Adventures of Heather Key

In what seemed to me to be the middle of the night, I was awakened by a pounding on my front
door. It was Holmes. I was too groggy to indicate my pleasure at seeing him, so I motioned him to
a chair while I hobbled to my bedroom to dress in the attire that I had set out. When I returned
and we had exchanged greetings, I was handed a newspaper folded over so that a particular
article was indicated for my perusal. I began reading it aloud as I backed into the chair opposite
my friend.

"Three days ago we reported that a passenger ship bound for America was torpedoed by a
German submarine off the coast of Ireland. The ship was saved from sinking by wise decisions of
the ship's captain. Because the attack occurred in broad daylight, the ship's crew had spotted the
submarine's periscope before torpedos were launched. The captain immediately ordered that the
lower decks be vacated and that all watertight hatches be closed, and he ordered that distress
signals be sent by radio, which were received by a British warship in the vicinity. Finally, he
ordered, just as the first torpedo's explosion got everyone's attention, that all passengers
assemble on the main deck to prepare for boarding boats and inflatable rafts.

"Two explosions were felt. When no more occurred, the captain ordered that all passengers
board the boats and rafts and move away from the ship. When the warship arrived, experts in ship
repair began shoring up the damaged hull. When the work had been completed, the passengers
were ordered to reboard the ship, which then returned to port.

"That was what we reported three days ago based on information from military sources. Since
then our office has received several telephone calls from eyewitnesses indicating that what we
reported told only part of what happened. We have met with three of the telephone callers. One of
them showed us some rather revealing photographs.

"While the passengers in boats and inflatable rafts were still circled around the torpedoed ship,
the submarine surfaced and began circling around the boats and rafts with two of its crew
looking at the passengers through binoculars as if looking for someone in particular. Suddenly one
of them shouted down the hatch. A rifle was passed up to the one shouting, who then aimed at and
shot to death one of the passengers, a forty year old man who was sitting in an inflatable raft
next to his eighteen year old daughter.

"Noticing the approaching warship, the two men on the submarine quickly descended through the
hatch and twisted it shut. But as the submarine began submerging, the daughter of the murdered
passenger was seen swimming to the submarine. She scrambled over its deck, twisted the hatch
open, and began descending into it even as water began flowing into it. As the submarine was
lost from view, the young woman was seen swimming back to the raft in which her father's body
was lying dead.

"After a few minutes, the submarine resurfaced several hundred yards further away. A man was
seen reclosing the hatch. The submarine then quickly submerged, but it was too late. The
approaching warship went right through the place in the water where the submarine was. A
momentary jerking of the warship told everyone watching that the submarine was being smashed.

"The passenger ship is in dry dock for repairs. The warship is also in dry dock so that its hull
can be inspected for damage. As for the German submarine, only one of its crew made it to the
surface alive. The young woman was spirited away by military officials. We have learned that her
father had been a cryptologist in America who had come to Britain to assist an Army office
specializing in deciphering encrypted messages."

I looked up to face Holmes asking me, "Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"

"It is an interesting article, but it leaves me with several unanswered questions."

"And what are those?"

"How would men on a German submarine recognize an American cryptologist? How would they
know that the cryptologist was on that particular ship? What was the cryptologist's daughter
attempting to do on the submarine? What will become of her?"

"Yesterday I interviewed the captains of both the dry-docked passenger ship and the dry-docked
warship. The young woman was so angry at the man who killed her father that she wanted to get
back at him. The only thing she could think of was to make water flow into his submerging
submarine. She was nearly swept into the submarine when she twisted open the inner hatch.

"We must now meet with a Major Henderson, who works in the office of decoding mentioned in
the article. The captain of the warship said that this Major Henderson had shown concern about
the death of the cryptologist."

Within an hour we met Major Henderson, who was just arriving for his day's work at an Army
office so neatly tucked away between civilian buildings that few even knew that it was there. We
followed him through a guarded entrance, where our names were logged, then down a
passageway to a door that he had to unlock. We entered into a windowless room in which the
only furniture were a table with several wooden chairs around it.

When we had seated ourselves, Holmes asked, "What prompted the American cryptologist to
come to Britain?"

"We had gained access to some coded messages that we had not been able to decipher. We
had reasons for believing that they contained important information. I had heard that some
American cryptologists, as they have begun calling themselves, are becoming more advanced
in decoding than are we. I sent Mr. Andrew Scott, one of our translators, to New York City to
bring a cryptologist back with him to help us crack these coded messages. Mr. Scott returned
with Professor Robert Key and his eighteen year old daughter Heather, who assisted the
professor in his work.

"It was in this very room that Professor Key did his work for us. Within a day he had decoded
several messages, and within a week he had decoded dozens of messages that might have
taken us weeks to decipher. The professor then said that he must return to the college where he
taught mathematics. Miss Key would be entering the same college as a student.

"The professor's wife, Heather's mother, died when Heather was very young, and Robert never
remarried, so Miss Key is now an orphan. She is at the home of Mrs. Sharon Turner, where
Professor Key and his daughter had stayed during the week that he was working for us. The
Turner mansion is not far from here. Later today Miss Key is to board a ship bound for America."

"Tell us about Mr. Andrew Scott."

Major Henderson squirmed in his chair a little before answering. "Mr. Scott had been preparing
to work for an Edinburgh company that had considerable interests in Germany. Mr. Scott's uncle
worked at the company's branch office in Germany, where he had become fluent in the German
language. As the uncle approached retirement age, he began training his nephew for taking
over his position at the company. Mr. Scott spent his summer vacations with his uncle learning
the business and the German language.

"When war was declared, the company's office in Germany was closed, the uncle was forced
to retire early, and Mr. Scott enlisted in the Army. I had been looking for recruits who were
fluent in German, so that decoded messages in that language could be translated into English. In
October of 1914, I interviewed Mr. Scott and had him transferred to my command. Though he
was somewhat slow at first, his translations always proved to be accurate. He gradually became
my most reliable translator of messages in German.

"There have been calls for all able-bodied young men to be sent to the battle fronts to replace
those killed or wounded. I was told that Mr. Scott would have to go. None of my protests had any
effect.

"The abilities of American cryptologists were being called to my attention, as I have said. I also
learned that some British industrialists were organizing a voyage to America in an attempt to
convince their American counterparts that American troops should be sent to help the British war
effort. In a futile attempt to prevent Mr. Scott from being sent into battle, I ordered him to go
on that ship to bring back a cryptologist, as I have said. Mr. Scott is now training for being
sent to the front lines."

"Before the war began, the Edinburgh company had been expecting to hire Mr. Scott. After the
war began, the company might have learned through his uncle that Mr. Scott was working in an
office of decoding as a translator."

"Yes. About two months after Mr. Scott began working here, the chief owner of the company, Mr.
Gary Douglas, presented himself and desired to speak with Mr. Scott."

"In what mood did Mr. Douglas leave after meeting with Mr. Scott?"

"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes! As a matter of fact, Mr. Douglas was heard yelling at Mr. Scott.
His face was distorted with anger as he left. I asked Mr. Scott about it. He said that it was a
personal matter, but that the result of their discussion was that he would not be hired by the
company after the war."

"After the death of her father, you have not been supplying Miss Key with messages to decipher,
have you?"

Major Henderson's face suddenly reddened, which was all the answer that Holmes needed.

"Thank you, Major Henderson, for answering my questions. Which way to the Turner mansion?"

I should mention that as we exited through the guard station and the guard logged our names as
leaving, Holmes got permission to look over the names of those who had visited recently.

I could not keep up with the brisk stride of Holmes. By the time I arrived at the Turner mansion,
Holmes had already learned that Miss Key had just been kidnapped by two masked men who
had sped away in a motorcar.

Holmes grabbed my arm and helped me move towards King's Cross Station. "I found burned
papers in the fireplace of the room where Miss Key was staying. There was an odor of chloroform
in the room."

I was panting too much to ask what Holmes was planning for us to do about the situation.

"See that small park over there? Notice the fresh tire tracks across the grass from the road to
that stand of bushes. From behind them the tracks rejoin the road over there."

As we neared King's Cross Station, Holmes quickly scanned the vehicles parked around it. "The
motorcar, as described by Mrs. Turner's housemaid, is not here."

Holmes paid for a compartment on a train that was ultimately bound for Edinburgh. However, we
would be getting off at the first stop.

As the train began to move and we were becoming relaxed in our compartment, I was about to
ask Holmes what our plans were, when he stood up and said, "Come, Watson!"

We moved through several cars until we came to a baggage car. "Watson, we are looking for a
large case that could be breathed in, so not in leather but in cloth. Ah, there is one, and it
is large enough."

He zipped it open to reveal an unconscious young woman curled up in it with her hands and feet
bound with ropes and with a cloth gag tied across her mouth. We pulled her out into the aisle and
stretched out her long limbs. While Holmes untied the gag and ropes, I patted her cheeks and
wafted air across her nostrils. Within a minute or two she began to revive, blinking her eyes,
but saying nothing.

In a pocket of the traveling case that she had been in I found a small bottle of chloroform.
Holmes directed me to put it in one of my pockets.

An increase in the noise level alerted us to the approach of someone about to enter the car we
were in. Holmes helped the young woman crawl behind some luggage, tossed me the gag and
ropes, then quickly zipped up the case and darted behind some other luggage. I rolled behind
some boxes with the gag and ropes before a large man approached the case that the young
woman had been in.

As the man zipped it open and was shocked to find it empty, Holmes sprang out of hiding to
tackle the man down. "This man needs some rest!"

I poured chloroform on the cloth gag, and lunged at the man's face with it just as he was kicking
off Holmes, who had been frantically trying to hold him down. The man pushed me over some
luggage and then attempted to strangle Holmes.

The tall young woman grabbed the chloroformed cloth out of my hand, pounced on the man's
back, and forced the cloth over the man's screaming mouth and nose. All three of us held him
down until his limbs went limp. Holmes tied up the man's hands and feet with the ropes, we all
three curled him up into the case, and I zipped him in.

After our panting had subsided, the young woman spoke first. "Thank you for saving my life, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson." We were startled at her familiarity with us. She handed
Holmes his card that had fallen out of someone's pocket during the scuffle. She said to me, "I
didn't find your card, Dr. Watson, but as Sherlock here is on one of his adventures, the shorter
and stockier of you two would have to be Watson."

Holmes and I burst into laughter. "Well, Watson, I see that your writings chronicling some of our
little adventures have been read in America by Miss Heather Key, the cryptologist whose
mathematician father was so tragically murdered. I am deeply saddened by your loss, Miss Key.
At the next stop Dr. Watson must see you back to Mrs. Sharon Turner, who is greatly disturbed
by your being kidnapped. Come, let us go to our compartment to discuss the situation in which
we find ourselves."

