Halfway down I slipped,
but by the blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the
path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in
the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence with the
certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.
"I had only one confidant -- my brother Mycroft. I owe you many
apologies, my dear Watson, but it was all-important that it
should be thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you
would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy
end had you not yourself thought that it was true. Several
times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to
write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard
for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray
my secret. For that reason I turned away from you this evening
when you upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and
any show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn
attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and
irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I had to confide in him in
order to obtain the money which I needed.
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