The Seven-Per-Cent Solution Page #2

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when most married men

are at home with their wives...

and you arrive without your alter ego,

and your medical bag,

although I know

from your own statements in print

that you've resumed your practice.

Your face is drawn and haggard,

proclaiming a problem of some sort.

And it is not too long a shot to infer

that my brother is

the cause of your distress.

Tell me.

In as few words as possible,

I told him of his brother's condition,

and the promising article

in The Lancet.

When I mentioned the visitor

to my consulting room,

he flushed uncomfortably.

Professor Moriarty?

He appears to know both of you

from the time...

Quite!

And you believe this Viennese doctor

can help him?

The medical profession, you see,

is willfully ignorant

of the problems of addiction.

He appears to have made

a study of it,

in addition to his other work,

hysteria in children.

Peculiar range of interest, isn't it?

He sounds Jewish.

Mr. Holmes...

time is of the essence!

At the rate your brother

is using cocaine

he'll be dead within the year.

And I have no idea how on earth

we could get him to the continent.

- No idea.

- That, you may leave to me.

And Professor Moriarty as well.

- Do you have his address?

- Indeed, yes.

Ah, Jenkins, we shall need a cab.

Yes, sir.

This'll do, cabby. Stop here, will you?

- Just wait a minute, will you?

- Right, sir.

This is more than a street

from the Professor's house.

If what you say is true, however...

it's as well to be discreet.

You see?

He is keeping watch.

- Now what?

- I don't know.

Wait a minute!

Now, quickly.

- May we come in?

- Yes.

Pray, do not adjust the gas,

Professor.

My brother may return

at any moment.

Do not do to let him see

any alterations in your rooms.

Oh, very well.

What do you want?

This is the most ungodly hour

to come calling.

I want you to take

a brief leave of absence

from the Roylot school.

No more than three days.

And journey to the address

on that piece of paper.

Three days?

In the memory

of our past association.

But this is far...

We know where it is, sir,

I give you my word.

And when I get there,

what do you wish me to do?

I wish you to disappear completely.

Come back and then resume your post.

- Nothing more.

- Resume my post...

if it's still there.

Really, this is asking really

altogether too much.

I hardly think so.

I have no great desire

to rake up the past, Professor.

But I'm perfectly capable of it.

Well, of course, if you put it like that,

I have very little choice.

When must I leave?

Now.

John, dear, this telegram

just arrived for you.

It has begun.

Yes.

I must bustle.

Can your practice

spare you for a few days?

The game is afoot, and your assistance

will prove invaluable.

Bring Toby to 114, Munrow Road,

Hammersmith.

Take precautions. Holmes.

What does he mean,

"take precautions"?

But surely that won't be necessary.

I've always followed

his instructions to the letter.

Ask Collingwood to take my rounds

for me, will you?

When will you return?

I can't say. Would you, please?

I'm off to fetch Toby now.

Any further questions?

Just one. Who is Toby?

Toby is a bloodhound.

Readers may recall Toby's

remarkable powers,

from my account of them in

The Sign of the Four,

in which his superior olfactory sense

was materially responsible

for the capture of Jonathan Small

and his horrible companion.

More recently,

Holmes had employed Toby

to trace an orangutan

in the sewers of Marseille.

It was a case which,

though I have omitted to set down,

was not without features of interest.

Holmes!

Holmes!

Where are you, Holmes?

No need to track, Watson.

I'm right here.

- Hello, Toby.

- Oh, good God!

Forgive me, my dear fellow.

But you know I cannot resist

a touch of the dramatic.

And the setting was so perfect,

that I succumbed to temptation.

This way, Watson.

- The Professor has bolted.

- Moriarty?

Non other. This is his house

on the corner.

I've stayed my nights

keeping watch on it.

But last night I made

a fatal error...

and relaxed my vigil long enough

to pay a visit

to the pub at the end of the road.

Mind the vanilla extract!

You mustn't worry.

I've not lost my wits,

but you might have stepped in it.

Now, come forward now,

carefully, now, now!

Smell.

It is vanilla extract.

Much better than creosote

for following.

Go on, Toby, sniff it, boy, sniff it.

I poured this here when I

so improvidently abandoned

my post last night.

And it worked better than I

could have hoped, you see?

Here is his foot, that stepped

into it as he got into the carriage,

and this narrow slit

is the carriage wheel itself.

Now, Toby, follow the wheel.

Watson, get the bags!

We're off!

Where do you expect

this trail to lead?

I assure you

I haven't the faintest idea.

I only know that at some point Toby

will exhibit some confusion.

That will be when the wheel

of the cab we are following

and the Professor's foot

go their separate ways.

Don't smoke my dear fellow.

The animal has enough

to content with as it is.

Sorry.

Where are we?

Victoria, I think. Yes.

Come on. Come on Toby!

Like Gloucester at the end

of his cliff, eh, Watson?

Yes, yes.

What now?

And now, if you would be so kind,

find out what time the next...

Continental Boat Express...

leaves for Europe.

I, in the meantime, will remove

what remains of this disguise.

I cannot visit the continent looking

like a dustman.

- And the hound?

- Oh, we'll take him with us.

I don't think we've exhausted

his usefulness quite yet.

Porter!

Straight away!

I fear the fog has delayed us.

Yes, true, true,

but it has also delayed him.

Now, where have they put

my Gladstone?

There it is.

Here you are.

Thank you, sir.

Would you excuse me, my clear fellow?

I'll be back in a moment.

There was no point in remonstrating

about Holmes' use of cocaine.

In fact, until we reached Austria,

I was ironically dependent upon it.

Every time the train stopped,

we provided Toby with the remainder

of the vanilla extract from a bottle,

and proceeded to promenade with him

around the stations,

always without success.

It was at the station of Linz

that an incident occurred

which, though seemingly unimportant

at the time,

was not without significance later.

Stop!

Saved from a provenation, Watson.

Conductor, whose private coach

belongs to that private carpet?

They all belong to the Amin Pasha,

gentlemen.

- The train is leaving.

- And who might that be?

Be? Why, he is the Premier

of the entire Ottoman Empire.

And he's the man who broke

the bank at Monte Carlo.

I hope Toby hasn't made

some ghastly mistake.

Or else this would be the wildest

goose chase in history.

I have every faith in that nose.

In all my working years

as a detective,

I've never known anything like it.

Now, Watson,

wherever our path leads

will take us to Vienna.

I didn't realize Vienna was so lovely.

Charming. It would appear

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