Miss Key seemed astonished at Sherlock's remarks and eagerly followed us through the train
and into our compartment. As we sat down, I asked Holmes why he thought that the kidnappers
would put Miss Key on this particular train, and also why he didn't seem worried about the other
kidnapper.

"I asked Mrs. Turner's housemaid, who had been held down by one man, while Miss Key was
being chloroformed, slung over his shoulder, and carried to their motorcar by the other, whether
or not the man holding her down ever looked at his watch. She replied that just as the man got
up to join his companion in their motorcar he looked at his watch with an expression of
satisfaction showing on the portions of his face not covered by his mask. From this information I
understood that there was a deadline to meet and that their kidnapping scheme was either on
schedule or even ahead of schedule. What would fit meeting a schedule better than arriving in
time for boarding a train, and not just any train, but one bound for Edinburgh, where a German
spy ring has been in operation since the beginning of the war?

"As for my unconcern about the second kidnapper, when we arrived at King's Cross Station,
the motorcar used by the kidnappers, as described by the maidservant, was not there. Unless I
am sadly mistaken, the other kidnapper is driving it toward Edinburgh even as we speak."

I then wanted to know why he thought that we could arrive in time to board this train by walking
briskly, when the kidnappers had preceded us and were traveling by motorcar. "Surely you were
unaware of the exact time for this train's departure!"

"It is true that they preceded us by a few minutes and traveled much faster than we did. However,
they had to stop their motorcar in a park behind some bushes to accomplish some important
tasks. They had to tie up Miss Key, stuff her into a traveling case, remove their masks and put
on other clothing, stow away their masks and any removed clothing, and raise the canvas top
on their motorcar so that it would not immediately look like the vehicle that had been seen
leaving the Turner mansion. I was also counting on the fact that they were carrying out their
plan a little ahead of schedule so as not to altogether miss the train. Of course I would have
preferred having a train schedule in my pocket. I believe you used to handle that chore quite
admirably."

Listening intently to all of this, Miss Key was amused by the verbal jab at me.

"And now, Miss Key, would you please tell us about Mrs. Sharon Turner?"

"She has been like a mother to me both during the voyage to Britain, while my father and I stayed
in her mansion, and especially since my father was killed. She is a widow. Her husband was a
wealthy industrialist, who, when British troops were sent across the Channel, showed his
patriotism by donating two of his company's ships for use in supplying the troops. While he was
aboard one of those ships during a supply run, a German submarine torpedoed and sank it. That
was how her husband died.

"Their son Chester wanted to take over his father's business, for which he was being groomed.
However, Mrs. Turner, who is the accountant for the business, assumed control and told Chester
that she would not sign control over to him until the war was over, at which time he could also
move his family into the Turner mansion.

"I wish Mrs. Turner would go with me to America and act as a mother for me."

"Please tell us about Andrew Scott."

"I cannot do so without telling you about myself."

"Then do so."

"I have only vague memories of my mother, who fell from a ladder while helping my father paint
a house to earn some extra money during one of his summer vacations. Her head hit the edge
of some concrete work, and she died. My father was so upset by the tragedy that it was years
before he told me what happened.

"I grew up without a mother, but did well in school, excelling in sports because I was bigger
than the other children my age. Boys had no interest in me because I was so tall, except when
they needed another player for a baseball game.

"Probably because of my father's knowledge of mathematics, I became interested in games of
logic and in puzzles and eventually in deciphering coded messages. In one of my father's
mathematical journals I found an article on cryptology that I read over and over again. I even
went to the college library to read the books and articles listed in the footnotes. My father
encouraged my interest.

"By the time I was a senior in high school I was corresponding with a man living in New York City
who was actually earning a living by decoding messages.

"When no boy wanted to take me to the senior prom, I felt like a misfit in society. My father
wanted me to continue my education at the college at which he was a professor of mathematics.
I wanted to become a cryptologist, and I showed him an encouraging letter from the man I had
been corresponding with.

"We settled on a compromise. He would take me to New York City to see if the cryptologists
there would hire me, if I would consent to go to college if my application for employment as a
cryptologist were rejected. With that understanding we went to New York City.

"Although the cryptologists were impressed with my ability to decode messages, they thought
that I should get a degree in mathematics. They even said that they would be more interested in
hiring my father than me. I was greatly disappointed and wanted to be alone for a while.

"While my father was out visiting libraries and bookstores, I moped around in our hotel suite
until I heard a knocking at the door. It was Andrew Scott, who said that he was looking for
Professor Robert Key. When I asked why, he said that it was very important that he talk directly
with Professor Key. He asked me if he could wait for Professor Key in the lobby by the elevators.
I nodded assent, but I could not contain my curiosity. I went out to the lobby to confront him
about why he wanted to see my father. I finally dragged it out of him that he was from Britain
seeking an American cryptologist to assist his nation's Army in decoding wartime messages. He
had visited the same cryptologists I had visited. None of them had wanted to help the British
decode messages, but one of them had mentioned that a professor of mathematics by the name of
Robert Key had just been there, and he remembered the name of the hotel where we were staying.

"I asked Andrew how he could be sure that someone was really a cryptologist. Andrew opened
his briefcase and pulled out some samples of coded messages. 'I have the solutions to these.'

"I snatched the samples out of his hand and said, 'I'll be back when I have decoded one of
these.' He thought I was crazy.

"After a few minutes I solved one of them, went out and tossed at him the sample with its
solution written on a sheet of hotel stationery, and went back to work on another.

"When I emerged again, he stood and said, 'You got it right!'

"I then slapped a second sample with the solution into his hands and said, 'I got this one right
too!'

"When I emerged with a third sample with its solution, which he quickly compared with the
solution that he had, he asked, 'If the daughter can do this, what can the father do?' At that
point in time the elevator door opened and out stepped my father!

"After the three of us came to understand the truth of the whole situation, we concluded that I
could probably provide some of the help his office of decoding was wanting, but that its
masculine pride would probably not tolerate receiving that help from an eighteen year old girl.
So we mutually conceived the idea of my father posing as a cryptologist who would insist that
his daughter help him in his work.

"While visiting the ship we would be traveling on, my father saw an announcement concerning
a formal ball for one of the evenings during the voyage to Britain, thought about my
disappointment at not being invited to the senior prom, and told Andrew that unless he would
buy a gown for me and be my partner for the ball, we would not be going to Britain. Andrew kept
the gown hidden until the day of the ball, when he invited me to be his partner for the ball and
gave me the gown, saying, 'I hope your father told me the right dress size.'

"Andrew and I fell in love with each other during that voyage. He told me that on his arrival in
Britain he would have to begin training for being sent into battle. If he could somehow survive
the war, he wanted to marry me when it was over.

"My father's partner for the ball was Mrs. Turner, who offered her mansion as a place for us to
stay during the week or so we would be in London.

"I worked long hours at the office of decoding because I thought that anything I could do to
help the British war effort might result in saving Andrew from being killed in battle.

"Of course you know how my father was killed. Thanks to you two, there is still time for me to
get on a ship departing for America later today. Oh, I wish I could see Andrew before I leave!"

At the end of her statement, when I was trying to hold back tears, I noticed that Holmes was
trying to suppress a smile.

As the train slowed, I asked Holmes, "What do we do about the man in the traveling case?"

"I'll handle that, Watson. You and Miss Key should return to the Turner mansion on the next
train. I have business here. It has been good seeing you, Watson. Have a good voyage, Miss
Key!"

As Holmes stood to leave, Miss Key looked sorry to see him go. Holmes handed her his card,
which brightened her face a little. He then quickly left the compartment.

At the station, while Heather and I were standing in the ticket line, Miss Key noticed Holmes
emerging from a telephone booth. Holmes was smiling about something, noticed us, waved, and
then strode away.

During the trip back to King's Cross Station, I asked Miss Key about the kidnapping. She said
that while she was packing for the voyage back to America, she was also working on decoding
some messages that Major Henderson had supplied her with copies of, which he would pick up
before it was time for her to leave for the port. She heard the sound of an motorcar engine
outside and thought, "It is too early for Major Henderson." She heard a commotion downstairs
and an anguished scream from the housemaid. When she heard approaching footsteps, she
grabbed the coded messages, rushed to the fireplace, struck a match, and set the messages on
fire. She felt more concerned about destroying them than her own safety. As she watched the
papers burn, a masked man approached her from behind and forced a chloroformed cloth over her
nose and mouth. "The next thing I remember was waking up in the baggage car of a train."

As the train we were now on slowed and she was looking out the window, suddenly she
screamed, "It's Andrew!" She ran down the aisle so that she would be the first to get off the car
we were on. I made my way after her, wondering if Holmes had anything to do with this.

When I finally caught up to meet Mr. Scott, Heather showed me the engagement ring on her
finger. I congratulated the couple on their plans to get married when the war ended.

While we walked to the Turner mansion, Mr. Scott told me what had transpired. "Mr. Sherlock
Holmes telephoned Major Henderson, demanding that I be at the train station when Heather
returned. Mr. Holmes knew from the guard station log that I had logged in several days before
Holmes and you logged in, but that there was no logging out for me. From that, Mr. Holmes
correctly surmised that I was still working as a German translator for Major Henderson, despite
Henderson's statement about my being in combat training."

I asked Mr. Scott, "Why would Major Henderson tell people that you were in training for combat,
if it were not true?"

"He said that a counterespionage detachment of the Army had told him that a German spy ring
had been scheming of ways to persuade me to give them summaries of the decoded
messages I had access to. Major Henderson was hoping to confuse the spies with this combat
training story. On my return from America he actually had me escorted from the ship to a
training base, to make the story look real. A week later, I was returned during the night to the
office of decoding where my quarters had been and are again. Major Henderson said he now
realizes that the spies were not fooled by the story."

When we arrived at the Turner mansion, Mrs. Turner came out to embrace both Andrew and
Heather. She was greatly relieved over Heather's safe return and in Andrew's not being in
training for combat, and she expressed delight at their engagement. "Heather, I am going with you
to America. My son Chester will be moving into this mansion with his family and will be in charge
of the family business. Because of the death of your father, you need someone to get your
financial situation in order, someone to see that you make it to classes on time and do your
homework. I want to be that someone. The servants are even now loading our luggage into
Chester's motorcar."

Heather wept with joy and hugged Mrs. Turner. "I have been deprived of the mother I have
needed. Cryptology, though interesting, has a dangerous side to it. I think I'll major in music."

