the Greek interpreter.
In all the years I had known him, Sherlock Holmes never spoke of his family.
Perhaps this is why I sometimes saw him as a man without feelings.
To Holmes, intelligence was more important than feelings of friendship and affection.
With no friends or relatives.
He was like a brain without a heart.
So I was surprised when one day he began to talk about his brother.
It was a summer evening, and Holmes and I were resting after dinner.
Our conversation wandered from topic to topic.
Somehow we started talking about the forces that shaped a person.
We wondered if we inherited our character from our parents, the way a son might inherit his father's eyes, or a daughter her mother's hair, or whether everything depended on how you were raised.
Well Holmes, I said, it seems to me your parents raised you in such a way that you couldn't have been anything but the great detective you turned out to be.
There is some truth in that, Watson, replied Holmes, but I think it must run in the family.
Take my old brother Mycroft.
Though we were raised in the same way, his skills are much greater than mine, I assure you.
"'Why, isn't he as well known as you?'
I asked.
He surely has stronger powers of observation and reasoning, but Mycroft isn't interested in other things that are needed to do my work.
He does not have the energy to gather clues or hunt down suspects.
He can't be bothered to roam the countryside testing his ideas.
So instead, Mycroft uses his skill with numbers to take care of certain matters for the government.
"'He's a creature of habit, Watson, and does the same things every day.
"'In fact, if you would like to meet him, I would be happy to introduce him to you.
"'He's always at the Diogenes Club at this time of day.
We can walk over there now.'
"'I have never heard of the Diogenes Club,' I said after we had left Baker Street.'
Few have, Holmes replied.
Its members are an odd group.
They don't go to the club to meet other members.
In fact, there's a rule that forbids them from talking to each other.
No, they go there for the comfortable chairs and the newspapers, because it is one of the few places where they can be alone.
We were soon at the Diogenes Club.
Inside, I looked into a large room and saw a number of gentlemen sitting in armchairs.
They were reading their newspapers.
No one was speaking to anyone.
Holmes explained that there was one room where conversation was allowed.
He left me there, and I waited quietly.
My friend soon returned with a large, heavyset man.
It was his older brother, Mycroft Holmes.
The brother's expression showed the same alertness as that of Holmes.
I am glad to meet you, Dr. Watson, said Mycroft.
Thanks to your stories about my brother's adventures, he is quite famous.
By the way, Sherlock, I expected to hear from you last week.
I thought you might want to know my thoughts on the manor house case.
It was Adams, wasn't it?
Yes, it was Adams, said Holmes as we sat down.
I hope you like our club, Dr Watson Mycroft said as he looked out the window at the traffic in the street.
It is an excellent place to observe people.
For example, the two men walking toward us.
Holmes glanced over and said, The billiard player and the other gentleman?
Yes, replied Maccroft.
What do you make of the other?
The two men stopped outside the window to talk.
I could see chalk marks on the jacket of the first man.
The chalk was clearly from playing a game of billiards.
The other man was a very small man with dark tan skin.
He wore a hat and carried several packages under his arm.
I would say he was a soldier, observed Holmes.
He left the army recently, said Mycroft.
Served in India.
An officer.
Royal artillery, I would say, added Holmes.
Ah, a widower, said Mycroft.
But with a child, my dear Mycroft.
Children, my dear Sherlock, children!
Really, I said with a laugh.
This is too much.
Not at all, Watson, answered Holmes.
Just look at how he stands and dresses and how he carries himself.
It is easy to see that this man was in the military and was an officer.
As you know, many of our soldiers serve in India.
His tan skin suggests that he has recently returned from that country.
Mycroft continued.
He is still wearing his military boots.
That tells me he didn't leave the army long ago.
"'He doesn't walk like the soldiers I have seen who are in the cavalry and ride horses,' added Holmes.
"'He wasn't in the Royal Engineers either, as he is too heavy for the work they do.'
Yet he wore his hat to one side of his head.
You can see that one side of his brow is less tan than the other.
That can only mean he was in the artillery.
"'His clothes also show that he is in mourning,' said Mycroft, "'and has lost someone close to him.
Since he is doing gift-shopping for children, my guess is that he lost his wife.'
He carries a rattle for a very young child and a picture book for an older child.
I saw that Holmes had been completely honest when he described his brother earlier.
"'By the way, Sherlock,' said Mycroft, "'would you be interested in hearing about a problem I have been asked to look into?'
"'My dear brother,' Holmes replied, "'I would be delighted.'
Mycroft Holmes rang the bell.
He scribbled a note on a piece of paper and then handed it to a waiter.
"'I have asked my neighbor to join us,' he explained.
"'His name is Melas, and he is Greek.
He asked me to look into a matter that I will let him explain.'
After a few minutes, Mr. Melas joined us and told his tale.'
As you may already know, I make my living as a Greek interpreter.
