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Arthur Conan Doyle

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
British author
in full Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle
born May 22, 1859, Edinburgh, Scotland
died July 7, 1930, Crowborough, Sussex, England
Main
Scottish writer best known for his creation of the detective Sherlock
Holmes—one of the most vivid and enduring characters in English fiction.

Conan Doyle, the second of Charles Altamont and Mary Foley Doyle’s 10
children, began seven years of Jesuit education in Lancashire, England,
in 1868. After an additional year of schooling in Feldkirch, Austria,
Conan Doyle returned to Edinburgh. Through the influence of Dr. Bryan
Charles Waller, his mother’s lodger, he prepared for entry into the
University of Edinburgh’s Medical School. He received his Bachelor of
Medicine and Master of Surgery qualifications from Edinburgh in 1881 and
an M.D. in 1885, upon completing his thesis, “An Essay upon the
Vasomotor Changes in Tabes Dorsalis.”
While a medical student, Conan Doyle was deeply impressed by the
skill of his professor, Dr. Joseph Bell, in observing the most minute
detail regarding a patient’s condition. This master of diagnostic
deduction became the model for Conan Doyle’s literary creation, Sherlock
Holmes, who first appeared in A Study in Scarlet in Beeton’s Christmas
Annual of 1887. Other aspects of Conan Doyle’s medical education and
experiences appear in his semiautobiographical novels, The Firm of
Girdlestone (1890) and The Stark Munro Letters (1895), and in the
collection of medical short stories Round the Red Lamp (1894). His
creation of the logical, cold, calculating Holmes, the “world’s first
and only consulting detective,” sharply contrasted with the paranormal
beliefs Conan Doyle addressed in a short novel of this period, The
Mystery of Cloomber (1889). Conan Doyle’s early interest in both
scientifically supportable evidence and certain paranormal phenomena
exemplified the complex diametrically opposing beliefs he struggled with
throughout his life.
Although public clamour prompted him to continue writing Sherlock
Holmes adventures through 1926, Conan Doyle claimed the success of
Holmes overshadowed the merit he believed his other historical fiction
deserved, most notably his tale of 14th-century chivalry, The White
Company (1891), its companion piece, Sir Nigel (1906), and his
adventures of the Napoleonic war hero Brigadier Gerard and the
19th-century skeptical scientist Professor George Edward Challenger.
When his passions ran high, Conan Doyle also turned to nonfiction.
His subjects include military writings, The Great Boer War (1900) and
The British Campaign in France and Flanders, 6 vol. (1916–20), the
Belgian atrocities in the Congo in The Crime of the Congo (1909), as
well as his involvement in the actual criminal cases of George Edalji
and Oscar Slater.
Conan Doyle married Louisa Hawkins in 1885, and together they had two
children, Mary and Kingsley. A year after Louisa’s death in 1906, he
married Jean Leckie and with her had three children, Denis, Adrian, and
Jean. Conan Doyle was knighted in 1902 for his work with a field
hospital in Bloemfontein, South Africa, and other services during the
South African (Boer) War.
Conan Doyle himself viewed his most important efforts to be his
campaign in support of spiritualism, the religion and psychic research
subject based upon the belief that spirits of the departed continued to
exist in the hereafter and can be contacted by those still living on
earth. He donated the majority of his literary efforts and profits later
in his life to this campaign, beginning with The New Revelation (1918)
and The Vital Message (1919). He later chronicled his travels in
supporting the spiritualist cause in The Wanderings of a Spiritualist
(1921), Our American Adventure (1923), Our Second American Adventure
(1924), and Our African Winter (1929). He discussed other spiritualist
issues in his Case for Spirit Photography (1922), Pheneas Speaks (1927),
and a two-volume The History of Spiritualism (1926). Conan Doyle became
the world’s most renowned proponent of spiritualism, but he faced
considerable opposition for his conviction from the magician Harry
Houdini and in a 1920 debate with the humanist Joseph McCabe. Even
spiritualists joined in criticizing Conan Doyle’s article “The Evidence
for Fairies,” published in The Strand Magazine in 1921, and his
subsequent book The Coming of the Fairies (1922), in which he voiced
support for the claim that two young girls, Elsie Wright and Frances
Griffiths, had photographed actual fairies that they had seen in the
Yorkshire village of Cottingley.
Conan Doyle died in Windlesham, his home in Crowborough, Sussex, and
at his funeral, his family and members of the spiritualist community
celebrated rather than mourned the occasion of his passing beyond the
veil. On July 13, 1930, thousands of people filled London’s Royal Albert
Hall for a séance during which Estelle Roberts, the spiritualist medium,
claimed to have contacted Sir Arthur.
Conan Doyle detailed what he valued most in life in his
autobiography, Memories and Adventures (1924), and the importance that
books held for him in Through the Magic Door (1907).
Philip K. Wilson
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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
1859-1930
Between 1891 and 1893 twenty-four Arthur Conan Doyle Holmes
stories were published in The Strand, of which the first twelve
were published in book form as The Adventures of Sherlock
Holmes.
"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman." So begins "A
Scandal in Bohemia," the first story in the collection. Irene
Adler is "the" woman because she is the only person ever to have
outwitted Holmes. The King of Bohemia fears that he will be
blackmailed by Adler, his former lover, who has kept some
compromising love letters and a photograph. However, she manages
to turn the tables on the detective, retaining the photograph to
ensure her own safety. Other highlights in the collection are
the eerie "The Red-Headed League" where a red-headed man is
offered employment by the League as a ruse to keep him occupied
while criminals dig a tunnel from the cellar of his premises to
a bank. In "The Man with the Twisted Lip" Holmes' help is
enlisted to solve the mystery of the disappearance of Mr.
Neville St. Clair. His wife has seen him at a window in a
rougher part of town, but the police are unable to find anyone
but a beggar. A number of enigmas follow before Holmes is able
to reach a conclusion.
The first appearance of Sherlock Holmes in 1887 is particularly
interesting in historical terms. For the First time, European
cities had proliferated to the point where it was impossible to
know more than a small percentage of their inhabitants. Yet the
London that features in these stories manages to resist the idea
that the city is sublime, that it is too large for any one
person to be able to comprehend. Holmes and Watson represent
Conan Doyle's bourgeois remedy to the terrifying and seemingly
endless late nineteeenth-century expansion of urban and
industrial civilization.
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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
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A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
I
To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard him
mention her under any other name. In his eyes
she eclipses and predominates the whole of her
sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to
love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one
particularly, were abhorrent to his cold,
precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I
take it, the most perfect reasoning and
observing machine that the world has seen, but
as a lover he would have placed himself in a
false position. He never spoke of the softer
passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They
were admirable things for the
observer--excellent for drawing the veil from
men`s motives and actions. But for the trained
reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own
delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to
introduce a distracting factor which might throw
a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a
sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his
own high-power lenses, would not be more
disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature
such as his. And yet there was but one woman to
him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of
dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My
marriage had drifted us away from each other. My
own complete happiness, and the home-centred
interests which rise up around the man who first
finds himself master of his own establishment,
were sufficient to absorb all my attention,
while Holmes, who loathed every form of society
with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our
lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old
books, and alternating from week to week between
cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the
drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen
nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted
by the study of crime, and occupied his immense
faculties and extraordinary powers of
observation in following out those clues, and
clearing up those mysteries which had been
abandoned as hopeless by the official police.
From time to time I heard some vague account of
his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case
of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the
singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at
Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he
had accomplished so delicately and successfully
for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these
signs of his activity, however, which I merely
shared with all the readers of the daily press,
I knew little of my former friend and companion.
One night--it was on the twentieth of March,
1888--I was returning from a journey to a
patient (for I had now returned to civil
practice), when my way led me through Baker
Street. As I passed the well-remembered door,
which must always be associated in my mind with
my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the
Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen
desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he
was employing his extraordinary powers. His
rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I
looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass
twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He
was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his
head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped
behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and
habit, his attitude and manner told their own
story. He was at work again. He had risen out of
his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the
scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and
was shown up to the chamber which had formerly
been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was;
but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly
a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved
me to an armchair, threw across his case of
cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a
gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the
fire and looked me over in his singular
introspective fashion.
"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think,
Watson, that you have put on seven and a half
pounds since I saw you."
"Seven!" I answered.
"Indeed, I should have thought a little more.
Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in
practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
that you intended to go into harness."
"Then, how do you know?"
"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that
you have been getting yourself very wet lately,
and that you have a most clumsy and careless
servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much.
You would certainly have been burned, had you
lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had
a country walk on Thursday and came home in a
dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes
I can`t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary
Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given
her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how
you work it out."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long,
nervous hands together.
"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes
tell me that on the inside of your left shoe,
just where the firelight strikes it, the leather
is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously
they have been caused by someone who has very
carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole
in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence,
you see, my double deduction that you had been
out in vile weather, and that you had a
particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of
the London slavey. As to your practice, if a
gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of
iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver
upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the
right side of his top-hat to show where he has
secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull,
indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an
active member of the medical profession."
I could not help laughing at the ease with
which he explained his process of deduction.
"When I hear you give your reasons," I remarked,
"the thing always appears to me to be so
ridiculously simple that I could easily do it
myself, though at each successive instance of
your reasoning I am baffled until you explain
your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are
as good as yours."
"Quite so," he answered, lighting a
cigarette, and throwing himself down into an
armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The
distinction is clear. For example, you have
frequently seen the steps which lead up from the
hall to this room."
"Frequently."
"How often?"
"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"
"How many? I don`t know."
"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you
have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know
that there are seventeen steps, because I have
both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you
are interested in these little problems, and
since you are good enough to chronicle one or
two of my trifling experiences, you may be
interested in this." He threw over a sheet of
thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been
lying open upon the table. "It came by the last
post," said he. "Read it aloud."
The note was undated, and without either
signature or address.
"There will call upon you to-night, at a
quarter to eight o`clock," it said, "a gentleman
who desires to consult you upon a matter of the
very deepest moment. Your recent services to one
of the royal houses of Europe have shown that
you are one who may safely be trusted with
matters which are of an importance which can
hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we
have from all quarters received. Be in your
chamber then at that hour, and do not take it
amiss if your visitor wear a mask."
"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What
do you imagine that it means?"
"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake
to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one
begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead
of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.
What do you deduce from it?"
I carefully examined the writing, and the
paper upon which it was written.
"The man who wrote it was presumably well to
do," I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my
companion`s processes. "Such paper could not be
bought under half a crown a packet. It is
peculiarly strong and stiff."
"Peculiar--that is the very word," said
Holmes. "It is not an English paper at all. Hold
it up to the light."
I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small
"g," a "P," and a large "G" with a small "t"
woven into the texture of the paper.
"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his
monogram, rather."
"Not at all. The `G` with the small `t`
stands for `Gesellschaft,` which is the German
for `Company.` It is a customary contraction
like our `Co.` `P,` of course, stands for
`Papier.` Now for the `Eg.` Let us glance at our
Continental Gazetteer." He took down a heavy
brown volume from his shelves. "Eglow,
Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a
German-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far
from Carlsbad. `Remarkable as being the scene of
the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous
glass-factories and paper-mills.` Ha, ha, my
boy, what do you make of that?" His eyes
sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant
cloud from his cigarette.
"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is
a German. Do you note the peculiar construction
of the sentence--`This account of you we have
from all quarters received.` A Frenchman or
Russian could not have written that. It is the
German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It
only remains, therefore, to discover what is
wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian
paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his
face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken,
to resolve all our doubts."
As he spoke there was the sharp sound of
horses` hoofs and grating wheels against the
curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell.
