10th of August
I was started from my breakfast by a loud rap at the door. Outside I found the lad from the Turkish, a bundle tucked under one arm and a pair of black boots beneath the other. I asked him what errand he was on, and he told me that his master had sent him with these belongings which he believed to belong to Mister Holmes. True enough, the boots were Holmes’s habitual pair, and the trousers and waistcoat were among those my friend had brought with him from London (bee motif on lapel, acid stain beneath bee motif, iodine stain beneath acid stain.) I accepted the bundle, reasoning that Holmes had left them at the baths before slipping off in some other guise.
I felt easy enough in my mind this morning, but by late afternoon Holmes’s absence had begun to weigh a little on my mind. I stepped across to the Turkish, and found only the younger attendant who had been on duty no more than an hour. He informed me that Holmes’s belongings had been delivered to his home, and, after I pressed him, that there had been a disturbance during the gentlemen’s session on Tuesday afternoon. By chance I came across the light-haired fellow who I have often spoken to at the baths, and learned that the trouble had been caused by a false alarm of fire which upset the men in the cooling rooms and sent several scurrying out into the street.
Yesterday evening, finding myself still alone and my friend’s things untouched, I resolved to make further enquiries into his absence. It can hardly hurt any scheme of his, and it seems to me that if he doesn’t wish any interference he would do better to tell me something of his plans. For a few coins this morning I found the name of the fellow set upon in the port. The hard-up laundryman had lost a half of his load on his way to a doctor’s surgery, and had evidently never met or heard of Holmes. I suppose there is nothing in it, but I have sent an urchin out after news.
[doodle in the shape of a cow]
Four telegrams, no sign of Holmes.