For example, when the hotels have Greek guests who don't speak English, they call me.
Sometimes I am called at odd hours to help travellers who have just arrived in London, so I wasn't surprised when Mr Latimer called on me two nights ago.
He said a Greek friend was visiting and that he needed my services.'
"'He seemed in a hurry and rushed me into a horse-drawn carriage.
"'We hadn't gone far when Mr. Latimer did the most astonishing thing.
"'He pulled a small club from his pocket and placed it on the seat beside him.
"'Then he closed the windows of the cab.
"'To my surprise, the windows were covered with paper.
"'I couldn't see out.'
Then he explained that he didn't want me to know where we were going.
He also told me that I must not go to the police and that I would be rewarded from my troubles.
He was a large man, and there was nothing I could do.
"'We drove for nearly two hours,' Malos continued, and to the cab came to a stop.
Mr. Latimer opened the door, and I got out.
We were at a house with an arched doorway.'
"'To either side was a yard with grass and trees, but other than that I had no idea where I was.
"'Inside Mr. Latimer left me with an old, grim-looking man who wore glasses.
"'This man also warned me to do as I was told, or else I would be in trouble.' explained that there was a Greek gentleman in the house.
He wanted me to ask the man questions and translate the answers into English.
The man in glasses made it very clear that I wasn't to say anything else to my fellow countrymen.
He took me into another room.
It was large and dimly lit.
I could see expensive furniture and feel a thick, rich carpet under my feet.
A suit of Japanese armor stood by a fireplace.
The man with glasses told me to sit down.
Just then, Mr. Latimer appeared with the Greek stranger.
To my horror, this man's face was deadly pale.
He looked very weak.
As bad as he looked, I was more shocked to see that his face was covered with bandages.
His mouth was hidden by a large piece of tape.
Mr. Latimer pushed the man into another chair.
The man with glasses then told me to ask a series of questions.
The bandaged man answered each by writing on a piece of paper.
Mr. Malos continued with his strange tale as Holmes, Mycroft, and I listened.
The first question was, Will you sign the papers?
His answer was, Never!
Then he added, Only if I see her married by a Greek priest who I know.
This continued for a while, Malos said.
Then I had an idea.
Once I was sure that Mr Latimer and the other man could not speak a word of Greek, I began to add my own questions to theirs.
That way the Greek man and I were able to communicate without the others knowing.
The conversation went something like this.
"'It is no good to resist.
Who are you?'
"'I don't care.'
I'm a stranger in London.
You know what will happen to you then.
How long have you been here?
Do what you must.
Three weeks.
The property can never be yours.
What is wrong with you?
As long as it does not go to you.
I have not eaten in days.
You will go free if you sign.
Where are we?
I will never sign.
You are only harming her.
What is your name?
Let me speak to her.
Cratides.
Sign, then.
You can see her.
Where are we from?
Then I shall never see her.
Athens.
Just then, the door opened and a woman stepped into the room.
She was tall, with black hair, and she wore a loose white gown.
'She came in asking for Mr Latimer?
'but when she saw the bandaged man in the chair, 'she cried out his name.
"'Paul!'
"'Kratides tore the tape from his mouth and called to her.
"'Her name was Sophie.
"'He rushed into her arms, "'but Latimer quickly grabbed the woman and took her away.'
The other man did the same with gratitude.
When the man with the glasses returned, he gave me money.
Then, with a horrible laugh, he warned me not to speak to anyone about that night.
Mr. Latimer returned and took me to the carriage.
Again we rode for hours with the windows closed.
When the carriage finally stopped, I got out and saw that I was in the country.
The carriage sped off, leaving me alone.
From there, I made my way to the nearest town and caught the first train into the city.
I do not know where I was, Mela said, or who I was dealing with.
I only know that I want to help that poor man.
I told my story to your brother and to the police, and now I am telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"'And what have you done, Mycroft?' asked Holmes.
The older brother handed us a newspaper.
He pointed to a notice that read 'A reward to anyone with information about a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides from Athens, or a Greek woman named Sophie'.
"'That was all in the daily papers,' explained Mycroft.
"'But there has been no answer.'
What about the Greek embassy? asked my friend.
Nothing, was the reply.
Have you contacted the Athens police?
Holmes asked.
This is why Sherlock Holmes is famous and not I, said Mycroft to me.
He has the energy to follow the trails, but I don't.
If you would like to investigate the matter, Sherlock, then by all means.
"'Thank you, Mycroft,' answered Holmes.
"'I will look into it, and I will keep you and Mr. Melas informed.
In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I would be careful.
By now, Mr. Latimer and his friend know you have not heeded their warnings.
You may be in danger.'
My companion and I left the Diogenes Club and headed toward Baker Street.
We stopped at a telegraph office so that Holmes could send off several messages.
Then, as we continued on our way, Holmes asked me what I thought of the case.
