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Percy Phelps was one of my best friends at school. He was an excellent student and won every prize the school had. Many of the other boys were jealous of him. They called him "Tadpole" Phelps because he was small, and he was often bullied. This did not stop him, though. He went on to get a place at Cambridge University, where he earned a first-class degree. With help from his uncle, the famous politician Lord Holdhurst, he got a good job at the Foreign Office.
I lost contact with my friend at this point, so I was surprised to get a letter from him one day in July 1889. He wrote:
My dear Watson,
No doubt you remember your old friend "Tadpole" Phelps. You will recall how I had an important job at the Foreign Office. All was going well until about nine weeks ago, when something terrible happened that destroyed my career. It caused me a mental breakdown, and I am only just starting to recover. I am still very weak and cannot travel. Do you think you could bring your friend, the detective Sherlock Holmes, to see me? He may be the only person who can help.
Your old schoolmate,
Percy Phelps.
I was very moved by the letter and immediately went to visit Holmes to see if he was interested in the case. I found him at his Baker Street home, looking out of his window, looking bored. "Do you have a case for me, Watson?" he asked. "I really need a case."
"Maybe I do," I said, and showed him the letter. When he had read it, I saw a gleam in his eye and knew his curiosity was piqued. He immediately began putting on his coat.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To see Mr. Phelps. There’s no time like the present. Coming, Watson?"
We were lucky to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in just over an hour, we arrived at Briar House, Phelps’s home near the town of Woking in Surrey. It was a large house with a beautiful garden. The butler showed us into an elegant drawing room. A few moments later, a plump young man entered and greeted us warmly.
"I’m so glad you’ve come," he said. "Percy was hoping you would."
"You’re not a member of the family," said Holmes.
The man looked surprised. "How did you know?"
Holmes pointed to the initials on the locket hanging from his neck: J. H.
"Oh, well spotted!" he said. "My name is Joseph Harrison. I may not be a Phelps, but Percy is engaged to my sister Annie, so I will be related to him by marriage. I’ll show you in now if you like—he’s eager to see you."
The ground-floor room was large and airy, with pleasant views of the garden. My old friend was lying on a sofa near the open window, looking very pale and tired. A woman was with him, who introduced herself as Annie Harrison.