Holmes whistled.
"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he
continued, glancing out of the window. "A nice
little brougham and a pair of beauties. A
hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There`s money
in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."
"I think that I had better go, Holmes."
"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am
lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be
interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."
"But your client--"
"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so
may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that
armchair, Doctor, and give us your best
attention."
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard
upon the stairs and in the passage, paused
immediately outside the door. Then there was a
loud and authoritative tap.
"Come in!" said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less
than six feet six inches in height, with the
chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was
rich with a richness which would, in England, be
looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of
astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and
fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the
deep blue cloak which was thrown over his
shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and
secured at the neck with a brooch which
consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which
extended halfway up his calves, and which were
trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur,
completed the impression of barbaric opulence
which was suggested by his whole appearance. He
carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while
he wore across the upper part of his face,
extending down past the cheekbones, a black
vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted
that very moment, for his hand was still raised
to it as he entered. From the lower part of the
face he appeared to be a man of strong
character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a
long, straight chin suggestive of resolution
pushed to the length of obstinacy.
"You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh
voice and a strongly marked German accent. "I
told you that I would call." He looked from one
to the other of us, as if uncertain which to
address.
"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my
friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is
occasionally good enough to help me in my cases.
Whom have I the honour to address?"
"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a
Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this
gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of
the most extreme importance. If not, I should
much prefer to communicate with you alone."
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the
wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "It is
both, or none," said he. "You may say before
this gentleman anything which you may say to
me."
The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then
I must begin," said he, "by binding you both to
absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of
that time the matter will be of no importance.
At present it is not too much to say that it is
of such weight it may have an influence upon
European history."
"I promise," said Holmes.
"And I."
"You will excuse this mask," continued our
strange visitor. "The august person who employs
me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I
may confess at once that the title by which I
have just called myself is not exactly my own."
"I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly.
"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and
every precaution has to be taken to quench what
might grow to be an immense scandal and
seriously compromise one of the reigning
families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter
implicates the great House of Ormstein,
hereditary kings of Bohemia."
"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes,
settling himself down in his armchair and
closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent
surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the
man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the
most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent
in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and
looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
"If your Majesty would condescend to state
your case," he remarked, "I should be better
able to advise you."
The man sprang from his chair and paced up
and down the room in uncontrollable agitation.
Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the
mask from his face and hurled it upon the
ground. "You are right," he cried; "I am the
King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?"
"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty
had not spoken before I was aware that I was
addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von
Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and
hereditary King of Bohemia."
"But you can understand," said our strange
visitor, sitting down once more and passing his
hand over his high white forehead, "you can
understand that I am not accustomed to doing
such business in my own person. Yet the matter
was so delicate that I could not confide it to
an agent without putting myself in his power. I
have come incognito from Prague for the purpose
of consulting you."
"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting
his eyes once more.
"The facts are briefly these: Some five years
ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made
the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress,
Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to
you."
"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,"
murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For
many years he had adopted a system of docketing
all paragraphs concerning men and things, so
that it was difficult to name a subject or a
person on which he could not at once furnish
information. In this case I found her biography
sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and
that of a staff-commander who had written a
monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New
Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto--hum! La
Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of
Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha!
Living in London--quite so! Your Majesty, as I
understand, became entangled with this young
person, wrote her some compromising letters, and
is now desirous of getting those letters back."
"Precisely so. But how--"
"Was there a secret marriage?"
"None."
"No legal papers or certificates?"
"None."
"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this
young person should produce her letters for
blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to
prove their authenticity?"
"There is the writing."
"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."
"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."
"My own seal."
"Imitated."
"My photograph."
"Bought."
"We were both in the photograph."
"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has
indeed committed an indiscretion."
"I was mad--insane."
"You have compromised yourself seriously."
"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I
am but thirty now."
"It must be recovered."
"We have tried and failed."
"Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought."
"She will not sell."
"Stolen, then."
"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars
in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted
her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has
been waylaid. There has been no result."
"No sign of it?"
"Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little
problem," said he.
"But a very serious one to me," returned the
King reproachfully.
"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to
do with the photograph?"
"To ruin me."
"But how?"
"I am about to be married."
"So I have heard."
"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen,
second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You
may know the strict principles of her family.
She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A
shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring
the matter to an end."
"And Irene Adler?"
"Threatens to send them the photograph. And
she will do it. I know that she will do it. You
do not know her, but she has a soul of steel.
She has the face of the most beautiful of women,
and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather
than I should marry another woman, there are no
lengths to which she would not go--none."
"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"
"I am sure."
"And why?"
"Because she has said that she would send it
on the day when the betrothal was publicly
proclaimed. That will be next Monday."
"Oh, then we have three days yet," said
Holmes with a yawn. "That is very fortunate, as
I have one or two matters of importance to look
into just at present. Your Majesty will, of
course, stay in London for the present?"
"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham
under the name of the Count Von Kramm."
"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know
how we progress."
"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."
"Then, as to money?"
"You have carte blanche."
"Absolutely?"
"I tell you that I would give one of the
provinces of my kingdom to have that
photograph."
"And for present expenses?"
The King took a heavy chamois leather bag
from under his cloak and laid it on the table.
"There are three hundred pounds in gold and
seven hundred in notes," he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of
his note-book and handed it to him.
"And Mademoiselle`s address?" he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St.
John`s Wood."
Holmes took a note of it. "One other
question," said he. "Was the photograph a
cabinet?"
"It was."
"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust
that we shall soon have some good news for you.
And good-night, Watson," he added, as the wheels
of the royal brougham rolled down the street.
"If you will be good enough to call to-morrow
afternoon at three o`clock I should like to chat
this little matter over with you." |
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II
At three o`clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not
yet returned. The landlady informed me that he
had left the house shortly after eight o`clock
in the morning. I sat down beside the fire,
however, with the intention of awaiting him,
however long he might be. I was already deeply
interested in his inquiry, for, though it was
surrounded by none of the grim and strange
features which were associated with the two
crimes which I have already recorded, still, the
nature of the case and the exalted station of
his client gave it a character of its own.
Indeed, apart from the nature of the
investigation which my friend had on hand, there
was something in his masterly grasp of a
situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning,
which made it a pleasure to me to study his
system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle
methods by which he disentangled the most
inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to
his invariable success that the very possibility
of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.
It was close upon four before the door
opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt
and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and
disreputable clothes, walked into the room.
Accustomed as I was to my friend`s amazing
powers in the use of disguises, I had to look
three times before I was certain that it was
indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the
bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes
tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting
his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his
legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily
for some minutes.
"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked
and laughed again until he was obliged to lie
back, limp and helpless, in the chair.
"What is it?"
"It`s quite too funny. I am sure you could
never guess how I employed my morning, or what I
ended by doing."
"I can`t imagine. I suppose that you have
been watching the habits, and perhaps the house,
of Miss Irene Adler."
"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual.
I will tell you, however. I left the house a
little after eight o`clock this morning in the
character of a groom out of work. There is a
wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey
men. Be one of them, and you will know all that
there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It
is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but
built out in front right up to the road, two
stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large
sitting-room on the right side, well furnished,
with long windows almost to the floor, and those
preposterous English window fasteners which a
child could open. Behind there was nothing
remarkable, save that the passage window could
be reached from the top of the coach-house. I
walked round it and examined it closely from
every point of view, but without noting anything
else of interest.
"I then lounged down the street and found, as
I expected, that there was a mews in a lane
which runs down by one wall of the garden. I
lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their
horses, and received in exchange twopence, a
glass of half and half, two fills of shag
tobacco, and as much information as I could
desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half
a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in
whom I was not in the least interested, but
whose biographies I was compelled to listen to."
"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.
"Oh, she has turned all the men`s heads down
in that part. She is the daintiest thing under a
bonnet on this planet. So say the
Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly,
sings at concerts, drives out at five every day,
and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom
goes out at other times, except when she sings.
Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of
him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never
calls less than once a day, and often twice. He
is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple.
See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant.
They had driven him home a dozen times from
Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I
had listened to all they had to tell, I began to
walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more,
and to think over my plan of campaign.
"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an
important factor in the matter. He was a lawyer.
That sounded ominous. What was the relation
between them, and what the object of his
repeated visits? Was she his client, his friend,
or his mistress? If the former, she had probably
transferred the photograph to his keeping. If
the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of
this question depended whether I should continue
my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to
the gentleman`s chambers in the Temple. It was a
delicate point, and it widened the field of my
inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these
details, but I have to let you see my little
difficulties, if you are to understand the
situation."
"I am following you closely," I answered.
"I was still balancing the matter in my mind
when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and
a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably
handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--
evidently the man of whom I had heard. He
appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the
cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who
opened the door with the air of a man who was
thoroughly at home.
"He was in the house about half an hour, and
I could catch glimpses of him in the windows of
the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking
excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could
see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even
more flurried than before. As he stepped up to
the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket
and looked at it earnestly, `Drive like the
devil,` he shouted, `first to Gross & Hankey`s
in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St.
Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if
you do it in twenty minutes!`
"Away they went, and I was just wondering
whether I should not do well to follow them when
up the lane came a neat little landau, the
coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and
his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his
harness were sticking out of the buckles. It
hadn`t pulled up before she shot out of the hall
door and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her
at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with
a face that a man might die for.
"`The Church of St. Monica, John,` she cried,
`and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty
minutes.`
"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I
was just balancing whether I should run for it,
or whether I should perch behind her landau when
a cab came through the street. The driver looked
twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in
before he could object. `The Church of St.
Monica,` said I, `and half a sovereign if you
reach it in twenty minutes.` It was twenty-five
minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear
enough what was in the wind.
"My cabby drove fast. I don`t think I ever
drove faster, but the others were there before
us. The cab and the landau with their steaming
horses were in front of the door when I arrived.
I paid the man and hurried into the church.
There was not a soul there save the two whom I
had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who
seemed to be expostulating with them. They were
all three standing in a knot in front of the
altar. I lounged up the side aisle like any
other idler who has dropped into a church.
Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar
faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton came
running as hard as he could towards me.
"`Thank God,` he cried. `You`ll do. Come!
Come!`
"`What then?` I asked.
"`Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it
won`t be legal.`
"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and
before I knew where I was I found myself
mumbling responses which were whispered in my
ear, and vouching for things of which I knew
nothing, and generally assisting in the secure
tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey
Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant,
and there was the gentleman thanking me on the
one side and the lady on the other, while the
clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most
preposterous position in which I ever found
myself in my life, and it was the thought of it
that started me laughing just now. It seems that
there had been some informality about their
license, that the clergyman absolutely refused
to marry them without a witness of some sort,
and that my lucky appearance saved the
bridegroom from having to sally out into the
streets in search of a best man. The bride gave
me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my
watch-chain in memory of the occasion."
"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,"
said I; "and what then?"
"Well, I found my plans very seriously
menaced. It looked as if the pair might take an
immediate departure, and so necessitate very
prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the
church door, however, they separated, he driving
back to the Temple, and she to her own house. `I
shall drive out in the park at five as usual,`
she said as she left him. I heard no more. They
drove away in different directions, and I went
off to make my own arrangements."
"Which are?"
"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he
answered, ringing the bell. "I have been too
busy to think of food, and I am likely to be
busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I
shall want your co-operation."
"I shall be delighted."
"You don`t mind breaking the law?"
"Not in the least."
"Nor running a chance of arrest?"
"Not in a good cause."
"Oh, the cause is excellent!"
"Then I am your man."
"I was sure that I might rely on you."
"But what is it you wish?"