I asked Mrs. Turner what prompted her to decide to go with Miss Key to America.

"I had wanted to, but was afraid that Heather would not want me to. Mr. Sherlock Holmes
telephoned to tell me that Miss Key had been rescued from the kidnappers and was on her
way home. He said that he heard Miss Key say that she wished that I would go to America with
her and act as a mother for her."

I met Chester and his family, then watched the tearful parting of Andrew and Heather when
Andrew had to return to his work. I stayed at the mansion until Mrs. Turner and Miss Key had left
for the port. I was then in such a cheerful mood that I walked all the way home.

The next day I awoke very late, ate a hearty meal, then settled back in my couch to read the
newspapers. One article especially caught my attention.

"Yesterday the headquarters of a German spy ring based in Edinburgh was raided by an Army
detachment specializing in counterespionage. Everyone known to be in the spy ring was
captured except for two of its London operatives. Not long after the raid, one of the London
operatives was discovered tied up inside a traveling case on a train bound for Edinburgh. The
other was captured when a description of his motorcar led to his arrest on a roadway in the
Lake District.

"The leader of the detachment said that the key to the successful raid in Edinburgh was
accurate information supplied by Mr. Gary Douglas of Edinburgh, whose company, which once
had a German branch, had become a front for the spy ring. At first, Mr. Douglas ignorantly
participated in their attempts to infiltrate an Army office of decoding. When he realized what
they were attempting to do, he approached a trusted friend in the Army, who forwarded Mr.
Douglas's concern to an Army counterespionage detachment. From that time forward, Mr.
Douglas had been spying on the spies.

"Mr. Douglas claims that the spy ring was behind the torpedoing last week of a passenger
ship off the coast of Ireland. He said that he later learned that the spy ring had given the
captain of the German submarine a photograph of Professor Robert Key which had been used to
single him out from among the passengers on the boats and rafts after the ship had been
torpedoed. Professor Key was shot to death by a man on the submarine.

"Mr. Douglas claims that the reason for the murder was that the spy ring did not want Professor
Key's knowledge of German coded messages to be shared with other American cryptologists.

"Mr. Douglas claims that the spy ring was planning to kidnap the murdered cryptologist's
daughter, then threaten a young man in the office of decoding, who was in love with her, that
they would harm her if he did not begin supplying them with summaries of the decoded messages
that he had access to.

"Mr. Douglas said that he could not alert the counterespionage detachment about the
kidnapping scheme because the spy ring had become suspicious of him, confined him to his
house, and had removed his telephone.

"The two members of the spy ring assigned to kidnap Miss Heather Key were apparently the
two captured elsewhere on the same day as the Edinburgh raid. As we go to press, it is
unclear whether the kidnapping actually took place, nor is it known why one of the operatives
was found tied up in a traveling case on a train.

"As for the timing of the raid, the leader of the detachment said that it was about to occur
anyway. But when there had been no contact with Mr. Douglas for two days, it was decided that
the impending raid should not be postponed any longer.

"Miss Heather Key is now on a ship bound for America. Traveling with her is Mrs. Sharon Turner
of London."

I bought another copy of the paper, clipped out the article, and sent it to Holmes, asking for
his comments. It was some time before I received his brief response. "I was not aware that a
raid on the spy ring was in progress at the time we found Miss Key in a traveling case."

In December of 1916, I received a letter from Mrs. Sharon Turner, from which I extract the
following:

"Although Robert Key's will had left Heather everything, Uncle Ralph, the executor of his
brother's estate, was going to sell Robert's house and have Heather live in his family's house
until she is twenty-one. Heather's preference for me as a guardian meant that the house, which
is nearly paid for, will remain in Heather's possession. Although it is nothing like the mansion
in London, it is a pleasant place to live, and it is only a street away from the college.

"Robert did have a life insurance policy, but since he was killed in what the insurance company
described as a theater of war, they claimed that the manner of his death was not covered by the
policy. I hired a lawyer who successfully argued that since Robert had been on a civilian ship
in international waters, and that since America has not yet declared war on Germany, his death
was simple murder and should not be camouflaged as an act of war. The judge ruled in
Heather's favor and ordered the insurance company to pay, which they have done. However, the
insurance company is preparing to appeal the decision. They are gathering news articles
published in Britain mentioning that Professor Robert Key had worked for the British government
as a cryptologist.

"Heather is doing well in her classes. She is learning to play the piano and the violin, and she
sings in the college choir. She has admitted to me that one of the reasons she is majoring in
music is so that if the war ends before she would graduate, she could quit college to marry
Andrew, because with music, she says, ability is more important than having a degree. She
seems to have lost all interest in cryptology.

Dear Dr. Watson:

About six months ago I wrote to you concerning Miss Heather Key, whom you and Mr. Sherlock
Holmes rescued in England. The insurance company's claims against her deceased father's policy
were finally thrown out of court, and I have taught Heather how to manage her finances and
property. I was planning to return to London to live in a wing of the Turner mansion, but then
America declared war on Germany. Until it is safe for me to return, I will remain here in
Heather's house.

The reason this letter is so long is because I am recording an astounding series of events while
they are still fresh in my mind. Heather has a collection of your writings about Sherlock Holmes.
I have read all of them and feel certain that you will be interested in what I am now attempting
to communicate.

Since Heather is majoring in music, is learning to play the violin and the piano, and sings in the
college choir, for a Christmas present I gave her a grand piano. Several of her fellow music
students came to see it and play on it. The idea developed that every Friday evening the music
students would gather at Heather's house and take turns performing on their instruments and
singing around the piano. This became very popular, and for the pleasure of enjoying the music I
gladly acted as chaperon.

One of the seniors, who always came with his fiancee, is an interesting character named Buffalo
Martin. As a music student he had mastered the clarinet. He liked to play duets with Heather on
the piano. Sometimes he brought sheets of music that he himself had composed, so we sometimes
heard the first performances of them. He was also a pitcher on the college baseball team. His
mother is a full-blooded Indian who grew up on a reservation not far from the college.

Buffalo Martin's father, Yellow Sunrise, was a professor in the department of languages at the
college. About three weeks ago he was found shot to death in his office. At the memorial service
there was a huge gathering of faculty, students, and Indians. No one knew why anyone would have
murdered the professor. His only known enemy had been Jason Bolger, a former county sheriff,
who had lost a reelection bid nearly twenty-five years ago partly due to Yellow Sunrise's efforts
on behalf of the opposing candidate. But this former sheriff became a lawyer, was appointed to a
judgeship, and was, when the murder occurred, about to be confirmed by the state senate to be a
justice on the state supreme court.

On the day after the funeral, Buffalo Martin came to our house to ask Heather for her help in
finding out who killed his father. When she protested that the police are much more capable at
this sort of thing, he held up in front of her a chunk of rock about the size of his fist. "When
my mother and I opened my father's safe to see what insurance papers he had, we found this."

Heather took the rock, turned it about, and carefully examined every detail of it. She was about
to give it back, then retained it, asking, "Why would anyone keep such a drab-looking rock in
one's safe?" When the question was not answered, she said, "I will need this rock for a while."
She promised to return it later that day. She immediately left the house.

Buffalo shrugged his shoulders and said, "I guess this means that she is investigating." His eyes
welled up with tears. He bowed and left.

About an hour later Heather returned with the rock and some papers. She sat next to the
telephone, unfolded a piece of paper upon which a telephone number was written, then turned to
me, and handed me the rock. "I took this rock to one of the geology professors, who said that it
is a nodule of flint that was originally more oval in shape. As you can see, one end has been
broken off. The lustrous black and white bands are in a concentric pattern. There is only a
duller chert in this area of the country. This rock was from somewhere else. Do you see in the
deepest crevices a dark substance? I took the rock to one of the biology professors, who
examined some of the dark substance under a microscope and confirmed my suspicions that it is
dried blood. I am now telephoning the man whom Yellow Sunrise helped get elected as sheriff."
She motioned for me to listen in on both ends of the conversation.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Patterson?"

"I am Joshua Patterson."

"I am Heather Key, a friend of Buffalo Martin, the son of Yellow Sunrise, who was professor of
languages at the college. Do you know anything about a rock that was found in Yellow Sunrise's
safe after his death?"

"Yes, but I would rather tell the family about it first."

"If the family drove out to your place today, would you tell them about the rock?"

"Yes, but have them come before it gets dark."

"I will tell them at once. Thank you, Mr. Patterson."

Heather telephoned Buffalo Martin and told him the news. She requested that we be allowed to
ride out to the Patterson place, looking at me for confirmation that I wanted to accompany her.
I heard Buffalo's voice say, "I think we can be at your house in about fifteen minutes."

As we readied ourselves for the trip, Heather handed me a folded article that she had clipped from
a newspaper. "When you get a chance, you may want to read this article about the confirmation
hearing on the governor's appointment of Jason Bolger to the state supreme court." I placed the
folded article in my purse.

Our traveling party consisted of Buffalo Martin, his mother Little Sparrow, Heather, and myself.
After a dusty half-hour journey, Buffalo parked his motorcar near the farmhouse, where we were
greeted by an elderly couple. As we moved toward the house I noticed that Mr. Patterson was
scanning the surrounding countryside with a serious look on his face. We seated ourselves around
the dining room table. Mrs. Patterson brought in glasses of cold water. After each person had
explained his or her present situation in life, Mr. Patterson cleared his throat for what proved
to be a rather lengthy explanation.

"I worked in the county sheriff's office under Jason Bolger, the meanest sheriff this county has
ever had. He was especially cruel to the Indians, devising ways to catch them doing something
illegal even when they were not. Anyone who complained about Sheriff Bolger's style of policing
the county had bad things happen to them.

"When I filed to run against him for the sheriff's job, he put me on ridiculous assignments and
told false stories about me. My campaign was going nowhere, when a young man who taught
languages at the college came to me with a plan to get votes. He was a white man, who had
recently become a member of the Indian tribe in order to marry Little Sparrow here, who was at
that time living on the reservation. He had abandoned his Martin name for his tribal name of
Yellow Sunrise.

"His plan was this. He and I would set up times to visit all the churches in the county, bringing
along with us Indians to tell what Sheriff Bolger was doing to members of their tribe. We would
always end with a promise that, if I were elected sheriff, the tribe would invite anyone in the
county who wanted to, to come out to the reservation for a pot luck feast on Thanksgiving Day. It
was this idea that got me enough votes to win the election. The tribe followed through on its
promise, and the county's first Thanksgiving Day on the reservation began a tradition that has
continued through the years.

