The Greek Interpreter, Chapter 3
by
Arthur Conan Doyle
So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I
spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But I know that there is foul play
going on, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr.
Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police."
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary
narrative. Then
Sherlock looked across at his brother.
"Any steps?" he asked.
Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.
"Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named
Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded. A similar
reward paid to anyone giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy.
X 2473."
"That was in all the dalies. No answer."
"How about the Greek legation?"
"I have inquired. They know nothing."
"A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?"
"Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said Mycroft, turning to me.
"Well, you take the
case up by all means and let me know if you do any good."
"Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'll let you know,
and Mr. Melas
also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my guard if I were you, for of
course they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them."
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several
wires.
"You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no means wasted.
Some of my
most interesting cases have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The problem which
we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some
distinguishing features."
"You have hopes of solving it?"
"Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover
the rest.
You must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we
have listened."
"In a vague way, yes."
"What was your idea, then?"
"It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off by the young
Englishman named Harold Latimer."
"Carried off from where?"
"Athens, perhaps."
Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could not talk a word of Greek. The
lady could talk English fairly well. Inference—that she had been in England some
little
time, but he had not been in Greece."
"Well, then, we will presume that she had once come on a visit to England, and that
this
Harold had persuaded her to fly with him."
"That is more probable."
"Then the brother—for that, I fancy, must be the relationship—comes over
from Greece to
interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older
associate. They seize him and use violence towards him in order to make him sign some
papers to make over the girl's fortune—of which he may be trustee—to them. This
he
refuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they
pitch
upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The girl is not told of the
arrival
of her brother and finds it out by the merest accident."
"Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you are not far
from the truth. You
see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of violence on
their part. If they give us time we must have them."
"But how can we find where this house lies?"
"Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was Sophy Kratides, we
should
have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main hope, for the brother is, of
course,
a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established
these relations with the girl—some weeks, at any rate since the brother in Greece has
had
time to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the same place during this
time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to Mycroft's advertisement."
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking. Holmes ascended
the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise.
Looking
over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in
the armchair.
"Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at our surprised
faces. "You
don't expect such energy from me, do you, Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts
me."
"How did you get here?"
"I passed you in a hansom." "There has been some new development?"
"I had an answer to
my advertisement." "Ah!" "Yes, it came within a few minutes of your
leaving." "And to
what effect?" Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
"Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a
middle-aged man
with a weak constitution.
"Sir", he says, "In answer to your advertisement of today's date, I beg to
inform you that I
know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I could give
you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles,
Beckenham.
"Yours faithfully, J. Davenport."
"He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do you not think that
we might
drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"
"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's story. I
think we
should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson and go straight out to Beckenham. We
know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be vital."
"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may need an
interpreter."
"Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we
shall be off at
once." He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his
revolver
into his pocket. "Yes," said he in answer to my glance, "I should say, from
what we have
heard, that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang."
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr, Melas. A
gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.
"Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.
"I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door, "I only
know that he
drove away with the gentleman in a carriage."
"Did the gentleman give a name?"
"No, sir."
"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"
"Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very
pleasant in
his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking."
"Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly. "This grows serious," he
observed as we
drove to Scotland Yard. "These men have got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no
physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. This
villain
was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want
his
professional services, but having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what
they will regard as his treachery."
The Greek Interpreter, 3
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PHILOSOPHICAL EXPLORATIONS
1. Mycroft puts an advertisement in the
newspaper wanting information about Paul
Kratides and Sophy, knowing very well that this will inform the kidnappers that
Mr. Melas has been talking. So by doing this he puts the life of Mr. Melas in
great danger.
Is it right of him to do this? Should he not think more of the security of Mr.
Melas than the chance of having the case solved? How far can we go in
jeopardising other peoples' lives even if the purpose is very good? Is the life of
one person less valuable than the life of a hundred persons?
2. Sherlock says that since they know so
much about this case already, it would be
"singular" (i.e. most surprising) if they shouldn't be able to find out the rest
of
the story.
Is this always so? Is it always easier to find a solution when you know much than
when you know little? Think of a child and an adult. The child know little, the
adult knows much, much more. But if you ask them what is the meaning of life,
who will have the best answer?
3. A detective like Holmes tries to
reconstruct what has happened based on the
available facts in the case. If a fact is presented which cannot fit into the theory,
then the theory must be changed. A detective therefore works pretty much like
most scientists work today: trying out theories whilst at the same time collecting
more and more facts.
When can we stop looking for more facts? When we have found an answer? What
answer? Sherlock stops looking when the case is solved, i.e. when the villains are
caught and thrown into prison. But that doesn't mean there are no more facts out
there....
When should a scientist stop looking for more facts? If he should go on looking
forever, he can never attain truth because the truth will always be a stone's throw
ahead of him. On the other hand, if he should stop at any given time, he also fails
to reach truth since there are lots of more facts out there to be collected and
interpreted.
Phil. Questions to "The Greek Interpreter"
Engelsk for 1. G.
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