I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though I knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to stay in the sick room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until I fell asleep in the endeavour to find some explanation which would cover all these facts.
It was seven o’clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps’s room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.
‘He’ll be here when he promised,’ said I, ‘and not an instant sooner or later.’
And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window, we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before he came upstairs.
‘He looks like a beaten man,’ cried Phelps.
I was forced to confess that he was right. ‘After all,’ said I, ‘the clue of the matter lies probably here in town.’
Phelps gave a groan.
‘I don’t know how it is,’ said he, ‘but I had hoped for so much from his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday? What can be the matter?’
‘You are not wounded, Holmes?’ I asked, as my friend entered the room.
‘Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,’ he answered, nodding his good morning to us. ‘This case of yours, Mr Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated.’
‘I feared that you would find it beyond you.’
‘It has been a most remarkable experience.’
‘That bandage tells of adventures,’ said I. ‘Won’t you tell us what has happened?’
‘After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose there has been no answer to 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 the 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 there, Watson?’
‘Ham and eggs,’ I answered.
‘Good! What are you going to take, Mr Phelps: curried fowl, eggs, or will you help yourself?’
‘Thank you, I can eat nothing,’ said Phelps.