It seems to me, I said, that the Greek woman was kidnapped by Latimer, perhaps from Athens.
I disagree, Watson, said Holmes.
Latimer did not speak a word of Greek, so I don't think he was ever there.
On the other hand, the lady spoke English.
I believe she has been to England before, and met Latimer on one of those visits.
Perhaps they became romantically involved.
She did not give Mr. Malas the impression that she was being held captive.
I believe that she and Mr. Crattadys are sister and brother, I continued.
It seems likely to me that she has some sort of fortune.
Her brother has come to England to end the affair between his sister and Latimer.
But Latimer and the other man will stop at nothing and they have taken Crattadys prisoner.
She has only just found out by accidentally walking in on them, so now she is a prisoner too.
"'Excellent, Watson!' cried Holmes.
"'And it is up to us to stop their game.
With any luck, we will receive an answer to the notice in the papers.
After all, she was not in hiding before, and probably knows people here.
Then we may be able to find them all.'
We reached Baker Street, made our way up the stairs, and opened the door to the flat.
We were astonished to see Mycroft Holmes waiting for us.'
"'Come in, gentlemen,' he said.
"'How did you get here?'
Holmes asked his brother.
"'I passed you in a carriage,' Mycroft answered.
"'We got an answer to our notice.
It is from a Mr. J. Davenport.
He says he knows Miss Craddys, and that she has been staying at the Myrtles in Beckenham.'
"'Then that is where they all are,' said Holmes.
"'We will call Scotland Yard at once and bring Inspector Gregson with us.'
"'It would be wise to bring Malus, too,' I added.
"'We may need an interpreter.'
"'Yes, excellent, Watson,' said Holmes.
"'Now let us find a carriage quickly.'
"'As Mycroft and I headed down the stairs, I turned back and saw Holmes reach into a drawer.'
He pulled out a gun and put it in his pocket and followed us onto the street.
It was getting dark when we arrived at the home of the Greek interpreter, but we discovered that Mr Mayos was gone.
His landlady explained that a man had come from him and that they had left together by carriage.
She said the visitor was a short man with glasses and an odd laugh.
"'From there we rushed to Scotland Yard.
"'Inspector Gregson joined us and we made our way to the train station.
"'It was ten-thirty by the time we reached Beckenham.
"'The carriage took us the rest of the way.
"'The Myrtles was a large, bleak house with a large yard.'
The windows were dark and the place seemed empty.
"'They are gone,' observed Holmes as he examined the road leading to the house.
"'These tracks were made very recently.
"'They were left by a carriage full of luggage and passengers.'
There was no answer at the door, so Holmes forced open a window.
Once inside, we saw that we were in the large room that Malos had described.
The suit of Japanese armor stood by the fireplace.
As we looked around, we heard a low moaning sound.
It was coming from upstairs.
We bolted to the second floor and followed the sound to a room.
The door was locked from the outside, but the key was still in the keyhole.
Holmes opened the door and entered the room.
In an instant, he was in the hallway again, coughing and clutching his throat.
It is gas, he gasped.
We looked in the room and saw a lamp of some kind.
It burned with a small blue flame.
It was the lamp that was giving off a poisonous gas.
In his dim light, we saw two figures slumped in a corner.
Holmes took a deep breath and went back in the room.
He opened a window, grabbed the lamp, and threw it outside.
Then we picked up the two men and dragged them into the hallway.
Their faces looked worn and their lips were dry with thirst.
Their hands and feet were tied together.
One of the men was the Greek interpreter Melos.
The other had a pale face covered with bandages.
He could only have been Paul Gratides.
We were too late to save poor Mr Gratides, but Melos recovered within the hour and explained what had happened.
As we had guessed, the man with the glasses had visited the Greek Interpretum.
Melas could do nothing but return to Beckingham, where he was forced to question Cratides again.
Nothing could convince the brother to hand over his sister's fortune, so both men were locked in the deadly room, while Latimer and his partner fled with Sophie Cratides.
It was only later that Holmes and I uncovered all the details of the case.
Mycroft's newspaper notice had been answered by a gentleman who had come to know Miss Crattady's.
He told us that she came from a wealthy Greek family.
It was on a visit to England that she met Mr. Latimer.
Miss Crattady's friends knew the Englishman was up to no good, and they sent word to her brother.
But when he arrived in England, Latimer and his partner took the brother captive.
Miss Gratides did not even know her brother was being kept in the same house.
The bandages we guessed were to disguise him, should his sister catch a glimpse of him by accident.
As we know, it did not work.
Months after that, Holmes and I noticed a curious story in the newspaper.
It told how two Englishmen had met a tragic end while travelling in Hungary with a woman companion.
The police decided that the two men had argued, and during that argument they both suffered deadly injuries.
Holmes's only comment was that the police are sometimes wrong and that he was sure the sister would tell a different story, one in which she had seen justice done.
