'He's dying, Dr Watson,'said Sherlock Holmes' landlady. 'He would not let me get a doctor.'

'With your leave or without it, Mr Holmes, I am going for a doctor,' said I.

'I was horrified, I can tell you, Dr Watson. He has been working on a case in an alley, near the river and he has brought this illness back with him. Neither food nor drink has passed his lips ever since.'

Holmes was indeed a sad spectacle. His eyes had the brightness of fever; his voice was croaking.

'My dear fellow,' I cried, approaching him.

'Stand back! Stand right back!' he ordered sharply.

'But why?'

'Because it is my desire. Is that not enough? It's for your own sake, Watson,' he croaked.

'For my sake?'

'I know what the matter with me is. It is a disease from Sumatra, a thing we know little about. One thing is certain. It is deadly and it is horribly contagious.'

'Holmes,' said I,'you are not yourself. A sick man is like a child, and so I will treat you.'

'You mean well, Watson,' groaned the sick man. 'But shall I demonstrate your ignorance? What do you know of Tapanuli Fever? or of the Black Formosa Corruption?'

'i have never heard of either.'

'There are many strange diseases in the East, Watson. You can do nothing.'

'Possibly not,' I replied. 'But dr Ainstree, who is the greatest living authority on tropical disease, is now in London. I am going this instant to fetch him.'

Never had i such a shock! In an instant, leaping up like a tiger, the dying man had interrupted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key.

The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, completely exhausted.'You won't take the key from me by force, Watson. Here you are, and here you will stay unless I wish otherwise. It is four o' clock. At six you can go.'

'I seem to have no choice.'

'None at all. Now, Watson, there is one other condition I would make. You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one I choose.'

'By all means.'

'At six, Watson, we resume our conversation.'

Unable to settle down, I walked slowly around the room examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall adorned. Finally, I came to the mantelpiece. In the midst of a jumble of objects was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. i stretched out my hand to examine it more closely.

It was a dreadful cry that he gave. 'Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson!' his head sank back upon the pillow and he gave deep sigh of relief as I kept the box back upon the mantelpiece.

'Thank you, that is excellent. Now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within my teach. There is a sugar-tong over there. Kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among the papers. You can now go and fetch Mr Culverton Smith of 13, Lower Burke Street.'

'I have never heard the name,'said I.

'Watson, it may surprise you to know that the man who is best-versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. If you could persuade him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could help me. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew, Watson- the boy died in a horrible way. I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. He has a grudge against me. You will soften him, Watson.'

'I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to it!'

'You will do no such thing.You will persuade him to come, and then return before him. Make any excuse so as to not come with him. Don't forget Watson-don't fail me!' He lay back upon the bed, murmuring in a confused way about oceans and fishes.

I left him babbling like a child, and descended down the steps of the house. As I stood whistling for a cab, a man came to me through the fog.

'How is Mr Holmes, Sir?' he asked. It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton of Scotland Yard.

'He is very ill,' I answered. I was surprised to see a slight smile upon his face. However, before I could think more about it, the cab drove up, and I left him. The house at Lower Burke Street had old-fashioned iron railings, a massive folding door and shining brass work. A butler appeared and took up my card.

'Who is this person ? What does he want? Well, I won't see him.' Through the half-open door I heard his high, penetrating voice. Before the butler could deliver his message, I pushed past him and was in the room.

With a shrill cry of anger, a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. 'what's this?' he cried in a high, screaming voice.

'I am sorry,' said i, 'but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr Sherlock Holmes-'

The mentions of my friend's name had an extraordinary effect upon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from his face. 'Have you come from Holmes?' he asked.

'He is desperately ill. He is dying. That is why I have come.' 

The man turned to his chair and, as he did so, I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and hateful smile.

Yet he turned to me, an instant later, with genuine concern upon his features.

'I only know Mr Holmes through some business dealing, but I have every respect for his talents and his character.'

'He thought you were the one man in London who could help him because of your knowledge of eastern diseases.'

Mr Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked  up his cap. 

'I will come with you at once.'

I remembered Holmes' orders. 'I have another appointment,' said I.

'Very good, I will go along. You can rely on my being there within half an hour, at most.'

It was with a sinking heart that I re-entered Holmes' Bedroom. For all I knew, the worst might have happened in my absence. To my relief, he had improved greatly in the interval.

'Well, did you see him, Watson?'

'Yes, he is coming.'

'Admirable, Watson, admirable! Now you must disappear from the scene. 'There is just room enough behind the head of my bed.'

'My dear, Holmes!' i exclaimed.

'I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not offer any other place of concealment, And don't budge, whatever happens. just listen with all your ears!' Then, in an instant, his sudden burst of strength departed and he drifted into the low vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man.

From my hiding place, I could hear the opening and closing of the bedroom door. I could imagine our visitor standing by the bed and looking at the sufferer. At last, the strange hush was broken.

'Holmes!' he cried. 'Holmes! Can you hear me?'

'Is that you, Smith?' Holmes whispered. 'It is very noble of you to have come.'

Our visitor sniggered . 'Do you know what is the matter with you?'

'The same,' said Holmes.'I feel very ill, Smith.'

'Well, I shouldn't be surprised, Holmes. Poor Victor was a dead man on the fourth day. It was certainly,as you said, very surprising that he should have contracted an out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in the heart of London. Singular coincidence, Holmes, very smart of you to notice it, but rather unkind to suggest that it was cause and effect.'

'I knew that you did it.'

'Oh you did, did you? Well, you couldn't prove it anyhow.'

Holmes groaned.'Do what you can do for me. Let bygones be bygones. Only cure me, and I'll forget it.'

'Forget what?'

'Well, about Victor Savage's death.You as good as admitted just now that you had done it.'

'You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. It matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died. It's not him we are talking about. It's you.'

'Yes, yes. I'm too ill to think.'

'Listen, Holmes!' There was a sound as if he was shaking the dying ,man. 'Do you remember a box- an ivory box? It came by post on Wednesday. You opened it-do you remember?'

'Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some joke...'

'It was no joke. It was i who sent it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left me alone, I would not have hurt you.'

'I remember,' Holmes gasped. 'The spring! It drew blood. This box-this one on the table!'

'The very one! And it may as well leave the room in my pocket. There goes the last shred of evidence. But you have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that i killed you.'

Holmes' voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.

'What is that?' said Smith. 'Turn up the gas? Is there any other service I can do for you, my friend?'

'A match to light a candle.'

I nearly called out in my joy and excitement. Holmes was speaking in his natural voice. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith was standing in silent amazement, looking down at my companion.

'What is the meaning of this?' he said at last in a dry, harsh tone.

'The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it,' said Holmes. 'I give you my word that for three days I have tasted  neither food nor drink. Hallo! Do I hear the step of a friend?

There were footsteps outside, the door opened and Inspector Morton appeared.

'All is in order, and this is your man,' said Holmes.

The officer said, 'I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor Savage.'

'And you might add the attempted murder of one Sherlock Holmes,' remarked my friend with a chuckle. 'Mr Smith was good enough to give our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which might play a part in the trial.'

'A nice trap!' cried the high, snarling voice. 'He asked me to come here to cure him. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent.'

'Good heavens!' cried Holmes. 'I had totally forgotten him! My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr Smith since you have met earlier in the evening.'

Officer Morton took Mr Smith to the Police Station.

As Holmes sat down with a tired look, I asked how he had transformed his appearance so dramatically. Three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty, Watson. When we have finished at the Police Station, I think that something nutritious at Simpson's restaurant would not be out of place.'

Sir Arthur Conam Doyle (1859-1930) was a Scotish doctor who inherited the love for writing books from his mother. His first story was published when he was twenty. He is best known for his Sherlock Holmes stories. He modelled the character of Sherlock Holmes on his former professor. Apart from stories and novels on crime, he wrote historical novels, romances and plays.

leaves : (here) permission

spectacle : unusual and surprising sight

Sumatra : an island in South-East Asia

contagious : tending to spread from person to person

Tapanuli : a district in Sumatra

Formosa : old name for Taiwan, an island in South-East Asia

corruption : (here) disease

mantelpiece : a structure above a fireplace

best-versed : most skilled or knowledgeable

planter : owner or manager of a plantation (especially in Asis) 

foul play : unfair act, especially murder

grudge : feeling or dislike

cab : (here) short form og 'cabriolet,' a horse-drawn carriage for public hire

babbling : speaking in a meaningless and confused manner

penetrating : (here) loud and hard

malicious : cruel, wicked

place of concealment : hiding place

budge : move 

semi-delirious : in a unclear state of mind

sniggered : laughed in a disrespectful manner

contracted : (here) been affected by

singular : (here) unusual, strange

gasped : took a quick deep breath with mouth open

shred : small piece

inaudible : impossible to hear

gas : (here) an old type of lamp which used gas

chuckle : quiet laugh