is a customary contraction
like our “Co.” P, of course, stands for “Papier.” Now for the
Eg. Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer.’ He took down
a heavy brown volume from his shelves. ‘Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria.
It is in a German-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad.
“Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its
numerous glass factories and paper mills.” Ha, ha, my boy, what do you
make of that?’ His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant
cloud from his cigarette.
.
.‘The paper was made in Bohemia,’ I said.
.
.‘Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you
note the peculiar construction of the sentence—“This account of you we
have from all quarters received.” A Frenchman or Russian could not have
written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It
only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who
writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers wearing a mask to showing his
face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.’
.
.As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating
wheels against the kerb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes
whistled.
.
.‘A pair, by the sound,’ said he. ‘Yes,’ he continued, glancing
out of the window. ‘A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred
and fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there
is nothing else.’
.
.‘I think that I had better go, Holmes.’
. .“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are.
I am lost without my Boswell….’