"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I
will make it clear to you. Now," he said as he
turned hungrily on the simple fare that our
landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while
I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly
five now. In two hours we must be on the scene
of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather,
returns from her drive at seven. We must be at
Briony Lodge to meet her."
"And what then?"
"You must leave that to me. I have already
arranged what is to occur. There is only one
point on which I must insist. You must not
interfere, come what may. You understand?"
"I am to be neutral?"
"To do nothing whatever. There will probably
be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it.
It will end in my being conveyed into the house.
Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room
window will open. You are to station yourself
close to that open window."
"Yes."
"You are to watch me, for I will be visible
to you."
"Yes."
"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw
into the room what I give you to throw, and
will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire.
You quite follow me?"
"Entirely."
"It is nothing very formidable," he said,
taking a long cigar- shaped roll from his
pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber`s smoke-
rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make
it self-lighting. Your task is confined to that.
When you raise your cry of fire, it will be
taken up by quite a number of people. You may
then walk to the end of the street, and I will
rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have
made myself clear?"
"I am to remain neutral, to get near the
window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw
in this object, then to raise the cry of fire,
and to wait you at the corner of the street."
"Precisely."
"Then you may entirely rely on me."
"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is
almost time that I prepare for the new role I
have to play."
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned
in a few minutes in the character of an amiable
and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white
tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of
peering and benevolent curiosity were such as
Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was
not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His
expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to
vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The
stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an
acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in
crime.
It was a quarter past six when we left Baker
Street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the
hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine
Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were
just being lighted as we paced up and down in
front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of
its occupant. The house was just such as I had
pictured it from Sherlock Holmes` succinct
description, but the locality appeared to be
less private than I expected. On the contrary,
for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it
was remarkably animated. There was a group of
shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a
corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two
guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl,
and several well-dressed young men who were
lounging up and down with cigars in their
mouths.
"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to
and fro in front of the house, "this marriage
rather simplifies matters. The photograph
becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances
are that she would be as averse to its being
seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to
its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the
question is, Where are we to find the
photograph?"
"Where, indeed?"
"It is most unlikely that she carries it
about with her. It is cabinet size. Too large
for easy concealment about a woman`s dress. She
knows that the King is capable of having her
waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort
have already been made. We may take it, then,
that she does not carry it about with her."
"Where, then?"
"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that
double possibility. But I am inclined to think
neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they
like to do their own secreting. Why should she
hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her
own guardianship, but she could not tell what
indirect or political influence might be brought
to bear upon a business man. Besides, remember
that she had resolved to use it within a few
days. It must be where she can lay her hands
upon it. It must be in her own house."
"But it has twice been burgled."
"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."
"But how will you look?"
"I will not look."
"What then?"
"I will get her to show me."
"But she will refuse."
"She will not be able to. But I hear the
rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry
out my orders to the letter."
As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a
carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It
was a smart little landau which rattled up to
the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one
of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward
to open the door in the hope of earning a
copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer,
who had rushed up with the same intention. A
fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by
the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of
the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who
was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was
struck, and in an instant the lady, who had
stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a
little knot of flushed and struggling men, who
struck savagely at each other with their fists
and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to
protect the lady; but just as he reached her he
gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the
blood running freely down his face. At his fall
the guardsmen took to their heels in one
direction and the loungers in the other, while a
number of better-dressed people, who had watched
the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded
in to help the lady and to attend to the injured
man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had
hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top
with her superb figure outlined against the
lights of the hall, looking back into the
street.
"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.
"He is dead," cried several voices.
"No, no, there`s life in him!" shouted
another. "But he`ll be gone before you can get
him to hospital."
"He`s a brave fellow," said a woman. "They
would have had the lady`s purse and watch if it
hadn`t been for him. They were a gang, and a
rough one, too. Ah, he`s breathing now."
"He can`t lie in the street. May we bring him
in, marm?"
"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room.
There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!"
Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony
Lodge and laid out in the principal room, while
I still observed the proceedings from my post by
the window. The lamps had been lit, but the
blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see
Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know
whether he was seized with compunction at that
moment for the part he was playing, but I know
that I never felt more heartily ashamed of
myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful
creature against whom I was conspiring, or the
grace and kindliness with which she waited upon
the injured man. And yet it would be the
blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now
from the part which he had intrusted to me. I
hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket
from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we
are not injuring her. We are but preventing her
from injuring another.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw
him motion like a man who is in need of air. A
maid rushed across and threw open the window. At
the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at
the signal I tossed my rocket into the room with
a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner out of
my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators,
well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and
servant-maids--joined in a general shriek of
"Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the
room and out at the open window. I caught a
glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later
the voice of Holmes from within assuring them
that it was a false alarm. Slipping through the
shouting crowd I made my way to the corner of
the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to
find my friend`s arm in mine, and to get away
from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and
in silence for some few minutes until we had
turned down one of the quiet streets which lead
towards the Edgeware Road.
"You did it very nicely, Doctor," he
remarked. "Nothing could have been better. It is
all right."
"You have the photograph?"
"I know where it is."
"And how did you find out?"
"She showed me, as I told you she would."
"I am still in the dark."
"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he,
laughing. "The matter was perfectly simple. You,
of course, saw that everyone in the street was
an accomplice. They were all engaged for the
evening."
"I guessed as much."
"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little
moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed
forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face,
and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old
trick."
"That also I could fathom."
"Then they carried me in. She was bound to
have me in. What else could she do? And into her
sitting-room, which was the very room which I
suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom,
and I was determined to see which. They laid me
on a couch, I motioned for air, they were
compelled to open the window, and you had your
chance."
"How did that help you?"
"It was all-important. When a woman thinks
that her house is on fire, her instinct is at
once to rush to the thing which she values most.
It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I
have more than once taken advantage of it. In
the case of the Darlington substitution scandal
it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth
Castle business. A married woman grabs at her
baby; an unmarried one reaches for her
jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady
of to-day had nothing in the house more precious
to her than what we are in quest of. She would
rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was
admirably done. The smoke and shouting were
enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded
beautifully. The photograph is in a recess
behind a sliding panel just above the right
bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I
caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out.
When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she
replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from
the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose,
and, making my excuses, escaped from the house.
I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the
photograph at once; but the coachman had come
in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed
safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may
ruin all."
"And now?" I asked.
"Our quest is practically finished. I shall
call with the King to-morrow, and with you, if
you care to come with us. We will be shown into
the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is
probable that when she comes she may find
neither us nor the photograph. It might be a
satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with
his own hands."
"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning. She will not be up,
so that we shall have a clear field. Besides, we
must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a
complete change in her life and habits. I must
wire to the King without delay."
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped
at the door. He was searching his pockets for
the key when someone passing said:
"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."
There were several people on the pavement at
the time, but the greeting appeared to come from
a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.
"I`ve heard that voice before," said Holmes,
staring down the dimly lit street. "Now, I
wonder who the deuce that could have been." |
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III
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we
were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the
morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the
room.
"You have really got it!" he cried, grasping
Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder and looking
eagerly into his face.
"Not yet."
"But you have hopes?"
"I have hopes."
"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."
"We must have a cab."
"No, my brougham is waiting."
"Then that will simplify matters." We
descended and started off once more for Briony
Lodge.
"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?"
"Yesterday."
"But to whom?"
"To an English lawyer named Norton."
"But she could not love him."
"I am in hopes that she does."
"And why in hopes?"
"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear
of future annoyance. If the lady loves her
husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she
does not love your Majesty, there is no reason
why she should interfere with your Majesty`s
plan."
"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had
been of my own station! What a queen she would
have made!" He relapsed into a moody silence,
which was not broken until we drew up in
Serpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an
elderly woman stood upon the steps. She watched
us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the
brougham.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.
"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion,
looking at her with a questioning and rather
startled gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were
likely to call. She left this morning with her
husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for
the Continent."
"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white
with chagrin and surprise. "Do you mean that she
has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely.
"All is lost."
"We shall see." He pushed past the servant
and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by
the King and myself. The furniture was scattered
about in every direction, with dismantled
shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had
hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.
Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a
small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his
hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening
dress, the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock
Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My
friend tore it open and we all three read it
together. It was dated at midnight of the
preceding night and ran in this way:
"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did
it very well. You took me in completely. Until
after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion.
But then, when I found how I had betrayed
myself, I began to think. I had been warned
against you months ago. I had been told that if
the King employed an agent it would certainly be
you. And your address had been given me. Yet,
with all this, you made me reveal what you
wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious,
I found it hard to think evil of such a dear,
kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been
trained as an actress myself. Male costume is
nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the
freedom which it gives. I sent John, the
coachman, to watch you, ran up stairs, got into
my walking-clothes, as I call them, and came
down just as you departed.
"Well, I followed you to your door, and so
made sure that I was really an object of
interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
good-night, and started for the Temple to see my
husband.
"We both thought the best resource was
flight, when pursued by so formidable an
antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when
you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your
client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by
a better man than he. The King may do what he
will without hindrance from one whom he has
cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard
myself, and to preserve a weapon which will
always secure me from any steps which he might
take in the future. I leave a photograph which
he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr.
Sherlock Holmes,
       "Very truly yours, "IRENE
NORTON, NADLER."
"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the
King of Bohemia, when we had all three read this
epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and
resolute she was? Would she not have made an
admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was
not on my level?"
"From what I have seen of the lady she seems
indeed to be on a very different level to your
Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I am sorry that I
have not been able to bring your Majesty`s
business to a more successful conclusion."
"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the
King; "nothing could be more successful. I know
that her word is inviolate. The photograph is
now as safe as if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me
in what way I can reward you. This ring--" He
slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger
and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
"Your Majesty has something which I should
value even more highly," said Holmes.
"You have but to name it."
"This photograph!"
The King stared at him in amazement.
"Irene`s photograph!" he cried. "Certainly,
if you wish it."
"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more
to be done in the matter. I have the honour to
wish you a very good-morning." He bowed, and,
turning away without observing the hand which
the King had stretched out to him, he set off in
my company for his chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened
to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the
best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by
a woman`s wit. He used to make merry over the
cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do
it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler,
or when he refers to her photograph, it is
always under the honourable title of the woman. |
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THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn
of last year and found him in deep conversation
with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly
gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology
for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when
Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and
closed the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better
time, my dear Watson," he said cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."
"So I am. Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has
been my partner and helper in many of my most
successful cases, and I have no doubt that he
will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair
and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little
questioning glance from his small fat-encircled
eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into
his armchair and putting his fingertips
together, as was his custom when in judicial
moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share
my love of all that is bizarre and outside the
conventions and humdrum routine of everyday
life. You have shown your relish for it by the
enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle,
and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat
to embellish so many of my own little
adventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest
interest to me," I observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other
day, just before we went into the very simple
problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that
for strange effects and extraordinary
combinations we must go to life itself, which is
always far more daring than any effort of the
imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of
doubting."
