Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her
last,—Holmes’s new method of search, the discovery of the _Aurora_, the
appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and the
wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining
eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which
had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I feared that she
was about to faint.
“It is nothing,” she said, as I hastened to pour her out some water. “I
am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed my
friends in such horrible peril.”
“That is all over,” I answered. “It was nothing. I will tell you no
more gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the
treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it
with me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see
it.”
“It would be of the greatest interest to me,” she said. There was no
eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that it
might seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize which
had cost so much to win.
“What a pretty box!” she said, stooping over it. “This is Indian work,
I suppose?”
“Yes; it is Benares metal-work.”
“And so heavy!” she exclaimed, trying to raise it. “The box alone must
be of some value. Where is the key?”
“Small threw it into the Thames,” I answered. “I must borrow Mrs.
Forrester’s poker.” There was in the front a thick and broad hasp,
wrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end
of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open
with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We both
stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch
thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest
constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb
of metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely and completely
empty.
“The treasure is lost,” said Miss Morstan, calmly.
As I listened to the words and realised what they meant, a great shadow
seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure had
weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. It was selfish,
no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realise nothing save that the
golden barrier was gone from between us. “Thank God!” I ejaculated from
my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. “Why do you say
that?” she asked.
“Because you are within my reach again,” I said, taking her hand. She
did not withdraw it. “Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man
loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Now
that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said,
‘Thank God.’”
“Then I say, ‘Thank God,’ too,” she whispered, as I drew her to my
side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained
one.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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