"Soon after taking over as sheriff, on the night before Yellow Sunrise and Little Sparrow were to
be married, Yellow Sunrise pounded on my front door and came out of the blizzard to tell me that
he had almost been killed by the former sheriff, but had escaped thanks to a rock that he was
holding in his hand. He said that Bolger had kidnapped him at gunpoint while he was moving items
from his apartment into the house that he was buying. He was forced into Bolger's truck and driven
out to a creek at the uninhabited end of the Indian reservation and pushed out into the blizzard
without a coat on. Bolger shouted that it would be better that Yellow Sunrise froze to death than
bring halfbreed children into the world.

"Fearing for his life, Yellow Sunrise ran down near the creek, found a thick bed of dead leaves
under the snow, and burrowed his way beneath the leaves. He feared that he was going to freeze to
death on the night before his wedding. After a while he began to feel his own heat held back
against himself by the leaves. So he began to hope that he could stay there until the morning and
then find a way to get back home.

"But Bolger came on foot looking for him and tried to pull him back out into the cold. Yellow
Sunrise felt around for a weapon and pulled out of the dirt a rock, which he used to strike
Bolger's head with, which knocked Bolger out. Yellow Sunrise then dragged Bolger into the leaves,
jumped into Bolger's truck, and drove to my house.

"Yellow Sunrise said he was just thankful to be alive and did not want this experience to be
known by anyone, lest the memory of his wedding day be marred by it. I agreed, drove Yellow
Sunrise home in Bolger's truck, then drove out to check on Bolger, who was conscious again. Of
course he denied Yellow Sunrise's story. I drove myself home, then turned over his truck to
Bolger with some stern warnings.

"Bolger later appeared to have mended his ways. He went to law school, passed his exams, and
started a successful practise. Later he was appointed to a county judgeship. Recently the governor
nominated Bolger to serve on the state supreme court. During the confirmation hearing in the
senate, someone said there were a lot of complaints during Bolger's tenure as sheriff. Those
supporting Bolger said that that was all in the past and that Bolger's record for the last
twenty-five years was blameless. But one of the senators opposed to Bolger demanded that I be
summoned to testify concerning Bolger's character, since I had worked under Bolger and had
replaced him as sheriff.

"Before I got my summons, Bolger came to my house pleading that because he had mended his
ways I should not say anything that would ruin his chances to be on the state supreme court. I
finally agreed. When I testified, I avoided the worst aspects of Bolger's tenure as sheriff,
although I did mention that he liked to harrass the Indians.

"When the news came that Yellow Sunrise had been found shot to death in his office, I immediately
guessed that Bolger had it done, and I was angry at myself for going easy on Bolger in my
testimony. I called around until I talked to the man assigned to investigate the murder. I asked
him if he knew who did it. He said that so far the only clue was a piece of paper found in one of
Yellow Sunrise's jacket pockets. It had written on it, 'If you try to tell what you know, you are
dead.' The paper was roughly folded and it had coffee stains on it."

At the mention of coffee stains, Little Sparrow spoke. "That morning my husband came in with the
newspaper and called my attention to the fact that after over twenty years of paper delivery this
was the first time the paper had been tied up with thick twine instead of thin string. After
sitting down with his morning cup of coffee, he pushed off the twine like he had always done with
string. But as he flopped the paper open on the table in front of him with one hand as he brought
the cup to his mouth with the other, he suddenly dropped the cup, spilling coffee over the
newspaper, the table and his lap. While I moved across the room to get a towel, he grabbed the
newspaper and rushed to the bathroom."

Heather then made some startling observations. "The coffee stains on the note that was found in
his jacket pocket indicate that the note had been wrapped up inside the rolled paper by someone
after the paper had been delivered to your house. Someone should immediately bring that stained
newspaper to the man investigating the murder to see if the stains on the note match the stains
on the newspaper. If so, we would know exacty how the note was delivered. Since it would have
been careless to tell the paperboy to save the paper with the twine for a certain house, the
murderer must have waited until a newspaper was tossed at your house, quickly cut it open,
rerolled it with the note inside, and tied it up with the twine. One of your neighbors may have
noticed someone tampering with the newspaper tossed on your property. I want to interview your
neighbors at once. Someone may be able to describe the person tampering with your newspaper."

Joshua seemed confused by these interruptions. "I am not sure what to do about all of this."

Mrs. Patterson exploded with a scolding. "What you should do is get on that telephone right now
and call the governor's office and tell how Bolger tried to kill Yellow Sunrise once before! We
don't want murderers on our state supreme court! Then you need to drive this bright young woman
to Little Sparrow's house so she can get the newspaper to the man investigating the murder and so
she can interview the neighbors!"

Joshua Patterson acknowledged his wife's assessment of the situation, and began walking over to
the telephone. Heather was looking up at the ceiling, noticing a shifting pattern of light coming
from one of the windows.

When Joshua said in an ominous tone, "The telephone line is dead," Heather waved at Buffalo to
get his attention and tossed the nodule of flint to him. "That is a baseball. If the batter's
head is in the strike zone and you throw a strike, does the batter still get to walk?" Buffalo
seemed to understand what to me was a cryptic message. He stood up, moved to a spot from which
there was a clear path to the doorway into the room and held the rock as if it were a baseball
he was about to pitch.

We heard approaching footsteps. A large man walked into the doorway. He was holding a pair of
revolver pistols in his two hands. Before the man could speak, Buffalo Martin hurled the nodule of
flint, which struck the man's forehead with such force that it knocked him back out of the room.

Joshua Patterson rushed over to get the guns away from the man, but there was no struggle
because the man was unconscious. Joshua turned to us and said, "I would like to introduce to you
the man I replaced as sheriff, Jason Bolger, whose appointment to the state supreme court must
now be considered to be in serious jeopardy!"

Joshua and Buffalo together repaired the telephone line that had been cut, and calls to the
sheriff's and the governor's offices were quickly made. Little Sparrow lent her house key to
Heather, who asked where she kept old newspapers. Then Joshua and Heather jumped into
Joshua's motorcar, and they drove off, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

After Bolger had been taken away, still unconscious, by the sheriff's department, Little Sparrow
expressed a desire to visit her aging parents on the reservation. This was fine with me, because
I was curious as to what an Indian reservation might be like.

When we were later sitting in the wigwam of Little Sparrow's parents, and the dreadful events
that had just taken place were described, the nodule of flint became the focus of attention.
Little Sparrow's father examined it, and said, "This reminds me of a piece of flint my
grandfather made me an arrowhead from just before he was shot to death by a white man."
Everyone looked at the old Indian as if expecting to hear an account of what he had just
mentioned. Instead, he pulled up his leather necklace from which an arrowhead hung over his
chest. He held the broken end of the nodule next to the arrowhead, and suddenly began shaking.
His eyes filled up with tears and his lower lip and jaw began trembling. He gagged several
times before asking, "Where did this flint come from?"

Buffalo Martin answered. "Yellow Sunrise kept it locked up in his safe. We found it there when we
opened it to see what insurance policies he had. Joshua Patterson told us that Yellow Sunrise had
found it on the night before his wedding down by the creek at the far end of the reservation."

Little Sparrow's father then began to sob and cry. He took off his leather necklace with the
arrowhead and passed it with the rock to Buffalo, who matched them up, then passed them to me.
I could see for myself by the matching bands of black and white that the arrowhead had once been
a part of that nodule of flint. I was dazed as I passed them to Little Sparrow, who passed them
to her mother, who returned them to her husband.

The old Indian then spoke. "Our tribe moved to this reservation when I was a child. Soon after
arriving, my grandfather took me down to the shade along the creek to teach me how to make
arrowheads. The flint he had was from the East, where our tribe used to live. This is the piece
of flint he made this arrowhead from. He was going to have me make another arrowhead when a
white man standing across the creek shot my grandfather to death with a rifle and then ran off.
As he died, my grandfather took the piece of flint and hurled it toward the place where the
white man had been standing. As he did so he shouted, 'May this flint be for a curse, yea, for
a flying curse upon that man's grandson!' He then died. After my grandfather was buried, I went
back to the creek, but I could not find the piece of flint anywhere. I have worn this arrowhead
on a necklace ever since to remind me of my grandfather."

We all sat in stunned silence for some time. Buffalo Martin then told his grandparents how the
nodule of flint had been used by Yellow Sunrise on the night before his marriage to knock out
Jason Bolger, and how he himself had just that day hurled the same nodule to knock out Bolger
for the second time. We were all sobbing and passing the nodule and arrowhead around for the
second time. Then I remembered that just before we traveled to the Pattersons, Heather had given
me a newspaper article to read. Saving it for later, I had put it in my purse. After reading it,
I nudged Buffalo Martin and said, "Read this paragraph."

"At yesterday's confirmation hearing, Jason Bolger, a nominee for the state supreme court
mentioned that his father, Charles Bolger, had once served as a county judge, and that his
grandfather, Slade Bolger, had been a municipal judge after a long career as an Indian fighter
and soldier."

After Buffalo had read this silently, I looked at the old Indian and asked him if he knew the
name of the man who had shot his grandfather. He replied, "I think his first name was Slade,
but I can't remember his last name."

I then signaled for Buffalo to read aloud to our gathering the paragraph I had pointed out to
him. After he had done so, no one could say anything for some time. Then the old Indian began
to chant in his own language, and his wife, his daughter, and his grandson began to chant in
response.
Although I could not understand a word of it, I clearly sensed that they were praising the Great
Spirit, and I began to hum to the tune.

It was late that night when Buffalo Martin drove me back to Heather's house. As I closed the
front door I heard a melancholy tune being played on her violin. It was so beautiful that I did
not want to interrupt it. So I waited outside her bedroom and listened until the music ended. I
then knocked
on the door and she invited me in. I told her all about the nodule of flint. Heather was
astonished.

She then told me how her investigation had ended in success, how the coffee stains on the
newspaper matched up with those on the note, how a neighbor was found who described
someone tampering with the newspaper, and how the murderer, who had once been one of Sheriff
Bolger's deputies, was found. He had confessed that he had been hired by Bolger to kill Yellow
Sunrise should an attempt be made to ruin Jason Bolger's chances of being confirmed as a justice
on the state supreme court. A study of the professor's office typewriter ribbon by Heather
confirmed that Yellow Sunrise had been making such an attempt at the time he was murdered.

After such a long and eventful day, we were both exhausted. I yawned to signal that I was about
to retire. As I left the room I turned to ask Heather what was that beautiful tune she was
playing when I got home. She said that it had been composed by Buffalo Martin to lament his
father's death. "But when I was playing it, I was thinking about my father's death."

I replied, "As I was listening, I was thinking about my husband's death."

Suddenly Heather grabbed her violin and began playing a jolly Scottish reel. I think it was "My
love she's but a lassie yet". At first she stomped one foot to the beat, then began skipping
from foot to foot and dancing about the room as she picked up the tempo until her feet couldn't
keep up, when she reverted to stomping a foot. After bringing the piece to a snappy conclusion,
she bowed to my enthusiastic applause. As I left the room, I turned back to say, "I believe
that performance might have been amusing to Andrew Scott, don't you think?" Heather quickly
turned from my gaze to hide her irrepressible smile.

Dear Dr. Watson:

Thank you for your kind response to my last. You can see by the postmark that I am writing from
New York City. The ship I am booked on is waiting to join the next convoy to Britain. I am
anxious to see my son Chester and his wife and family. The west wing of the Turner mansion is
being readied for me to move into. The purpose of this letter is to report on another mystery
solved by Miss Heather Key shortly after the "nodule of flint" episode.

Most of the student body were gone for the summer when local newspapers reported that Miss
Heather Key, a student at the college, had been involved in solving the murder of Professor
Yellow Sunrise. But these report were noticed by faculty members who lived in the city, two
professors in particular.

Soon after the dramatic withdrawal of the governor's state supreme court nomination of Jason
Bolger, who was charged with conspiracy to murder, two professors came to Heather's house
wishing to speak with her. One was an elderly man by the name of Wilber Alumbaugh, the
chairman of the art department. The other was Rodney Johnson, a young professor of
mathematics. Heather insisted that I be present.

When we had all settled into our chairs, Professor Alumbaugh began. "Heather, I knew your
father well. Robert had told me about your interest in cryptology. That and your recent
involvement in solving the murder of Professor Yellow Sunrise have prompted us to seek your help
in a situation of great interest to myself and to Professor Johnson here, who replaced your
father in the department of mathematics."

Professor Johnson then spoke. "It has to do with a museum of art that myself and Professor
Alumbaugh have been attempting to establish. All our efforts are being opposed. We don't
understand why. You obviously have a keen mind for solving mysteries. It may be seem strange
that we are seeking help from a nineteen year old college student. That is your age isn't it?
But after my considerable work on this project, I am quite desperate for help from anyone who
can help, lest all my efforts have been for nothing."

"If I am to help, I would need a complete account of how the problem developed, preferably in
chronological order. Let me get a notebook before you begin. Would anyone like a cool drink?"

After drinking some lemonade, Professor Alumbaugh began. "I have been teaching art at the
college for nearly forty years. I am planning to retire at the end of the coming school year.
Our department of art has always been small. There have been just myself and one assistant to
teach drawing, painting, and sculpture. The whole purpose of the department has been to give
students some variety, and some easy elective credits.

"Despite this modest purpose, two of my students later became well-known artists in local areas.
Jack Winterbourne does watercolor landscapes here in the Midwest, and Elliot Greathouse has
produced many well-known works of sculpture for commercial buildings in the New England area.
While these two were students of mine, I encouraged them by purchasing several of their works.
When they later became well-known artists, I began to view my purchases as valuable examples
of their early work.

"About a year ago I began to ask the board of regents for a place to display this art. Although
they liked the idea, nothing was done about it. Meanwhile, Professor Johnson was hired to replace
your father in the department of mathematics. During a lunch break he overheard me complaining
that there was still no place to display the work of my students. Perhaps at this point Professor
Johnson should continue the story."

"Yes. My showing sympathy for Wilber's plight marked the beginning of our friendship. I asked to
see the pieces of art he was talking about. He took me down into the basement of his house where
he is storing them. He showed me various pieces, explaining to me what he liked about each. That
was the beginning of my interest in art.

"You have probably noticed me working on that brick duplex on the north side of the campus. I
bought it, to live in half of it, and rent out the other half. But as I worked on fixing it up, I
began to see that by removing sections of the wall between the two sides, it could be made into an
art museum. The idea captivated me. At first I told no one about what I was working toward. But
when I heard Wilber say that he might retire at the end of the school year that just ended, I told
him about my idea and gave him a tour of the building. He agreed that it would make a fine
museum and observed, 'Since it adjoins the campus, this property could be sold to the college so
that the museum could become an official part of the campus.'

"We began planning together on how best to remodel the building. At the next meeting of the board
of regents we presented our proposal for an art museum. The board members made several
encouraging comments about the idea. However, at the latest meeting, after the end of the school
year, there was strong opposition.

"Since the chairman of the board, Franklin Dapplemocker, is one of the original founders of the
college, his opinions are greatly respected by the other board members. What we would like to
know, therefore, is who persuaded the chairman of the board to come out against the proposed
museum. For he originally supported the idea. Now he doesn't even want to discuss the matter.
If you could discover whom it was, perhaps we could convince that person why an art museum
would be good for the college, and that person might then speak favorably about the project to
the chairman of the board."

When Professor Johnson paused to drink from his glass, Heather excused herself and returned
with her copy of the college yearbook for 1917. After flipping back and forth through its pages,
Heather mumbled something to herself, then laid the yearbook aside. "Professor Alumbaugh, if
the project were approved, besides the several pieces of art you purchased from former students,
what else would be on display in the museum?"

"The first floor would be entirely devoted to watercolors by Jack Winterbourne, the several now
stored in my basement, plus a large number yet to be purchased. It would be the largest collection
of his work. Most of the second floor would be occupied by the sculptures of Elliot Greathouse,
both the ones that I have and new purchases, plus framed photographs of some of his sculptures in
the New England area. A smaller area of the second floor would display oil painting portraits done
by Miss Susan Spencer, one of my students, who graduated this year."

Heather smiled.

"Professor Johnson, when did you buy the duplex? When did you decide to convert it into an art
museum? And when did you first tell Professor Alumbaugh about the idea?"

"I was renting an apartment while looking for a house to buy. The owner of the duplex was getting
tired of dealing with tenants and keeping up with repairs, so he put it up for sale as is. I
bought it just this last February and began fixing up the interior while the weather was cold. I
planned to work on the exterior in the spring and have the building ready for occupancy before
the end of the school year. I believe it was in early April when Professor Alumbaugh showed me
the art work stored in his basement. Shortly thereafter I decided to convert the duplex into an
art museum. Near the end of April, when I heard Wilber talking about retiring at the end of the
semester, is when I told him about my idea."

"Professor Alumbaugh, did you purchase any of Susan Spencer's paintings to encourage her, as
you had done for Jack Winterbourne and Elliot Greathouse? And if so, were any of her paintings
among those viewed by Professor Johnson when you showed him the art work stored in your
basement?"

"Yes. The portraits I purchased from her were among those viewed by Rodney."

"Has Susan Spencer ever known that there were plans to have some of her portraits on permanent
display in an art museum?"

"No. She is very anxious to have her work recognized. We decided to keep her inclusion a secret
until the art museum project would be approved. Otherwise, she would get her hopes up, only to
be disappointed later."

"When you presented your proposal for an art museum to the board of regents, did you indicate to
them that Susan Spencer would be one of the artists included in the exhibit?"

"No."

"So until you told me today, no one has known of your intention to place some of her portraits
in the museum."

The two professors looked at each other, and Professor Alumbaugh answered for them both,
"That is correct."

"Excellent!" Heather patted her college yearbook. "Gentlemen, I think I now know who
persuaded the chairman of the board of regents to come out against your art museum proposal.
However, it is Susan Spencer who must be the one to convince that person to speak to his
grandfather about approving the project."

Professor Alumbaugh was taken aback. "His grandfather! Of all people I would think that William
Dapplemocker would be the least interested in persuading his grandfather to come out against the
art museum proposal! William has been dating Susan, and has proposed marriage. Susan has told
him that she wants to postpone considering marriage until her work has gained some recognition.
Having some of her portraits on permanent display would easily be the recognition she wants, and
there would be nothing then preventing her from considering marriage. But wait! He did not know
that her work would be included. Still, I see no reason why he would oppose the project."

"Professor Alumbaugh, I believe that William Dapplemocker discovered that Susan Spencer's
work would be included, but a reason for opposing the art museum project presented itself after
the end of the school year, namely, when you, Professor Johnson, began dating Susan Spencer."

Professor Alumbaugh's face broke into a bemused smile. "Rodney, I didn't know you have been
dating Susan. When did you become interested in her?"

With all attention fixed on him, Professor Johnson looked very uncomfortable. After gaining some
composure, he answered. "When I was in Wilber's basement, viewing the various pieces of art that
he has stored there, one of the portraits stirred my interest like no other. When I learned that
it was a self-portrait done by one of his students then in her senior year, I very much wanted
to meet her in real life. I soon found an opportunity. I told her that I had seen some of her
portraits and very much admired them. She seemed very pleased.

"Due to the rule forbidding professors from dating students, I had to wait until she graduated
before I could get to know her better. Meanwhile, I conceived the idea of converting the duplex
into an art museum. I was aware that Susan was dating someone else, but I also knew that she
wanted some recognition for her work before she would consider marriage.

"When Wilber said that he was thinking about retiring at the end of the school year, I showed him
what I was doing to convert the duplex into an art museum, because I knew that I would need his
support if the project were to become a reality.

"Heather, you indicated that you think that William Dapplemocker was the one who persuaded his
grandfather to come out against the project. If that could be proven, she would lose all interest
in him, which would be quite to my liking. However, if I would falsely accuse him, I would be the
one looking bad."

"Perhaps it would be helpful to view the situation from the perspective of William Dapplemocker.
He becomes very fond of Susan Spencer, eventually asks her to marry him, when he learns that
she wants recognition as an artist before considering marriage. At that point he would gladly
have helped her become recognized as an artist.

"But shortly after she graduates, he learns that there is a rival for her affections. And then he
hears through his grandfather that this rival has a proposal for an art museum then being
considered by the board of regents, a museum to include pieces by some of Professor Alumbaugh's
former students. Well, Susan Spencer is one of those students. If she gained the recognition she
wanted through the efforts of his rival. well, you get the picture! What would William want to do
before the next meeting of the board of regents?"

After a suspenseful pause, all of us started to answer the question at once. My voice finally
prevailed. "He would find out whether or not any of Susan Spencer's work would be displayed in
the art museum!"

Professor Alumbaugh then spoke. "William did not ask me about it. Perhaps I should ask my wife."
He asked if he could use our telephone. When he returned to the room, we all turned to hear his
verdict.