"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must
come round to my view, for otherwise I shall
keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your
reason breaks down under them and acknowledges
me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has
been good enough to call upon me this morning,
and to begin a narrative which promises to be
one of the most singular which I have listened
to for some time. You have heard me remark that
the strangest and most unique things are very
often connected not with the larger but with the
smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where
there is room for doubt whether any positive
crime has been committed. As far as I have heard
it is impossible for me to say whether the
present case is an instance of crime or not, but
the course of events is certainly among the most
singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps,
Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to
recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely
because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the
opening part but also because the peculiar
nature of the story makes me anxious to have
every possible detail from your lips. As a rule,
when I have heard some slight indication of the
course of events, I am able to guide myself by
the thousands of other similar cases which occur
to my memory. In the present instance I am
forced to admit that the facts are, to the best
of my belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with
an appearance of some little pride and pulled a
dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside
pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the
advertisement column, with his head thrust
forward and the paper flattened out upon his
knee, I took a good look at the man and
endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion,
to read the indications which might be presented
by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my
inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being
an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey
shepherd`s check trousers, a not over-clean
black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a
drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain,
and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down
as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded
brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay
upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I
would, there was nothing remarkable about the
man save his blazing red head, and the
expression of extreme chagrin and discontent
upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes` quick eye took in my
occupation, and he shook his head with a smile
as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond
the obvious facts that he has at some time done
manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a
Freemason, that he has been in China, and that
he has done a considerable amount of writing
lately, I can deduce nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair,
with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes
upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you
know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "How did
you know, for example, that I did manual labour.
It`s as true as gospel, for I began as a ship`s
carpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is
quite a size larger than your left. You have
worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won`t insult your intelligence by telling
you how I read that, especially as, rather
against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the
writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right
cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left
one with the smooth patch near the elbow where
you rest it upon the desk?"
"Well, but China?"
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately
above your right wrist could only have been done
in China. I have made a small study of tattoo
marks and have even contributed to the
literature of the subject. That trick of
staining the fishes` scales of a delicate pink
is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I
see a Chinese coin hanging from your
watch-chain, the matter becomes even more
simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I
never!" said he. "I thought at first that you
had done something clever, but I see that there
was nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes,
"that I make a mistake in explaining. `Omne
ignotum pro magnifico,` you know, and my poor
little reputation, such as it is, will suffer
shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you not find
the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with
his thick red finger planted halfway down the
column. "Here it is. This is what began it all.
You just read it for yourself, sir."
I took the paper from him and read as
follows:
"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the
bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon,
Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another
vacancy open which entitles a member of the
League to a salary of 4 pounds a week for purely
nominal services. All red-headed men who are
sound in body and mind and above the age of
twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person
on Monday, at eleven o`clock, to Duncan Ross, at
the offices of the League, 7 Pope`s Court, Fleet
Street."
"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated
after I had twice read over the extraordinary
announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as
was his habit when in high spirits. "It is a
little off the beaten track, isn`t it?" said he.
"And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and
tell us all about yourself, your household, and
the effect which this advertisement had upon
your fortunes. You will first make a note,
Doctor, of the paper and the date."
"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27,
1890. Just two months ago."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"
"Well, it is just as I have been telling you,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping
his forehead; "I have a small pawnbroker`s
business at Coburg Square, near the City. It`s
not a very large affair, and of late years it
has not done more than just give me a living. I
used to be able to keep two assistants, but now
I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay
him but that he is willing to come for half
wages so as to learn the business."
"What is the name of this obliging youth?"
asked Sherlock Holmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he`s not
such a youth, either. It`s hard to say his age.
I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr.
Holmes; and I know very well that he could
better himself and earn twice what I am able to
give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied,
why should I put ideas in his head?"
"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in
having an employé ·ho comes under the full
market price. It is not a common experience
among employers in this age. I don`t know that
your assistant is not as remarkable as your
advertisement."
"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr.
Wilson. "Never was such a fellow for
photography. Snapping away with a camera when he
ought to be improving his mind, and then diving
down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole
to develop his pictures. That is his main fault,
but on the whole he`s a good worker. There`s no
vice in him."
"He is still with you, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who
does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place
clean--that`s all I have in the house, for I am
a widower and never had any family. We live very
quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a
roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do
nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that
advertisement. Spaulding, he came down into the
office just this day eight weeks, with this very
paper in his hand, and he says:
"`I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was
a red-headed man.`
"`Why that?` I asks.
"`Why,` says he, `here`s another vacancy on
the League of the Red-headed Men. It`s worth
quite a little fortune to any man who gets it,
and I understand that there are more vacancies
than there are men, so that the trustees are at
their wits` end what to do with the money. If my
hair would only change colour, here`s a nice
little crib all ready for me to step into.`
"`Why, what is it, then?` I asked. You see,
Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man, and as
my business came to me instead of my having to
go to it, I was often weeks on end without
putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I
didn`t know much of what was going on outside,
and I was always glad of a bit of news.
"`Have you never heard of the League of the
Red-headed Men?` he asked with his eyes open.
"`Never.`
"`Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible
yourself for one of the vacancies.`
"`And what are they worth?` I asked.
"`Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but
the work is slight, and it need not interfere
very much with one`s other occupations.`
"Well, you can easily think that that made me
prick up my ears, for the business has not been
over-good for some years, and an extra couple of
hundred would have been very handy.
"`Tell me all about it,` said I.
"`Well,` said he, showing me the
advertisement, `you can see for yourself that
the League has a vacancy, and there is the
address where you should apply for particulars.
As far as I can make out, the League was founded
by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who
was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself
red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all
red-headed men; so when he died it was found
that he had left his enormous fortune in the
hands of trustees, with instructions to apply
the interest to the providing of easy berths to
men whose hair is of that colour. From all I
hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.`
"`But,` said I, `there would be millions of
red-headed men who would apply.`
"`Not so many as you might think,` he
answered. `You see it is really confined to
Londoners, and to grown men. This American had
started from London when he was young, and he
wanted to do the old town a good turn. Then,
again, I have heard it is no use your applying
if your hair is light red, or dark red, or
anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red.
Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you
would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly
be worth your while to put yourself out of the
way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.`
"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see
for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full
and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if
there was to be any competition in the matter I
stood as good a chance as any man that I had
ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so
much about it that I thought he might prove
useful, so I just ordered him to put up the
shutters for the day and to come right away with
me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we
shut the business up and started off for the
address that was given us in the advertisement.
"I never hope to see such a sight as that
again, Mr. Holmes. From north, south, east, and
west every man who had a shade of red in his
hair had tramped into the city to answer the
advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with
red-headed folk, and Pope`s Court looked like a
coster`s orange barrow. I should not have
thought there were so many in the whole country
as were brought together by that single
advertisement. Every shade of colour they
were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter,
liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured
tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would
have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would
not hear of it. How he did it I could not
imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted
until he got me through the crowd, and right up
to the steps which led to the office. There was
a double stream upon the stair, some going up in
hope, and some coming back dejected; but we
wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office."
"Your experience has been a most entertaining
one," remarked Holmes as his client paused and
refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.
"Pray continue your very interesting statement."
"There was nothing in the office but a couple
of wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which
sat a small man with a head that was even redder
than mine. He said a few words to each candidate
as he came up, and then he always managed to
find some fault in them which would disqualify
them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such
a very easy matter, after all. However, when our
turn came the little man was much more
favourable to me than to any of the others, and
he closed the door as we entered, so that he
might have a private word with us.
"`This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,` said my
assistant, `and he is willing to fill a vacancy
in the League.`
"`And he is admirably suited for it,` the
other answered. `He has every requirement. I
cannot recall when I have seen anything so
fine.` He took a step backward, cocked his head
on one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt
quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward,
wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my
success.
"`It would be injustice to hesitate,` said
he. `You will, however, I am sure, excuse me for
taking an obvious precaution.` With that he
seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged
until I yelled with the pain. `There is water in
your eyes,` said he as he released me. `I
perceive that all is as it should be. But we
have to be careful, for we have twice been
deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell
you tales of cobbler`s wax which would disgust
you with human nature.` He stepped over to the
window and shouted through it at the top of his
voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of
disappointment came up from below, and the folk
all trooped away in different directions until
there was not a red-head to be seen except my
own and that of the manager.
"`My name,` said he, `is Mr. Duncan Ross, and
I am myself one of the pensioners upon the fund
left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married
man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?`
"I answered that I had not.
"His face fell immediately.
"`Dear me!` he said gravely, `that is very
serious indeed! I am sorry to hear you say that.
The fund was, of course, for the propagation and
spread of the red-heads as well as for their
maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that
you should be a bachelor.`
"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for
I thought that I was not to have the vacancy
after all; but after thinking it over for a few
minutes he said that it would be all right.
"`In the case of another,` said he, `the
objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a
point in favour of a man with such a head of
hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter
upon your new duties?`
"`Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a
business already,` said I.
"`Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!`
said Vincent Spaulding. `I should be able to
look after that for you.`
"`What would be the hours?` I asked.
"`Ten to two.`
"Now a pawnbroker`s business is mostly done
of an evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday
and Friday evening, which is just before
pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a
little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my
assistant was a good man, and that he would see
to anything that turned up.
"`That would suit me very well,` said I. `And
the pay?`
"`Is 4 pounds a week.`
"`And the work?`
"`Is purely nominal.`
"`What do you call purely nominal?`
"`Well, you have to be in the office, or at
least in the building, the whole time. If you
leave, you forfeit your whole position forever.
The will is very clear upon that point. You
don`t comply with the conditions if you budge
from the office during that time.`
"`It`s only four hours a day, and I should
not think of leaving,` said I.
"`No excuse will avail,` said Mr. Duncan
Ross; `neither sickness nor business nor
anything else. There you must stay, or you lose
your billet.`
"`And the work?`
"`Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia
Britannica." There is the first volume of it in
that press. You must find your own ink, pens,
and blotting-paper, but we provide this table
and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow?`
"`Certainly,` I answered.
"`Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let
me congratulate you once more on the important
position which you have been fortunate enough to
gain.` He bowed me out of the room and I went
home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to
say or do, I was so pleased at my own good
fortune.
"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and
by evening I was in low spirits again; for I had
quite persuaded myself that the whole affair
must be some great hoax or fraud, though what
its object might be I could not imagine. It
seemed altogether past belief that anyone could
make such a will, or that they would pay such a
sum for doing anything so simple as copying out
the `Encyclopaedia Britannica.` Vincent
Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but
by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the
whole thing. However, in the morning I
determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I
bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a
quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope`s Court.
"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything
was as right as possible. The table was set out
ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to
see that I got fairly to work. He started me off
upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he
would drop in from time to time to see that all
was right with me. At two o`clock he bade me
good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I
had written, and locked the door of the office
after me.
"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and
on Saturday the manager came in and planked down
four golden sovereigns for my week`s work. It
was the same next week, and the same the week
after. Every morning I was there at ten, and
every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.
Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a
morning, and then, after a time, he did not come
in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to
leave the room for an instant, for I was not
sure when he might come, and the billet was such
a good one, and suited me so well, that I would
not risk the loss of it.
"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had
written about Abbots and Archery and Armour and
Architecture and Attica, and hoped with
diligence that I might get on to the B`s before
very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and
I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my
writings. And then suddenly the whole business
came to an end."
"To an end?"
"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I
went to my work as usual at ten o`clock, but the
door was shut and locked, with a little square
of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the
panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read
for yourself."
He held up a piece of white cardboard about
the size of a sheet of note-paper. It read in
this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt
announcement and the rueful face behind it,
until the comical side of the affair so
completely overtopped every other consideration
that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.
"I cannot see that there is anything very
funny," cried our client, flushing up to the
roots of his flaming head. "If you can do
nothing better than laugh at me, I can go
elsewhere."
"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into
the chair from which he had half risen. "I
really wouldn`t miss your case for the world. It
is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if
you will excuse my saying so, something just a
little funny about it. Pray what steps did you
take when you found the card upon the door?"
"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to
do. Then I called at the offices round, but none
of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an
accountant living on the ground-floor, and I
asked him if he could tell me what had become of
the Red-headed League. He said that he had never
heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr.
Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was
new to him.
