Holmes had departed for London a minute after crumpling up the message whose delivery had been delayed by the wilds of Tibet. Even so, he missed the funeral by twenty-four hours.
The rain was fitting welcome. He did not mind it as he looked in despair at the black crepe on the door of the Kensington practice.
There was no point in announcing his continued existence to the widow. He would pay a visit to Watson's freshly covered grave and then he would once again disappear. This time, nothing could persuade him to return.