"Yes! William Dapplemocker came to our house at a time when I was not there and got my wife's
permission to see the works of art that would be on display in the museum. She said that he
looked rather pale and nervous as he left. She had forgotten about the incident until my
telephone call just now reminded her of it."

We all then turned to Professor Johnson, who could not suppress a broad grin. "Well, I think I
need to talk to Susan Spencer as soon as possible. Good afternoon, everyone! Thank you for for
help, Miss Key!"

Professor Alumbaugh then prepared to leave as well. As he waddled down the walkway, he turned
and spoke. "Heather, I always thought that your father should have remarried. But I see that he
still managed to raise a very bright young woman. I think this college is going to have a museum
of art before the year has ended. Thank you for your help!"

A few days later Miss Susan Spencer came to Heather's house absolutely ecstatic about the
approval of the art museum project and the prospect of some of her portraits being on permanent
display. "Heather, isn't there something that I can do for you to show my appreciation and
gratitude?"

"Well, Mrs. Sharon Turner here, after she sees that I get off to a good start next semester, is
planning to return to London. Could you paint a portrait of us together for a memento?"

"Yes! Let me get my drawing pad. Could we start today?"

At the last Friday might concert at Heather's house before my departure to New York City, the
music students gave me a framed photograph of themselves huddled around the grand piano that I
had given to Heather. Then Heather surprised me by giving me the portrait of ourselves painted
by Susan Spencer. I had thought that Heather wanted it for herself. It shows myself in a dark
blue gown standing behind Heather, seated, in the light blue gown given to her by Andrew Scott.
Her left hand is clasped around her violin and bow, which are partly resting on her lap. Her
right hand is holding a sheet of music, the title of which, though upside down to the viewer,
is readable: "Lament for Yellow Sunrise", a piece composed by her good friend Buffalo Martin.
You will be able to see this beautiful portrait for yourself when you join my family for dinner
at the Turner mansion.

Dear Mother Sharon:

Although I am sorry that you missed the dedication of the art museum, a few days later occurred
some events that you may be glad you missed, as an element of danger was present at my house.
Since everything has turned out okay, please do not get distressed as you read my account of
what happened.

I have often wondered why Sherlock Holmes, a retired consulting detective, would have
investigated my situation in London in the summer of 1916. When I recently read the article "His
Last Bow", I learned for the first time that Mr. Holmes was, even before the war began, very
much involved in counterespionage.

Late one night I was rereading Andrew Scott's letters to me and noticed some phrases in them
that reminded me of some phrases spoken by Mr. Holmes in Dr. Watson's writings and in my
presence on a train in England. I keep Andrew's letters to me in a binder in the order in which
they were written. Andrew had told me that due to the sensitive nature of his work, translating
decoded messages, his letters must contain no information relating to his work. His military
mailing address has never changed. His letters containing phrases reminding me of phrases
spoken by Mr. Holmes were all dated in the summer of 1917, and this group of letters are the
only ones written on beige stationery.

One of these letters has a most curious feature. Before the signature "Andrew" are the letters
"Ans" written and then crossed out. Why would Andrew stumble over signing his own name? I
took the beige letters out of the binder and carefully examined them. On one of them I found a
slight impression of writing, as if the letter to me had been underneath something else written
upon. I took a pencil and lightly stroked the side of the lead over the impression of writing. The
name "Ansel Coverdale" emerged.

As I pondered over this, I heard some strange sounds coming from the backyard. When I looked
out the window, I saw a shadowy figure descending from the telephone pole. At the same time, I
heard a cracking sound coming from downstairs.

From the top of the stairs I could see the end of a crowbar as the front door sprung open and a
man entered my house. Rather than panicking, I asked myself, "What should I do?" As the man
began moving up the stairs towards me, I knew that the only thing for me to do was something
that I had not done since I was in high school. I ran up the stairs into the attic and over to
its only window near the top of one of the two gables. I unlatched the window, swung it out,
wiggled through the opening, and pulled myself up onto the roof. I laid out on the peak of the
roof with my legs straddling each side and my head looking over the roof edge above the window
opening. It would be difficult for the intruder to get through the opening without my disrupting
any attempt by him to get up on the roof.

The November air was cool, and I was wearing only pajamas, but I felt confident that I was safe
for now. The intruder stuck his head through the opening, looking to see if I had jumped down
from there. Recognizing that the window was much too high to safely jump down from, he turned
to look upwards and saw me looking downwards at him. He cussed at me and started wiggling
his way out through the opening. I slapped down upon him, carefully avoiding allowing him to
grasp my arms.

Realizing that there was no safe way for him to climb up onto the roof, he pulled his head back
inside and yelled through the attic to a companion, apparently the shadowy figure I had seen
descending from the telephone pole. After about a minute the man began wiggling out through the
window opening again. Just as I was about to begin slapping on him again, he quickly pulled
himself back into the attic, and I was looking down at another man on the ground with a pistol
aimed directly at my head. Had I not suddenly jerked my head back, it may have been penetrated
by the bullet that whizzed past the edge of the roof.

The shooter could move either to the front or to the back of the house to get another shot at
me. I saw him appear in the backyard. So I moved to the front slope of the roof. But now I could
not stop the man who had tried to follow me onto the roof, and there he was, climbing up onto
the roof.

I knew that I had one chance and one chance only to escape these two men. Any delay and it would
be too late. I scrambled down the front slope of the roof, hung my legs over the edge, twisted
myself to grab with both hands the edge of the rain gutter, swung myself onto the little roof
over the front door, from there dropped myself to the ground, and frantically ran off down the
street jerking myself back and forth as I ran, as several bullets whizzed past me. At the end
of the block I turned and ran toward the campus before I finally turned back to see if anyone
was still following me. On the campus I found a hiding place within some evergreen shrubs, where
I waited to see what would happen next. Dogs were barking, lights in neighboring houses were
being turned on, and the sirens of police cars could be heard approaching. After about a half
hour I felt that it was safe for me to return.

As I approached the gathering of neighbors and policeman in front of my house, my next door
neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Collier, recognized me. Mrs. Collier got a blanket to wrap me in, and
since my front door could not be repaired until the next morning, she invited me to spend the
night in their house.

A policeman wanted me to go down to the station and fill out a report. Since I wanted to dress
first, I moved toward my house. As I did so, I noticed that the dead body of a man was being
placed in the back of a police van. He looked like the man whom I had struggled with on the
roof. Before I could enter my house, three newspaper reporters were asking me all kinds of
questions. I told them that I needed to get dressed, but they followed me into the house anyway.
I had to latch my bedroom door while I dressed.

I decided to take with me my binder of Andrew's letters and the card that Sherlock Holmes had
given me. I didn't want snooping reporters finding these. So I put the beige letters back in the
binder with the others, slid the Sherlock Holmes card out from the edge of my dresser mirror
where I keep it, and wedged it between some letters in my binder, which I took over to the
Colliers, who promised to place it in the room in which I would be staying until my front door
was fixed. Then I went with the police to their station downtown.

There I wrote out a description of what had taken place that night. I tried to be as thorough
and as honest as possible. The officer reading over my report looked a little disappointed.
"Well, you are very precise as to what happened, but you give no clue as to why it happened."

"At this point I do not know why it happened. How did that man die?"

"Aren't you the young lady who went to England, and whose father was killed by the Germans
because they thought he was a cryptologist, but it was really you who were the cryptologist?"

"That's a pretty good summary."

"The man apparently fell off the roof and landed headfirst on the concrete walkway in front of
your house. You didn't push him off did you?"

"No."

"Could what happened tonight be somehow related to your former cryptology work?"

"Possibly."

"The other man, who was shooting at you, was captured and is now in a jail cell. He had no
identification on him, and he has not spoken a single word."

"I did not recognize the man who followed me up onto the roof and who is now dead. Perhaps I
would recognize the man who is in the jail cell."

"Come this way."

As I looked at the unfamiliar man in the cell and wondered why he refused to say anything, I
remembered that one of the crew, of the German submarine that had been smashed by the British
warship, had made it to the surface. He would have become a prisoner of war. Therefore, how could
this be him? If he had somehow escaped and sought revenge against me, how could he know where
I lived?

The man who fell off the roof was definitely an American, because he looked and cussed like an
American. But this man might not be fluent in the English language, which might explain his
refusal to speak. Even if he could speak in English, his German accent, if that were the case,
would suggest his origins.

I finally spoke. "The college has a department of languages, and I know that German is one of the
languages taught. I believe that someone who can speak German might be able to communicate
with the man in this jail cell."

"Well, if this man speaks German, that might explain why he has not spoken. But are you sure
enough about this for me to wake up a German professor in the middle of the night?"

"No. Can you wait until morning?"

"Certainly. But that band of reporters over there cannot."

"Wait! What was the name of the man who fell off the roof?"

"David Whitlock."

I almost fell over. "David Whitlock was the cryptologist I corresponded with before my father and
I went to New York City to see if the cryptologists there would hire me. I had been disappointed
that he was not there among them. Why would he want to have me killed? But that might explain
how the sole survivor of the smashed German submarine would have learned where I live. I wonder
if the man in this jail cell is that survivor."

"Well, if this man we have in jail is an escaped prisoner of war, I think we should immediately
see if a German professor can converse with him."

"Could I go back to my neighbor's house and get some sleep?"

"Of course! Brian, drive this college student home at once!"

Early the next morning the police came requesting my presence at the station, not for me to be
interviewed, but because they thought that I would be interested in a statement that a German
professor was going to read to the press. I was able to secure a copy of it.

"Good morning! I am Abraham Gardner, professor of German at the college. Last night I was
summoned to converse in German with a man put in jail for firing bullets at Miss Heather Key, a
student at the college. After a while the prisoner did began speaking in German. This is what he
told me.

"He had served on a German submarine that had sunk many British vessels. In the summer of
1916, his submarine torpedoed a passenger ship bound for America off the coast of Ireland,
forcing the passengers to abandon ship. The submarine surfaced so that Professor Robert Key
could be shot to death, so that his knowledge of German coded messages would not be shared with
other American cryptologists.

"A young woman among the passengers swam over to the submarine as it was submerging and
twisted open a hatch so that water flowed into the submarine, forcing it to surface again so
that the hatch could be closed. This delay resulted in an approaching British warship smashing
into the submarine.

"The man in a jail cell here is the sole survivor of that smashed submarine. Since he is not an
officer, he was sent to a prison camp in France. But during the voyage across the Channel, the
ship he was on was torpedoed by a German submarine. As the ship he was on sank, he cried out in
German for help, and he was rescued by men on the submarine. He was questioned by them until
his identity was established. He told them how the submarine that he had been stationed on came
to be smashed.

