About three weeks after that, I was sitting alone at
home one evening. My wife was away on a visit.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Holmes came in.
He then ran to the window, closed it and locked it.
'Holmes,' I cried. 'What has happened? You look
terrible!' He looked old and ill, and he was shaking
with tiredness. 'What is it?' I asked. 'Are you afraid of
something?'
'Of someone,' he said. 'Did you not get my letter?'
'Yes, but I didn't understand it. What is wrong?'
Holmes looked at me sadly. 'You didn't understand it.
Is your wife here?'
'No, she is a way. Do you want to sleep here? I shall
make sure that you are in no danger.'
He shook his head. 'I cannot rest anywhere. If I sleep,
he will win! I cannot stay here. I would bring evil into
your house. But you can help me, Watson. I must
leave the country tomorrow. Will you come with me?'
'Where are you going, Holmes?'
'Going? I am not going anywhere. I am trying to
escape from him. But he will find me again.
Everywhere I go, he will follow me.'
'Who is he, Holmes?' I asked. 'Professor Moriarty, of
course!' 'But Moriarty is dead,' I said.