"`Well,` said I, `the gentleman at No. 4.`
"`What, the red-headed man?`
"`Yes.`
"`Oh,` said he, `his name was William Morris.
He was a solicitor and was using my room as a
temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.`
"`Where could I find him?`
"`Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the
address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St.
Paul`s.`
"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to
that address it was a manufactory of artificial
knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of
either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."
"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I
took the advice of my assistant. But he could
not help me in any way. He could only say that
if I waited I should hear by post. But that was
not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not
wish to lose such a place without a struggle,
so, as I had heard that you were good enough to
give advice to poor folk who were in need of it,
I came right away to you."
"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your
case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and I
shall be happy to look into it. From what you
have told me I think that it is possible that
graver issues hang from it than might at first
sight appear."
"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why,
I have lost four pound a week."
"As far as you are personally concerned,"
remarked Holmes, "I do not see that you have any
grievance against this extraordinary league. On
the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer
by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute
knowledge which you have gained on every subject
which comes under the letter A. You have lost
nothing by them."
"No, sir. But I want to find out about them,
and who they are, and what their object was in
playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon me.
It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it
cost them two and thirty pounds."
"We shall endeavour to clear up these points
for you. And, first, one or two questions, Mr.
Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called
your attention to the advertisement--how long
had he been with you?"
"About a month then."
"How did he come?"
"In answer to an advertisement."
"Was he the only applicant?"
"No, I had a dozen."
"Why did you pick him?"
"Because he was handy and would come cheap."
"At half-wages, in fact."
"Yes."
"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"
"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways,
no hair on his face, though he`s not short of
thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his
forehead."
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable
excitement. "I thought as much," said he. "Have
you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?"
"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done
it for him when he was a lad."
"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep
thought. "He is still with you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."
"And has your business been attended to in
your absence?"
"Nothing to complain of, sir. There`s never
very much to do of a morning."
"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy
to give you an opinion upon the subject in the
course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and
I hope that by Monday we may come to a
conclusion."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor
had left us, "what do you make of it all?"
"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly.
"It is a most mysterious business."
"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a
thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It
is your commonplace, featureless crimes which
are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face
is the most difficult to identify. But I must be
prompt over this matter."
"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.
"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three
pipe problem, and I beg that you won`t speak to
me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in
his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his
hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes
closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out
like the bill of some strange bird. I had come
to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep,
and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly
sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a
man who has made up his mind and put his pipe
down upon the mantelpiece.
"Sarasate plays at the St. James`s Hall this
afternoon," he remarked. "What do you think,
Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few
hours?"
"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is
never very absorbing."
"Then put on your hat and come. I am going
through the City first, and we can have some
lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good
deal of German music on the programme, which is
rather more to my taste than Italian or French.
It is introspective, and I want to introspect.
Come along!"
We travelled by the Underground as far as
Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to
Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular
story which we had listened to in the morning.
It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place,
where four lines of dingy two-storied brick
houses looked out into a small railed-in
enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few
clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight
against a smoke-laden and uncongenial
atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board
with "JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a
corner house, announced the place where our
red-headed client carried on his business.
Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his
head on one side and looked it all over, with
his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids.
Then he walked slowly up the street, and then
down again to the corner, still looking keenly
at the houses. Finally he returned to the
pawnbroker`s, and, having thumped vigorously
upon the pavement with his stick two or three
times, he went up to the door and knocked. It
was instantly opened by a bright-looking,
clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step
in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to
ask you how you would go from here to the
Strand."
"Third right, fourth left," answered the
assistant promptly, closing the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we
walked away. "He is, in my judgment, the fourth
smartest man in London, and for daring I am not
sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have
known something of him before."
"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson`s assistant
counts for a good deal in this mystery of the
Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired
your way merely in order that you might see
him."
"Not him."
"What then?"
"The knees of his trousers."
"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."
"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for
observation, not for talk. We are spies in an
enemy`s country. We know something of
Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts
which lie behind it."
The road in which we found ourselves as we
turned round the corner from the retired
Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast
to it as the front of a picture does to the
back. It was one of the main arteries which
conveyed the traffic of the City to the north
and west. The roadway was blocked with the
immense stream of commerce flowing in a double
tide inward and outward, while the footpaths
were black with the hurrying swarm of
pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we
looked at the line of fine shops and stately
business premises that they really abutted on
the other side upon the faded and stagnant
square which we had just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the
corner and glancing along the line, "I should
like just to remember the order of the houses
here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact
knowledge of London. There is Mortimer`s, the
tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the
Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the
Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane`s
carriage-building depot. That carries us right
on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we`ve
done our work, so it`s time we had some play. A
sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to
violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy
and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients
to vex us with their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being
himself not only a very capable performer but a
composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon
he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect
happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers
in time to the music, while his gently smiling
face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike
those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the
relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal
agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his
singular character the dual nature alternately
asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought,
the reaction against the poetic and
contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him. The swing of his nature
took him from extreme languor to devouring
energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so
truly formidable as when, for days on end, he
had been lounging in his armchair amid his
improvisations and his black-letter editions.
Then it was that the lust of the chase would
suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant
reasoning power would rise to the level of
intuition, until those who were unacquainted
with his methods would look askance at him as on
a man whose knowledge was not that of other
mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so
enwrapped in the music at St. James`s Hall I
felt that an evil time might be coming upon
those whom he had set himself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he
remarked as we emerged.
"Yes, it would be as well."
"And I have some business to do which will
take some hours. This business at Coburg Square
is serious."
"Why serious?"
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I
have every reason to believe that we shall be in
time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday
rather complicates matters. I shall want your
help to-night."
"At what time?"
"Ten will be early enough."
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be
some little danger, so kindly put your army
revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand,
turned on his heel, and disappeared in an
instant among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my
neighbours, but I was always oppressed with a
sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with
Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had
heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from
his words it was evident that he saw clearly not
only what had happened but what was about to
happen, while to me the whole business was still
confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my
house in Kensington I thought over it all, from
the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier
of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to
Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with
which he had parted from me. What was this
nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?
Where were we going, and what were we to do? I
had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced
pawnbroker`s assistant was a formidable man--a
man who might play a deep game. I tried to
puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set
the matter aside until night should bring an
explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started
from home and made my way across the Park, and
so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two
hansoms were standing at the door, and as I
entered the passage I heard the sound of voices
from above. On entering his room I found Holmes
in animated conversation with two men, one of
whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official
police agent, while the other was a long, thin,
sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and
oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes,
buttoning up his pea-jacket and taking his heavy
hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you
know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me
introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be
our companion in to-night`s adventure."
"We`re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you
see," said Jones in his consequential way. "Our
friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to
do the running down."
"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the
end of our chase," observed Mr. Merryweather
gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr.
Holmes, sir," said the police agent loftily. "He
has his own little methods, which are, if he
won`t mind my saying so, just a little too
theoretical and fantastic, but he has the
makings of a detective in him. It is not too
much to say that once or twice, as in that
business of the Sholto murder and the Agra
treasure, he has been more nearly correct than
the official force."
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all
right," said the stranger with deference.
"Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is
the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty
years that I have not had my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock
Holmes, "that you will play for a higher stake
to-night than you have ever done yet, and that
the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr.
Merryweather, the stake will be some 30,000
pounds; and for you, Jones, it will be the man
upon whom you wish to lay your hands."
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and
forger. He`s a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but
he is at the head of his profession, and I would
rather have my bracelets on him than on any
criminal in London. He`s a remarkable man, is
young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal
duke, and he himself has been to Eton and
Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers,
and though we meet signs of him at every turn,
we never know where to find the man himself.
He`ll crack a crib in Scotland one week, and be
raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall
the next. I`ve been on his track for years and
have never set eyes on him yet."
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of
introducing you to-night. I`ve had one or two
little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I
agree with you that he is at the head of his
profession. It is past ten, however, and quite
time that we started. If you two will take the
first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the
second."
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative
during the long drive and lay back in the cab
humming the tunes which he had heard in the
afternoon. We rattled through an endless
labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged
into Farrington Street.
"We are close there now," my friend remarked.
"This fellow Merryweather is a bank director,
and personally interested in the matter. I
thought it as well to have Jones with us also.
He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute
imbecile in his profession. He has one positive
virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as
tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon
anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for
us."
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare
in which we had found ourselves in the morning.
Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a
narrow passage and through a side door, which he
opened for us. Within there was a small
corridor, which ended in a very massive iron
gate. This also was opened, and led down a
flight of winding stone steps, which terminated
at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather
stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted
us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so,
after opening a third door, into a huge vault or
cellar, which was piled all round with crates
and massive boxes.
"You are not very vulnerable from above,"
Holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and
gazed about him.
"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather,
striking his stick upon the flags which lined
the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite
hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise.
"I must really ask you to be a little more
quiet!" said Holmes severely. "You have already
imperilled the whole success of our expedition.
Might I beg that you would have the goodness to
sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to
interfere?"
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself
upon a crate, with a very injured expression
upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees
upon the floor and, with the lantern and a
magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the
cracks between the stones. A few seconds
sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his
feet again and put his glass in his pocket.
"We have at least an hour before us," he
remarked, "for they can hardly take any steps
until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then
they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they
do their work the longer time they will have for
their escape. We are at present, Doctor--as no
doubt you have divined--in the cellar of the
City branch of one of the principal London
banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of
directors, and he will explain to you that there
are reasons why the more daring criminals of
London should take a considerable interest in
this cellar at present."
"It is our French gold," whispered the
director. "We have had several warnings that an
attempt might be made upon it."
"Your French gold?"
"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to
strengthen our resources and borrowed for that
purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of
France. It has become known that we have never
had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is
still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which
I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between
layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is
much larger at present than is usually kept in a
single branch office, and the directors have had
misgivings upon the subject."
"Which were very well justified," observed
Holmes. "And now it is time that we arranged our
little plans. I expect that within an hour
matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr.
Merryweather, we must put the screen over that
dark lantern."
"And sit in the dark?"
"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of
cards in my pocket, and I thought that, as we
were a partie carr you might have your rubber
after all. But I see that the enemy`s
preparations have gone so far that we cannot
risk the presence of a light. And, first of all,
we must choose our positions. These are daring
men, and though we shall take them at a
disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we
are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,
and do you conceal yourselves behind those.
Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in
swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no
compunction about shooting them down."
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of
the wooden case behind which I crouched. Holmes
shot the slide across the front of his lantern
and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute
darkness as I have never before experienced. The
smell of hot metal remained to assure us that
the light was still there, ready to flash out at
a moment`s notice. To me, with my nerves worked
up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something
depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and
in the cold dank air of the vault.
"They have but one retreat," whispered
Holmes. "That is back through the house into
Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done
what I asked you, Jones?"
"I have an inspector and two officers waiting
at the front door."
"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now
we must be silent and wait."
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes
afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet
it appeared to me that the night must have
almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us.
My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to
change my position; yet my nerves were worked up
to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing
was so acute that I could not only hear the
gentle breathing of my companions, but I could
distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the
bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the
bank director. From my position I could look
over the case in the direction of the floor.
Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the
stone pavement. Then it lengthened out until it
became a yellow line, and then, without any
warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a
hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand,
which felt about in the centre of the little
area of light. For a minute or more the hand,
with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the
floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it
appeared, and all was dark again save the single
lurid spark which marked a chink between the
stones.
Its disappearance, however, was but
momentary. With a rending, tearing sound, one of
the broad, white stones turned over upon its
side and left a square, gaping hole, through
which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the
edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face,
which looked keenly about it, and then, with a
hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself
shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee
rested upon the edge. In another instant he
stood at the side of the hole and was hauling
after him a companion, lithe and small like
himself, with a pale face and a shock of very
red hair.
"It`s all clear," he whispered. "Have you the
chisel and the bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie,
jump, and I`ll swing for it!"
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the
intruder by the collar. The other dived down the
hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth as
Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed
upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes`
hunting crop came down on the man`s wrist, and
the pistol clinked upon the stone floor.
"It`s no use, John Clay," said Holmes
blandly. "You have no chance at all."
"So I see," the other answered with the
utmost coolness. "I fancy that my pal is all
right, though I see you have got his
coat-tails."
"There are three men waiting for him at the
door," said Holmes.
"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing
very completely. I must compliment you."
"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your
red-headed idea was very new and effective."
"You`ll see your pal again presently," said
Jones. "He`s quicker at climbing down holes than
I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies."
"I beg that you will not touch me with your
filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the
handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may
not be aware that I have royal blood in my
veins. Have the goodness, also, when you address
me always to say `sir` and `please.`"
"All right," said Jones with a stare and a
snigger. "Well, would you please, sir, march
upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your
Highness to the police-station?"
"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He
made a sweeping bow to the three of us and
walked quietly off in the custody of the
detective.
"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather
as we followed them from the cellar, "I do not
know how the bank can thank you or repay you.
There is no doubt that you have detected and
defeated in the most complete manner one of the
most determined attempts at bank robbery that
have ever come within my experience."
"I have had one or two little scores of my
own to settle with Mr. John Clay," said Holmes.
"I have been at some small expense over this
matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund,
but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had
an experience which is in many ways unique, and
by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the
Red-headed League."
"You see, Watson," he explained in the early
hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of
whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was
perfectly obvious from the first that the only
possible object of this rather fantastic
business of the advertisement of the League, and
the copying of the `Encyclopaedia,` must be to
get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the
way for a number of hours every day. It was a
curious way of managing it, but, really, it
would be difficult to suggest a better. The
method was no doubt suggested to Clay`s
ingenious mind by the colour of his accomplice`s
hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must
draw him, and what was it to them, who were
playing for thousands? They put in the
advertisement, one rogue has the temporary
office, the other rogue incites the man to apply
for it, and together they manage to secure his
absence every morning in the week. From the time
that I heard of the assistant having come for
half wages, it was obvious to me that he had
some strong motive for securing the situation."
"But how could you guess what the motive
was?"
"Had there been women in the house, I should
have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. That,
however, was out of the question. The man`s
business was a small one, and there was nothing
in his house which could account for such
elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure
as they were at. It must, then, be something out
of the house. What could it be? I thought of the
assistant`s fondness for photography, and his
trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar!
There was the end of this tangled clue. Then I
made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant
and found that I had to deal with one of the
coolest and most daring criminals in London. He
was doing something in the cellar--something
which took many hours a day for months on end.
What could it be, once more? I could think of
nothing save that he was running a tunnel to
some other building.
"So far I had got when we went to visit the
scene of action. I surprised you by beating upon
the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining
whether the cellar stretched out in front or
behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the
bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered
it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had
never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly
looked at his face. His knees were what I wished
to see. You must yourself have remarked how
worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They
spoke of those hours of burrowing. The only
remaining point was what they were burrowing
for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and
Suburban Bank abutted on our friend`s premises,
and felt that I had solved my problem. When you
drove home after the concert I called upon
Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank
directors, with the result that you have seen."
"And how could you tell that they would make
their attempt to-night?" I asked.
"Well, when they closed their League offices
that was a sign that they cared no longer about
Mr. Jabez Wilson`s presence--in other words,
that they had completed their tunnel. But it was
essential that they should use it soon, as it
might be discovered, or the bullion might be
removed. Saturday would suit them better than
any other day, as it would give them two days
for their escape. For all these reasons I
expected them to come to-night."
"You reasoned it out beautifully," I
exclaimed in unfeigned admiration. "It is so
long a chain, and yet every link rings true."
"It saved me from ennui," he answered,
yawning. "Alas! I already feel it closing in
upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to
escape from the commonplaces of existence. These
little problems help me to do so."
"And you are a benefactor of the race," said
I.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps,
after all, it is of some little use," he
remarked. "`L`homme c`est rien--l`oeuvre c`est
tout,` as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George
Sand."
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A CASE OF IDENTITY
"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the
fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is
infinitely stranger than anything which the mind
of man could invent. We would not dare to
conceive the things which are really mere
commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out
of that window hand in hand, hover over this
great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in
at the queer things which are going on, the
strange coincidences, the plannings, the
cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events,
working through generations, and leading to the
most outré ²esults, it would make all fiction
with its conventionalities and foreseen
conclusions most stale and unprofitable."
"And yet I am not convinced of it," I
answered. "The cases which come to light in the
papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar
enough. We have in our police reports realism
pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result
is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating
nor artistic."
"A certain selection and discretion must be
used in producing a realistic effect," remarked
Holmes. "This is wanting in the police report,
where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the
platitudes of the magistrate than upon the
details, which to an observer contain the vital
essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it,
there is nothing so unnatural as the
commonplace."
I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite
understand your thinking so." I said. "Of
course, in your position of unofficial adviser
and helper to everybody who is absolutely
puzzled, throughout three continents, you are
brought in contact with all that is strange and
bizarre. But here"--I picked up the morning
paper from the ground--"let us put it to a
practical test. Here is the first heading upon
which I come. `A husband`s cruelty to his wife.`
There is half a column of print, but I know
without reading it that it is all perfectly
familiar to me. There is, of course, the other
woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the
bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The
crudest of writers could invent nothing more
crude."
"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one
for your argument," said Holmes, taking the
paper and glancing his eye down it. "This is the
Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I
was engaged in clearing up some small points in
connection with it. The husband was a
teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the
conduct complained of was that he had drifted
into the habit of winding up every meal by
taking out his false teeth and hurling them at
his wife, which, you will allow, is not an
action likely to occur to the imagination of the
average story-teller. Take a pinch of snuff,
Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over
you in your example."
He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a
great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its
splendour was in such contrast to his homely
ways and simple life that I could not help
commenting upon it.
"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen
you for some weeks. It is a little souvenir from
the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance
in the case of the Irene Adler papers."
"And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a
remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his
finger.
"It was from the reigning family of Holland,
though the matter in which I served them was of
such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to
you, who have been good enough to chronicle one
or two of my little problems."
"And have you any on hand just now?" I asked
with interest.
"Some ten or twelve, but none which present
any feature of interest. They are important, you
understand, without being interesting. Indeed, I
have found that it is usually in unimportant
matters that there is a field for the
observation, and for the quick analysis of cause
and effect which gives the charm to an
investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be
the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more
obvious, as a rule, is the motive. In these
cases, save for one rather intricate matter
which has been referred to me from Marseilles,
there is nothing which presents any features of
interest. It is possible, however, that I may
have something better before very many minutes
are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am
much mistaken."
He had risen from his chair and was standing
between the parted blinds gazing down into the
dull neutral-tinted London street. Looking over
his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement
opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy
fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red
feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted
in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion
over her ear. From under this great panoply she
peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at
our windows, while her body oscillated backward
and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her
glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of
the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried
across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of
the bell.
"I have seen those symptoms before," said
Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire.
"Oscillation upon the pavement always means an
affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is
not sure that the matter is not too delicate for
communication. And yet even here we may
discriminate. When a woman has been seriously
wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and
the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we
may take it that there is a love matter, but
that the maiden is not so much angry as
perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in
person to resolve our doubts."
As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and
the boy in buttons entered to announce Miss Mary
Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind
his small black figure like a full-sailed
merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock
Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for
which he was remarkable, and, having closed the
door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked
her over in the minute and yet abstracted
fashion which was peculiar to him.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your
short sight it is a little trying to do so much
typewriting?"
"I did at first," she answered, "but now I
know where the letters are without looking."
Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his
words, she gave a violent start and looked up,
with fear and astonishment upon her broad,
good-humoured face. "You`ve heard about me, Mr.
Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all
that?"
"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is
my business to know things. Perhaps I have
trained myself to see what others overlook. If
not, why should you come to consult me?"
"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you
from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found so
easy when the police and everyone had given him
up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do
as much for me. I`m not rich, but still I have a
hundred a year in my own right, besides the
little that I make by the machine, and I would
give it all to know what has become of Mr.
Hosmer Angel."
"Why did you come away to consult me in such
a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with his
finger-tips together and his eyes to the
ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the somewhat
vacuous face of Miss Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I
did bang out of the house," she said, "for it
made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.
Windibank--that is, my father--took it all. He
would not go to the police, and he would not go
to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing
and kept on saying that there was no harm done,
it made me mad, and I just on with my things and
came right away to you."
"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather,
surely, since the name is different."
"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father,
though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five
years and two months older than myself."
"And your mother is alive?"
"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn`t
best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again
so soon after father`s death, and a man who was
nearly fifteen years younger than herself.
Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court
Road, and he left a tidy business behind him,
which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the
foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her
sell the business, for he was very superior,
being a traveller in wines. They got 4700 pounds
for the goodwill and interest, which wasn`t near
as much as father could have got if he had been
alive."
I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes
impatient under this rambling and
inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary,
he had listened with the greatest concentration
of attention.
"Your own little income," he asked, "does it
come out of the business?"
"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was
left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is in
New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per cent. Two
thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but
I can only touch the interest."
"You interest me extremely," said Holmes.
"And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred
a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you
no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in
every way. I believe that a single lady can get
on very nicely upon an income of about 60
pounds."
"I could do with much less than that, Mr.
Holmes, but you understand that as long as I
live at home I don`t wish to be a burden to
them, and so they have the use of the money just
while I am staying with them. Of course, that is
only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my
interest every quarter and pays it over to
mother, and I find that I can do pretty well
with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me
twopence a sheet, and I can often do from
fifteen to twenty sheets in a day."
"You have made your position very clear to
me," said Holmes. "This is my friend, Dr.
Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as
before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your
connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."
A flush stole over Miss Sutherland`s face,
and she picked nervously at the fringe of her
jacket. "I met him first at the gasfitters`
ball," she said. "They used to send father
tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards
they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr.
Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did
wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad
if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school
treat. But this time I was set on going, and I
would go; for what right had he to prevent? He
said the folk were not fit for us to know, when
all father`s friends were to be there. And he
said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had
my purple plush that I had never so much as
taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing
else would do, he went off to France upon the
business of the firm, but we went, mother and I,
with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and
it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."
"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr.
Windibank came back from France he was very
annoyed at your having gone to the ball."
"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He
laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders,
and said there was no use denying anything to a
woman, for she would have her way."
"I see. Then at the gasfitters` ball you met,
as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer
Angel."
"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he
called next day to ask if we had got home all
safe, and after that we met him--that is to say,
Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after
that father came back again, and Mr. Hosmer
Angel could not come to the house any more."
"No?"
"Well, you know father didn`t like anything
of the sort. He wouldn`t have any visitors if he
could help it, and he used to say that a woman
should be happy in her own family circle. But
then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants
her own circle to begin with, and I had not got
mine yet."
"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make
no attempt to see you?"
"Well, father was going off to France again
in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that it
would be safer and better not to see each other
until he had gone. We could write in the
meantime, and he used to write every day. I took
the letters in in the morning, so there was no
need for father to know."
"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this
time?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after
the first walk that we took. Hosmer--Mr.
Angel--was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall
Street--and--"
"What office?"