"When he mentioned how a young woman was partly responsible for the disaster to the submarine,
one of his rescuers said, 'She must have been one of those Ama divers from Japan that the British
are using to swim down with bombs to attach to the sides of our submarines.' Later, some officers
asked him if he would like to get revenge on the Ama diver who had indirectly caused the death of
his shipmates. He said he would like that very much.

"He was assigned to a detachment specializing in counterespionage and then sent to New York
City, where an American spy for Germany by the name of David Whitlock was, and this David
Whitlock knew where the Ama diver was basking in luxury as a reward for her help in destroying
German submarines.

"That is basically what he said. We know that the man who fell to his death off of Miss Heather
Key's house last night was none other than David Whitlock."

After making this statement, both Professor Gardner and myself were swarmed with reporters. I
did my best to answer only the questions that I thought should be answered. Afterwards,
Professor Gardner thanked me for having him woken up in the middle of the night. "When the man
began conversing with me in German about these matters, it became one of the most fascinating
experiences of my life. Say, how about you going with my wife and I to the Prairie Bouquet
restaurant this evening? We'll reserve a private room there. We would certainly be interested in
hearing your side of the story. An Ama diver! Isn't that too much?"

Our evening together at the Prairie Bouquet restaurant was a most enjoyable experience in every
way. As we leaned back after a hearty meal and picked our teeth, I mentioned my engagement to
Andrew Scott. "He is working as a German translator for the British war effort. Does the college
ever hire instructors in German who do not have college degrees?"

"Yes. In such cases we require that they work on completing a degree while they are teaching.
Unfortunately, we have already made arrangements to hire an instructor in German for the
semester beginning in September of 1918. By coincidence, he also lives in England. He is now
teaching German in a school for boys. He is also engaged to be married, and his fiancee will
also be a student here."

"But members of the faculty are not supposed to date students."

"Well, since their engagement was made before he will join our faculty, he will be able to date
her all he wants to before they get married."

"Since my Andrew is fluent in German, I have wanted to take at least one German course. Perhaps
I should enroll in the course taught by this instructor of German from England. What is his
name?" While waiting for a reply, I brought my glass of water to my lips.

"Mr. Ansel Coverdale."

I nearly gagged on the water.

Mrs. Gardner asked, "Are you all right, Heather?"

Through a broad smile I said, "I have never felt better."

And so, my dear Mother Sharon, since my Andrew is obviously wishing to surprise me, I won't
mention this in my letters to him. But if you should happen to see Andrew before I do, perhaps
while he is admiring the Susan Spencer portrait of us, you might in a roundabout way let him
know that while his fiancee is quite willing to change her name to Heather Scott, under no
circumstances shall she wear the name of Coverdale.

"What put him in a hospital?"

"A German bullet wound either in the shoulder or through a leg, I don't remember which."

"But I thought that Mr. Scott would not have to serve on the front lines."

"In 1916, soon after Miss Key and Mrs. Turner departed for America, I learned that what had
been a bluff, that Mr. Scott was being sent to the front lines, was actually going to happen. An
older man had been found to replace Mr. Scott as a translator.

"I quickly met with Major X of the Army counterespionage detachment that had successfully
raided the Edinburgh spy ring. I suggested to him that Mr. Scott's knowledge of the German
language could become valuable in the work of counterespionage if he were first allowed a more
thorough study the German language and culture. Mr. Gary Douglas was also there and supported
my idea. 'There were bad feelings between Andrew and myself, but all that is behind us now. When
this war is over, I want to reopen our company's office in Germany, and I want Andrew to be in
charge of it.'

"Major X was interested in my suggestion, but wanted to know exactly what I had in mind. I
suggested that if Mr. Scott were to undergo an intensive study of German language, superior to
his original instruction for business purposes, he could be ready by the summer of 1917 for me
to teach him the arts of disguise and assuming a new identity for the purpose of spying. I
suggested that his new identity could be that of an inspector of prisons, and that in that role
he could listen in on the conversations of German prisoners of war and perhaps thereby gain
information valuable to our war efforts. After due consideration, my suggestion was approved.
Thus, while Miss Key was commencing her college studies in America, Mr. Scott was studying
German language and culture at a college in England.

"In June of 1917, I helped Mr. Scott assume a new identity. He became Ansel Coverdale,
Inspector of Prisons. By that time there were beginning to be a significant number of German
prisoners of war, some held in Britain, which is where Ansel began his work. Major X was
especially interested in receiving Ansel's report on the prison in which members of the
Edinburgh spy ring were being held. All summer long Mr. Scott was engaged in his Ansel
Coverdale role in Britain. During this period I met with him from time to time to check on how
things were going. Plans were being made for him to be sent to visit prison camps across the
Channel.

"But then I was visited by my brother Mycroft, who reasoned with me concerning what would
result from American troops entering the fields of battle. According to his analysis, it would
only end the present conflict sooner. He presented convincing evidence that the American leaders
are influenced by minds whose proposals for ending the hostilities are so unrealistic that
nothing will be resolved. 'Within a generation another European war will break out.'

"I later had an occasion to share with Mr. Gary Douglas those portions of Mycroft's analysis that
would be of direct interest to him. Mr. Douglas understood and concluded that he should not
reopen his company's office in Germany after this war. 'But then I will have no need to hire
Andrew Scott.'

"What Mr. Scott would do after this war is over thus became a concern of mine. In the light of
Mycroft's analysis, I pushed for a long-term plan that would have Mr. Scott, after completing
some counterespionage assignments, being honorably discharged from the Army and moving to
America. When a future war breaks out, Mr. Scott's knowledge of the German language and
Miss Key's knowledge of cryptology could be called upon to aid Britain. After all, that was the
very arrangement upon which their relationship had begun.

"There is a reason why Andrew and Heather should live in America. At the end of this war, when
prisoners are exchanged, the Edinburgh spy ring will be sent to Germany. By their communicating
with sympathizers here, they may from a distance organize the murdering of persons they want
revenge on. In his Ansel Coverdale identity, Mr. Scott learned that the spy ring especially wants
revenge on Mr. Gary Douglas and himself.

"Mycroft used his influence to put our plan into motion. Mr. Scott became an instructor in German
at a boys' school in England. When that was going well, I suggested that Mr. Scott apply for a
similar position at the college that Heather was attending. His doing so in the name of Ansel
Coverdale was his own idea. He wanted to surprise Heather. As you know, his application was
accepted.

"On completing his teaching assignment at the boys' school, Mr. Scott was sent across the
Channel to listen in on the conversations of German prisoners. While engaged in that activity, he
was shot. I should very much like to know the circumstances."

I joined Holmes in visiting Andrew Scott at the hospital. I was first to enter Mr. Scott's room. I
immediately backed out and whispered to Holmes that Mr. Scott was holding hands with a young
woman.

At first Holmes seemed as shocked as I. Then he whispered back, "What did you actually
observe?"

I whispered, "Her back was to me, but, yes, she has dark brown hair, and she is wearing an
engagement ring."

A familiar voice then rang out. "Andrew! Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are here to visit you!"
It was Heather Key.

Mr. Scott broke the silence of our astonishment. "Heather arrived a short while ago. I was just
explaining to her how I got wounded here in the back of my left shoulder. At one of the prison
camps where I was working there were some new arrivals. Their American captors were
bemoaning the fact that their leader, Lieutenant William Dapplemocker, had to be left behind.
When I heard the name William Dapplemocker, I wondered if he might be the same person whom
Heather had mentioned in some of her letters. After some inquiry, I knew that he was. I had
already felt sorry for him because he had lost out to a rival for the affections of Miss Susan
Spencer, an artist whose portrait of Heather and Mrs. Turner I have viewed.

"From Heather's letters I knew that Dapplemocker had enlisted in the United States Army, went
through boot camp, officer training, and had been sent to the front lines. As I listened to
accounts of his valor under fire, leading an attack that resulted in freeing some fellow
Americans who had previously been captured by the Germans, and taking two German prisoners in
the process, I thought how tragic it was that Dapplemocker, wounded, had to give the order for
his men to flee with the men they had rescued, and the two Germans they had captured, to the
American trenches without him.

"I said to the Americans, 'Are you willing to trade these two new prisoners in order to get
Dapplemocker back?' When they answered yes, I surprised everyone by conversing in German
with the two new prisoners. The Americans then provided me with a rifle and drove myself and the
two German prisoners to the front. I ordered the two Germans, handcuffed, to walk in front of me
toward their trenches.

"As we approached, I shouted in German that if Dapplemocker were released to me alive, these
two prisoners would be allowed to return to their trenches unharmed. After a tense moment,
Dapplemocker began crawling his way over to where I was. It was only then that I realized how
foolish my hastily conceived plan was. Dapplemocker needed to be carried, and I could not carry
him without relinguishing the ability to fire my gun.

"As I slung Dapplemocker across my back and began scurrying toward the American trenches, I
hoped that we reached them before the German prisoners reached theirs. Otherwise, both
Dapplemocker and myself might become targets for German bullets. As I was lowering
Dapplemocker down into a trench, someone on the American side began firing, which was quickly
answered by the Germans. A bullet punched into my shoulder as I was jumping into the trench."

Heather's eyes were filled with tears. "Is William Dapplemocker still alive?"

"Yes. I was told that he is being honorably discharged and is being sent home with some scars
but no loss of faculties."

Andrew then turned to us and said somewhat sadly, "In a few days I am to be honorably
discharged from the Army so that I can become an instructor in German at Heather's college."

The attention then shifted to why Miss Key was now in England. "I suppose that Mrs. Sharon
Turner has shared with you an account of my house being broken into last November and bullets
being fired at me?" We nodded. "Well, then you know that the cryptologist I corresponded with,
before I went to New York City in 1916, was David Whitlock, and that he fell to his death from
the roof of my house.

"About the time of my twentieth birthday in April, I received a letter from the New York City
cryptologists who in 1916 had rejected my request to be hired by them. I have the letter here in
my purse. I am a little choked up. Perhaps Dr. Watson would read it."

I read aloud this message dated April 6, 1918, and addressed to Miss Heather Key:

"Although David Whitlock was once a member of our group, prior to your coming to us wanting
to be hired as a cryptologist we had dismissed him for unreliability. Only after his death did we
learn that he had been a spy for Germany.

"Although he should never have encouraged you to seek a job with us, we now know that we had
been unwise in not hiring you. Major Henderson, in communications with us, has praised your all
too brief work for his organization.

