I had one confidant—my brother, Mycroft. I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money I needed to live. 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 yourself not thought that it was true. I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard might tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret.