'
'You are very kind,' said Sherlock Holmes.
'Not at all,' replied Doyle. 'Just take that chair, draw it up to the
table and we will divide the second swag.'
The chair indicated differed from all others in the room. It was
straight-backed, and its oaken arms were covered by two plates,
apparently of German silver. When Holmes clutched it by the arms to
drag it forward, he gave one half-articulate gasp, and plunged
headlong to the floor, quivering. Sir George Newnes sprang up standing
with a cry of alarm. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle remained seated, a
seraphic smile of infinite satisfaction playing about his lips.
'Has he fainted?' cried Sir George.
'No, merely electrocuted. A simple device the Sheriff of New York
taught me when I was over there last.'
'Merciful heavens! Cannot he be resuscitated?'
'My dear Newnes,' said Doyle, with the air of one from whose shoulders
a great weight is lifted, 'a man may fall into the chasm at the foot
of the Reichenbach Fall and escape to record his adventures later, but
when two thousand volts pass through the human frame, the person who
owns that frame is dead.'
'You don't mean to say you've murdered him?' asked Sir George, in an
awed whisper.
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