"That`s the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don`t
know."
"Where did he live, then?"
"He slept on the premises."
"And you don`t know his address?"
"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."
"Where did you address your letters, then?"
"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be
left till called for. He said that if they were
sent to the office he would be chaffed by all
the other clerks about having letters from a
lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he
did his, but he wouldn`t have that, for he said
that when I wrote them they seemed to come from
me, but when they were typewritten he always
felt that the machine had come between us. That
will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr.
Holmes, and the little things that he would
think of."
"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It
has long been an axiom of mine that the little
things are infinitely the most important. Can
you remember any other little things about Mr.
Hosmer Angel?"
"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would
rather walk with me in the evening than in the
daylight, for he said that he hated to be
conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he
was. Even his voice was gentle. He`d had the
quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he
told me, and it had left him with a weak throat,
and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech.
He was always well dressed, very neat and plain,
but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he
wore tinted glasses against the glare."
"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank,
your stepfather, returned to France?"
"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and
proposed that we should marry before father came
back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me
swear, with my hands on the Testament, that
whatever happened I would always be true to him.
Mother said he was quite right to make me swear,
and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother
was all in his favour from the first and was
even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they
talked of marrying within the week, I began to
ask about father; but they both said never to
mind about father, but just to tell him
afterwards, and mother said she would make it
all right with him. I didn`t quite like that,
Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask
his leave, as he was only a few years older than
me; but I didn`t want to do anything on the sly,
so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the
company has its French offices, but the letter
came back to me on the very morning of the
wedding."
"It missed him, then?"
"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just
before it arrived."
"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was
arranged, then, for the Friday. Was it to be in
church?"
"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at
St. Saviour`s, near King`s Cross, and we were to
have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras
Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as
there were two of us he put us both into it and
stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which
happened to be the only other cab in the street.
We got to the church first, and when the
four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step
out, but he never did, and when the cabman got
down from the box and looked there was no one
there! The cabman said that he could not imagine
what had become of him, for he had seen him get
in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr.
Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything
since then to throw any light upon what became
of him."
"It seems to me that you have been very
shamefully treated," said Holmes.
"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to
leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying
to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true;
and that even if something quite unforeseen
occurred to separate us, I was always to
remember that I was pledged to him, and that he
would claim his pledge sooner or later. It
seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but
what has happened since gives a meaning to it."
"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is,
then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has
occurred to him?"
"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some
danger, or else he would not have talked so. And
then I think that what he foresaw happened."
"But you have no notion as to what it could
have been?"
"None."
"One more question. How did your mother take
the matter?"
"She was angry, and said that I was never to
speak of the matter again."
"And your father? Did you tell him?"
"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that
something had happened, and that I should hear
of Hosmer again. As he said, what interest could
anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the
church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had
borrowed my money, or if he had married me and
got my money settled on him, there might be some
reason, but Hosmer was very independent about
money and never would look at a shilling of
mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why
could he not write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to
think of it, and I can`t sleep a wink at night."
She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff
and began to sob heavily into it.
"I shall glance into the case for you," said
Holmes, rising, "and I have no doubt that we
shall reach some definite result. Let the weight
of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let
your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try
to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory,
as he has done from your life."
"Then you don`t think I`ll see him again?"
"I fear not."
"Then what has happened to him?"
"You will leave that question in my hands. I
should like an accurate description of him and
any letters of his which you can spare."
"I advertised for him in last Saturday`s
Chronicle," said she. "Here is the slip and here
are four letters from him."
"Thank you. And your address?"
"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."
"Mr. Angel`s address you never had, I
understand. Where is your father`s place of
business?"
"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the
great claret importers of Fenchurch Street."
"Thank you. You have made your statement very
clearly. You will leave the papers here, and
remember the advice which I have given you. Let
the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not
allow it to affect your life."
"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot
do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall
find me ready when he comes back."
For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous
face, there was something noble in the simple
faith of our visitor which compelled our
respect. She laid her little bundle of papers
upon the table and went her way, with a promise
to come again whenever she might be summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes
with his fingertips still pressed together, his
legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze
directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took
down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe,
which was to him as a counsellor, and, having
lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the
thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him,
and a look of infinite languor in his face.
"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he
observed. "I found her more interesting than her
little problem, which, by the way, is rather a
trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you
consult my index, in Andover in `77, and there
was something of the sort at The Hague last
year. Old as is the idea, however, there were
one or two details which were new to me. But the
maiden herself was most instructive."
"You appeared to read a good deal upon her
which was quite invisible to me," I remarked.
"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did
not know where to look, and so you missed all
that was important. I can never bring you to
realise the importance of sleeves, the
suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great
issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what
did you gather from that woman`s appearance?
Describe it."
"Well, she had a slate-coloured,
broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a
brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black
beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black
jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather
darker than coffee colour, with a little purple
plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were
greyish and were worn through at the right
forefinger. Her boots I didn`t observe. She had
small round, hanging gold earrings, and a
general air of being fairly well-to-do in a
vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way."
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly
together and chuckled.
"`Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along
wonderfully. You have really done very well
indeed. It is true that you have missed
everything of importance, but you have hit upon
the method, and you have a quick eye for colour.
Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but
concentrate yourself upon details. My first
glance is always at a woman`s sleeve. In a man
it is perhaps better first to take the knee of
the trouser. As you observe, this woman had
plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful
material for showing traces. The double line a
little above the wrist, where the typewritist
presses against the table, was beautifully
defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type,
leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm,
and on the side of it farthest from the thumb,
instead of being right across the broadest part,
as this was. I then glanced at her face, and,
observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side
of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short
sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise
her."
"It surprised me."
"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much
surprised and interested on glancing down to
observe that, though the boots which she was
wearing were not unlike each other, they were
really odd ones; the one having a slightly
decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one.
One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons
out of five, and the other at the first, third,
and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady,
otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from
home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no
great deduction to say that she came away in a
hurry."
"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested,
as I always was, by my friend`s incisive
reasoning.
"I noted, in passing, that she had written a
note before leaving home but after being fully
dressed. You observed that her right glove was
torn at the forefinger, but you did not
apparently see that both glove and finger were
stained with violet ink. She had written in a
hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have
been this morning, or the mark would not remain
clear upon the finger. All this is amusing,
though rather elementary, but I must go back to
business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the
advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"
I held the little printed slip to the light.
"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the
fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel.
About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly
built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little
bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers
and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity
of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black
frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat,
gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed
trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided
boots. Known to have been employed in an office
in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--"
"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the
letters," he continued, glancing over them,
"they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue
in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac
once. There is one remarkable point, however,
which will no doubt strike you."
"They are typewritten," I remarked.
"Not only that, but the signature is
typewritten. Look at the neat little `Hosmer
Angel` at the bottom. There is a date, you see,
but no superscription except Leadenhall Street,
which is rather vague. The point about the
signature is very suggestive --in fact, we may
call it conclusive."
"Of what?"
"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not
see how strongly it bears upon the case?"
"I cannot say that I do unless it were that
he wished to be able to deny his signature if an
action for breach of promise were instituted."
"No, that was not the point. However, I shall
write two letters, which should settle the
matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other
is to the young lady`s stepfather, Mr.
Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us
here at six o`clock tomorrow evening. It is just
as well that we should do business with the male
relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing
until the answers to those letters come, so we
may put our little problem upon the shelf for
the interim."
I had had so many reasons to believe in my
friend`s subtle powers of reasoning and
extraordinary energy in action that I felt that
he must have some solid grounds for the assured
and easy demeanour with which he treated the
singular mystery which he had been called upon
to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in
the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene
Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the
weird business of the Sign of Four, and the
extraordinary circumstances connected with the
Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a
strange tangle indeed which he could not
unravel.
I left him then, still puffing at his black
clay pipe, with the conviction that when I came
again on the next evening I would find that he
held in his hands all the clues which would lead
up to the identity of the disappearing
bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.
A professional case of great gravity was
engaging my own attention at the time, and the
whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of
the sufferer. It was not until close upon six
o`clock that I found myself free and was able to
spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street,
half afraid that I might be too late to assist
at the d鮯uement of the little mystery. I found
Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep,
with his long, thin form curled up in the
recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of
bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly
smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had
spent his day in the chemical work which was so
dear to him.
"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I
entered.
"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."
"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.
"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have
been working upon. There was never any mystery
in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some
of the details are of interest. The only
drawback is that there is no law, I fear, that
can touch the scoundrel."
"Who was he, then, and what was his object in
deserting Miss Sutherland?"
The question was hardly out of my mouth, and
Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply,
when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage
and a tap at the door.
"This is the girl`s stepfather, Mr. James
Windibank," said Holmes. "He has written to me
to say that he would be here at six. Come in!"
The man who entered was a sturdy,
middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age,
clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland,
insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully
sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot a
questioning glance at each of us, placed his
shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a
slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.
"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said
Holmes. "I think that this typewritten letter is
from you, in which you made an appointment with
me for six o`clock?"
"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little
late, but I am not quite my own master, you
know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has
troubled you about this little matter, for I
think it is far better not to wash linen of the
sort in public. It was quite against my wishes
that she came, but she is a very excitable,
impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she
is not easily controlled when she has made up
her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind
you so much, as you are not connected with the
official police, but it is not pleasant to have
a family misfortune like this noised abroad.
Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could
you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"
"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I
have every reason to believe that I will succeed
in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."
Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and
dropped his gloves. "I am delighted to hear it,"
he said.
"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes,
"that a typewriter has really quite as much
individuality as a man`s handwriting. Unless
they are quite new, no two of them write exactly
alike. Some letters get more worn than others,
and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark
in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in
every case there is some little slurring over of
the `e,` and a slight defect in the tail of the
`r.` There are fourteen other characteristics,
but those are the more obvious."
"We do all our correspondence with this
machine at the office, and no doubt it is a
little worn," our visitor answered, glancing
keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a
very interesting study, Mr. Windibank," Holmes
continued. "I think of writing another little
monograph some of these days on the typewriter
and its relation to crime. It is a subject to
which I have devoted some little attention. I
have here four letters which purport to come
from the missing man. They are all typewritten.
In each case, not only are the `e`s` slurred and
the `r`s` tailless, but you will observe, if you
care to use my magnifying lens, that the
fourteen other characteristics to which I have
alluded are there as well."
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and
picked up his hat. "I cannot waste time over
this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," he
said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and
let me know when you have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and
turning the key in the door. "I let you know,
then, that I have caught him!"
"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning
white to his lips and glancing about him like a
rat in a trap.
"Oh, it won`t do--really it won`t," said
Holmes suavely. "There is no possible getting
out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too
transparent, and it was a very bad compliment
when you said that it was impossible for me to
solve so simple a question. That`s right! Sit
down and let us talk it over."
Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a
ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his
brow. "It--it`s not actionable," he stammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not. But
between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel
and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way
as ever came before me. Now, let me just run
over the course of events, and you will
contradict me if I go wrong."
The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his
head sunk upon his breast, like one who is
utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the
corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with
his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather
to himself, as it seemed, than to us.
"The man married a woman very much older than
himself for her money," said he, "and he enjoyed
the use of the money of the daughter as long as
she lived with them. It was a considerable sum,
for people in their position, and the loss of it
would have made a serious difference. It was
worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was
of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate
and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was
evident that with her fair personal advantages,
and her little income, she would not be allowed
to remain single long. Now her marriage would
mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year,
so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He
takes the obvious course of keeping her at home
and forbidding her to seek the company of people
of her own age. But soon he found that that
would not answer forever. She became restive,
insisted upon her rights, and finally announced
her positive intention of going to a certain
ball. What does her clever stepfather do then?