"One year ago, when America declared war on Germany, we began to be deluged with requests
for decoding work, but the tragic circumstances of your father's death shamed us away from our
desire to offer you a job.

"Good cryptologists are difficult to find. Not wishing to interfere with your college studies,
we would offer you a summer job as a cryptologist, if after a one week training period you can
demonstrate the same abilities you had in 1916. If you are interested, please reply within a
month."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. At first I refused to even consider this offer. But then I thought about
the young men I know from high school and from college who are now serving in the American war
effort. Perhaps I might decode messages the knowledge of which could help save American
lives. Besides, what would I do all summer long waiting for Andrew to arrive to be an instructor
in German at the college? So when I completed my second year of college, I went to New York
City, successfully completed the one week training period, and began working as a cryptologist
again.

"A couple of weeks ago, one of my fellow cryptologists had discovered in a coded message from
Britain that my Andrew had been wounded. Out of sympathy for me, the leader of the group tore up
my summer contract and made arrangements for me to arrive here. I am staying at the Turner
mansion. Early tomorrow morning I am to travel by train to visit Andrew's family in Scotland.

"When Andrew's wound has healed enough, we are planning to go to America on the same ship. I
am insisting that our wedding date be after my twenty-first birthday in April, so that Mr. Scott
will not be marrying a lassie."

When Holmes and I were outside the hospital, I made some observations. "It appears to me that
the long-term plans of the Holmes brothers for Andrew and Heather are working out. Of course if
Mycroft's analysis should prove wrong, then Britain would end up losing Andrew's skills and
failing to gain Heather's." Holmes seemed more amused than irritated by my comments.

That evening we went to the opera. Holmes stayed at my house for the night. He planned to return
to his bees and philosophical studies early the next day.

Soon after daybreak we were awakened by a frantic pounding on the door. It was Major X, who
proceeded to fume and pace back and forth in such anger that Holmes had to calm him down. He
finally began speaking coherently. "They should have consulted with me before exchanging
prisoners with Germany. The Edinburgh spy ring that required hundreds of hours of careful work to
track down and capture is now in Germany in exchange for some British officers that were being
held in German prisons."

Holmes then lit his pipe and began pacing back and forth with anger showing on his face as well,
but he quickly calmed himself down. "Let Watson and I see to it that Mr. Scott and Miss Key get
on a ship bound for America. That will free your men to work on everything else."

"What? I thought Miss Key was in America!"

"She just arrived yesterday to visit her wounded Andrew."

Major X threw his hands up in frustration. "Agreed! Oh, I already have a man at the hospital
ready to intercept any move against Andrew." He then left.

Holmes and I loaded my motorcar for a journey up to Scotland. "Let us first drive to the hospital
to get some information from Mr. Scott," said Holmes.

At the hospital Mr. Scott told us the address of his family's small house in Ayr, Scotland. "With
some of my brothers and sisters still living there, there is no bed for Heather. My parents were
planning to go camping in the Highlands with her, to get to know her. My father has a motorcar.
They were going to stop at Loch Lomond for a while, then drive up to Glencoe to camp out for the
night before returning to Ayr."

When we arrived at the Scott house in Ayr, we introduced ourselves to a child answering the door.
Holmes asked him if we might be able to speak with Miss Heather Key. He told us that Miss Key
had already left with Mr. and Mrs. Scott to go on a camping trip. Holmes asked if anyone else had
come wishing to speak with Miss Key.

"Not long ago three men in a motorcar came wishing to speak with my father."

"Exactly what did you tell the men?"

"Only that our father was camping in the Highlands."

"Did anyone mention Loch Lomond or Glencoe?"

"No."

"Did you meet Miss Heather Key, whom your brother Andrew is going to marry?"

"Yes. She is very pretty, but awfully tall. She plays the violin beautifully."

"Did she take her violin with her?"

"No. It is here behind the sofa."

"I wonder if she forgot it. I would like to bring it to her."

"Here it is."

"Thank you." Holmes seemed especially glad to have Heather's violin.

After listening to the child's descriptions of the three men and their motorcar, we sped our way
to Loch Lomond, where we saw the three described men talking with some campers, then getting
into the described motorcar. They drove off in the direction of Glencoe. Holmes had me follow
them far enough back so that they would not know that they were being followed.

The sun had already set by the time we approached Glencoe, but Holmes told me to leave the
headlights off. We almost drew too near to their vehicle when theirs stopped for one of the men
to get out to look down into the valley. The man pointed out something to his fellows. They then
drove down the road leading into the valley.

The mist hanging above the valley was so low that at one point the road was engulfed in it. Holmes
had me stop my motorcar within the mist and turn off the engine. He got out, climbed down the
slope beneath the mist, then climbed back up, took Heather's violin, and played as loudly as he
could a mournful yet beautiful melody that I had never heard before. Then he again climbed down
beneath the mist, then climbed back up and played again the same mournful tune. Then he put the
violin back into my motorcar and leaned toward the valley as if listening for something.

Within a few minutes I heard Miss Key's voice. "Sherlock Holmes? Is that you?"

Holmes then climbed down beneath the mist and motioned for Miss Key to join us in my motorcar.
The familiar form of Heather Key emerged. I pointed to a seat for her. Holmes again climbed back
down beneath the mist. Then he climbed back up and whispered that I should not start the engine
nor turn on its lights, but that I should take off the brake and slowly roll the motorcar down the
road leading into the valley.

As we rolled to the bottom, Holmes took my revolver out of the glove compartment and placed it
next to me. He then unbuckled and slid out the belt from his trousers and held it in his hands.
When my motorcar came to a stop, Holmes motioned for both Miss Key and myself to get out and
follow him.

We made our way to the campfire. Perched on a fender of the motorcar the men had driven was
one of the men, holding a revolver. Mr. and Mrs. Scott were seated on the ground in the light of
the campfire. Holmes, with Heather and myself closely following, snuck up behind the man
perched on the motorcar. Holmes looped his belt over the man's head and jerked the belt tight
so that the man dropped his gun as he tried with both hands to free himself from the choking
belt.

Mr. and Mrs. Scott quickly joined us in gagging and tying up the man and placing him in his
motorcar. Holmes whispered that Mr. and Mrs. Scott should immediately begin taking down their
tent and packing their motorcar for leaving. Holmes motioned for Miss Key to help the Scotts.

Holmes picked up the man's dropped gun and whispered to me that we should prepare for the
return of the other two men. We moved toward the hillside and hid ourselves behind some
shrubbery. When the two men walked past us, we snuck up behind them and ordered them to drop
their weapons. When one of them hesitated, Holmes fired a round above that man's head. The man
then dropped his gun.

Near the campfire we tied the men up and placed them with the other man in their own motorcar.
Our caravan of three vehicles then drove toward Glasgow. Miss Key rode with the Scotts, I drove
alone, and Holmes drove the motorcar with our captives in it.

On our arrival in Glasgow, Holmes sent the rest of us to find lodging for the remainder of the
night at a hotel he recommended. He would telephone Major X, find an appropriate place to leave
the three captives, and then join me in the room I would rent for Holmes and myself.

At a late hour an exhausted Holmes came into our room. As he was settling into his bed, I sat up
and said a few words. "The melody that you played in the mist must have been 'Lament for Yellow
Sunrise' by Buffalo Martin. Miss Key must have sent a copy of the score to you through the mail,
knowing that you also play the violin. You must have sent her a letter indicating that you liked
the piece so much that you had memorized it. So when Miss Key heard it played from the mist
above Glencoe, she knew that it was you playing it. That would have lured her away from the
campfire then being approached by the three men. . ."

Holmes raised his head long enough to interrupt me. "Correct on every point. Now be quiet so I
can get some sleep!"

In the morning I drove Holmes and Miss Key to the hospital in London where Andrew was
recovering. While Miss Key was in the room telling Andrew what had happened up in Scotland,
and while Holmes and I were chatting with the guard assigned for Andrew's protection, Major X
arrived.

"Excellent work, Holmes! Two of my men peppered the three men you captured with questions
until one of them broke down under the pressure and confessed everything. We are near to having
the situation under control. Why don't you go back to your bees? We will see to it that Mr.
Scott and Miss Key have a safe departure for America."

We gladly relinguished responsibility for Andrew and Heather's safety, but we wanted to be
notified concerning the time and place of their departure so that we could see them off.

On the day of their departure the sun was radiating through a cloudless sky. Holmes and I were
part of a cluster of well-wishers including Mrs. Turner, Major X, and Major Henderson. When
the lines were tossed and the ship's whistle sounded, we climbed to an observation deck to
wave goodbye.

When we reached the railing, we saw Andrew and Heather with mischievous smiles climbing a
ladder to talk to a signalman on one of the ship's upper decks. We suspected that they were
wanting him to use his flags to send us a message. Major X said that he could read semaphore, as
he had once been a signalman himself. He read off their message to us: "WE PLAN TO
RETURN FOR THE NEXT ONE."

Except for Mrs. Turner, we all understood what that meant. Each of us said, "I didn't tell them."

Mrs. Turner asked, "Didn't tell them what?"

Holmes avoided her question by asking her if she had a mirror in her purse. She pulled it out,
handed it to Holmes, who handed it to Major X, who used it to reflect the sun's rays in Morse
code to the signalman. Major X spoke out the words as he sent them: "HOW DID YOU FIND
OUT?"

When the signalman on the ship conveyed that message to Andrew and Heather, they smiled,
spoke with each other, and laughed. Andrew then spoke to the signalman. This time the
semaphore read: "WE ELIMINATED THE IMPOSSIBLE THEN TALKED WITH THE MAN
BEHIND YOU."

We all turned to look behind us, and there, in a shaded area, was a corpulent man who was
sweating profusely. Only one of our party immediately recognized him. Holmes said, "My dear
brother Mycroft, you are so far out of your daily orbit that I fear you have veered too close
to the sun!"

As we gathered around Mycroft, he wiped his face with a red handkerchief before speaking. "I
wanted to join you, but I became so overheated that I sat down in this shade, where I got the
attention of a lad whom I hired to bring me some cold water.

"Last evening, while I was in my customary place at the Diogenes Club, I was handed a note
indicating that I had visitors in the Stranger's Room. Andrew Scott and Heather Key had come to
ask me if I knew why Sherlock Holmes had encouraged them to live in America. I could not look
into their honest faces and withhold anything. I also presented to them my analysis that another
war will begin within a generation. They acknowledged the wisdom of the plan that Sherlock and
I had devised. When another war breaks out, they want to use their abilities to help the British
cause."

Mrs. Turner said, "Then their message, 'We plan to return for the next one,' means they plan to
return for the next war."