He conceives an idea more creditable to his head
than to his heart. With the connivance and
assistance of his wife he disguised himself,
covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses,
masked the face with a moustache and a pair of
bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an
insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on
account of the girl`s short sight, he appears as
Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by
making love himself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our
visitor. "We never thought that she would have
been so carried away."
"Very likely not. However that may be, the
young lady was very decidedly carried away, and,
having quite made up her mind that her
stepfather was in France, the suspicion of
treachery never for an instant entered her mind.
She was flattered by the gentleman`s attentions,
and the effect was increased by the loudly
expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr.
Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the
matter should be pushed as far as it would go if
a real effect were to be produced. There were
meetings, and an engagement, which would finally
secure the girl`s affections from turning
towards anyone else. But the deception could not
be kept up forever. These pretended journeys to
France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was
clearly to bring the business to an end in such
a dramatic manner that it would leave a
permanent impression upon the young lady`s mind
and prevent her from looking upon any other
suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows
of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence
also the allusions to a possibility of something
happening on the very morning of the wedding.
James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so
bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to
his fate, that for ten years to come, at any
rate, she would not listen to another man. As
far as the church door he brought her, and then,
as he could go no farther, he conveniently
vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at
one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other.
I think that was the chain of events, Mr.
Windibank!"
Our visitor had recovered something of his
assurance while Holmes had been talking, and he
rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon
his pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,"
said he, "but if you are so very sharp you ought
to be sharp enough to know that it is you who
are breaking the law now, and not me. I have
done nothing actionable from the first, but as
long as you keep that door locked you lay
yourself open to an action for assault and
illegal constraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said
Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door,
"yet there never was a man who deserved
punishment more. If the young lady has a brother
or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your
shoulders. By Jove!" he continued, flushing up
at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man`s
face, "it is not part of my duties to my client,
but here`s a hunting crop handy, and I think I
shall just treat myself to--" He took two swift
steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it
there was a wild clatter of steps upon the
stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the
window we could see Mr. James Windibank running
at the top of his speed down the road.
"There`s a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said
Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into
his chair once more. "That fellow will rise from
crime to crime until he does something very bad,
and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some
respects, been not entirely devoid of interest."
"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of
your reasoning," I remarked.
"Well, of course it was obvious from the
first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have some
strong object for his curious conduct, and it
was equally clear that the only man who really
profited by the incident, as far as we could
see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the
two men were never together, but that the one
always appeared when the other was away, was
suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and
the curious voice, which both hinted at a
disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My
suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar
action in typewriting his signature, which, of
course, inferred that his handwriting was so
familiar to her that she would recognise even
the smallest sample of it. You see all these
isolated facts, together with many minor ones,
all pointed in the same direction."
"And how did you verify them?"
"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to
get corroboration. I knew the firm for which
this man worked. Having taken the printed
description. I eliminated everything from it
which could be the result of a disguise--the
whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it
to the firm, with a request that they would
inform me whether it answered to the description
of any of their travellers. I had already
noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and
I wrote to the man himself at his business
address asking him if he would come here. As I
expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed
the same trivial but characteristic defects. The
same post brought me a letter from Westhouse &
Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the
description tallied in every respect with that
of their employé¬ James Windibank. Voilà ´out!"
"And Miss Sutherland?"
"If I tell her she will not believe me. You
may remember the old Persian saying, `There is
danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and
danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a
woman.` There is as much sense in Hafiz as in
Horace, and as much knowledge of the world."
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THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid
brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock
Holmes and ran in this way:
"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have
just been wired for from the west of England in
connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall
be glad if you will come with me. Air and
scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15."
"What do you say, dear?" said my wife,
looking across at me. "Will you go?"
"I really don`t know what to say. I have a
fairly long list at present."
"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you.
You have been looking a little pale lately. I
think that the change would do you good, and you
are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes`
cases."
"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing
what I gained through one of them," I answered.
"But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I
have only half an hour."
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had
at least had the effect of making me a prompt
and ready traveller. My wants were few and
simple, so that in less than the time stated I
was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to
Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing
up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure
made even gaunter and taller by his long grey
travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
"It is really very good of you to come,
Watson," said he. "It makes a considerable
difference to me, having someone with me on whom
I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always
either worthless or else biassed. If you will
keep the two corner seats I shall get the
tickets."
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an
immense litter of papers which Holmes had
brought with him. Among these he rummaged and
read, with intervals of note-taking and of
meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he
suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball
and tossed them up onto the rack.
"Have you heard anything of the case?" he
asked.
"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some
days."
"The London press has not had very full
accounts. I have just been looking through all
the recent papers in order to master the
particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be
one of those simple cases which are so extremely
difficult."
"That sounds a little paradoxical."
"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is
almost invariably a clue. The more featureless
and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult
it is to bring it home. In this case, however,
they have established a very serious case
against the son of the murdered man."
"It is a murder, then?"
"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall
take nothing for granted until I have the
opportunity of looking personally into it. I
will explain the state of things to you, as far
as I have been able to understand it, in a very
few words.
"Boscombe Valley is a country district not
very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The
largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr.
John Turner, who made his money in Australia and
returned some years ago to the old country. One
of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley,
was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an
ex-Australian. The men had known each other in
the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that
when they came to settle down they should do so
as near each other as possible. Turner was
apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became
his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon
terms of perfect equality, as they were
frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad
of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of
the same age, but neither of them had wives
living. They appear to have avoided the society
of the neighbouring English families and to have
led retired lives, though both the McCarthys
were fond of sport and were frequently seen at
the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy
kept two servants--a man and a girl. Turner had
a considerable household, some half-dozen at the
least. That is as much as I have been able to
gather about the families. Now for the facts.
"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last,
McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three
in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe
Pool, which is a small lake formed by the
spreading out of the stream which runs down the
Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his
serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had
told the man that he must hurry, as he had an
appointment of importance to keep at three. From
that appointment he never came back alive.
"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe
Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw
him as he passed over this ground. One was an
old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the
other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the
employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses
depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The
game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of
his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his
son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with
a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief,
the father was actually in sight at the time,
and the son was following him. He thought no
more of the matter until he heard in the evening
of the tragedy that had occurred.
"The two McCarthys were seen after the time
when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost
sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly
wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of
reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen,
Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the
lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was
in one of the woods picking flowers. She states
that while she was there she saw, at the border
of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy
and his son, and that they appeared to be having
a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the
elder using very strong language to his son, and
she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to
strike his father. She was so frightened by
their violence that she ran away and told her
mother when she reached home that she had left
the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe
Pool, and that she was afraid that they were
going to fight. She had hardly said the words
when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the
lodge to say that he had found his father dead
in the wood, and to ask for the help of the
lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without
either his gun or his hat, and his right hand
and sleeve were observed to be stained with
fresh blood. On following him they found the
dead body stretched out upon the grass beside
the pool. The head had been beaten in by
repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.
The injuries were such as might very well have
been inflicted by the butt-end of his son`s gun,
which was found lying on the grass within a few
paces of the body. Under these circumstances the
young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict
of `wilful murder` having been returned at the
inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought
before the magistrates at Ross, who have
referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are
the main facts of the case as they came out
before the coroner and the police-court."
"I could hardly imagine a more damning case,"
I remarked. "If ever circumstantial evidence
pointed to a criminal it does so here."
"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky
thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully. "It may
seem to point very straight to one thing, but if
you shift your own point of view a little, you
may find it pointing in an equally
uncompromising manner to something entirely
different. It must be confessed, however, that
the case looks exceedingly grave against the
young man, and it is very possible that he is
indeed the culprit. There are several people in
the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss
Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring
landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who
have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect
in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work
out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being
rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and
hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are
flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead
of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."
"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so
obvious that you will find little credit to be
gained out of this case."
"There is nothing more deceptive than an
obvious fact," he answered, laughing. "Besides,
we may chance to hit upon some other obvious
facts which may have been by no means obvious to
Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that
I am boasting when I say that I shall either
confirm or destroy his theory by means which he
is quite incapable of employing, or even of
understanding. To take the first example to
hand, I very clearly perceive that in your
bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side,
and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would
have noted even so self-evident a thing as
that."
"How on earth--"
"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the
military neatness which characterises you. You
shave every morning, and in this season you
shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is
less and less complete as we get farther back on
the left side, until it becomes positively
slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw,
it is surely very clear that that side is less
illuminated than the other. I could not imagine
a man of your habits looking at himself in an
equal light and being satisfied with such a
result. I only quote this as a trivial example
of observation and inference. Therein lies my
mé´©er, and it is just possible that it may be
of some service in the investigation which lies
before us. There are one or two minor points
which were brought out in the inquest, and which
are worth considering."
"What are they?"
"It appears that his arrest did not take
place at once, but after the return to Hatherley
Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing
him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he
was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no
more than his deserts. This observation of his
had the natural effect of removing any traces of
doubt which might have remained in the minds of
the coroner`s jury."
"It was a confession," I ejaculated.
"No, for it was followed by a protestation of
innocence."
"Coming on the top of such a damning series
of events, it was at least a most suspicious
remark."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the
brightest rift which I can at present see in the
clouds. However innocent he might be, he could
not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see
that the circumstances were very black against
him. Had he appeared surprised at his own
arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should
have looked upon it as highly suspicious,
because such surprise or anger would not be
natural under the circumstances, and yet might
appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.
His frank acceptance of the situation marks him
as either an innocent man, or else as a man of
considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to
his remark about his deserts, it was also not
unnatural if you consider that he stood beside
the dead body of his father, and that there is
no doubt that he had that very day so far
forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with
him, and even, according to the little girl
whose evidence is so important, to raise his
hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and
contrition which are displayed in his remark
appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind
rather than of a guilty one."
I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged
on far slighter evidence," I remarked.
"So they have. And many men have been
wrongfully hanged."
"What is the young man`s own account of the
matter?"
"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to
his supporters, though there are one or two
points in it which are suggestive. You will find
it here, and may read it for yourself."
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the
local Herefordshire paper, and having turned
down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in
which the unfortunate young man had given his
own statement of what had occurred. I settled
myself down in the corner of the carriage and
read it very carefully. It ran in this way:
"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the
deceased, was then called and gave evidence as
follows: `I had been away from home for three
days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon
the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father
was absent from home at the time of my arrival,
and I was informed by the maid that he had
driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom.
Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of
his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my
window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out
of the yard, though I was not aware in which
direction he was going. I then took my gun and
strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe
Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit
warren which is upon the other side. On my way I
saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had
stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in
thinking that I was following my father. I had
no idea that he was in front of me. When about a
hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of
"Cooee!" which was a usual signal between my
father and myself. I then hurried forward, and
found him standing by the pool. He appeared to
be much surprised at seeing me and asked me
rather roughly what I was doing there. A
conversation ensued which led to high words and
almost to blows, for my father was a man of a
very violent temper. Seeing that his passion was
becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned
towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than
150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous
outcry behind me, which caused me to run back
again. I found my father expiring upon the
ground, with his head terribly injured. I
dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he
almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for
some minutes, and then made my way to Mr.
Turner`s lodge-keeper, his house being the
nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one
near my father when I returned, and I have no
idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a
popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding
in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no
active enemies. I know nothing further of the
matter.`
"The Coroner: Did your father make any
statement to you before he died?
"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could
only catch some allusion to a rat.
"The Coroner: What did you understand by
that?
"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I
thought that he was delirious.
"The Coroner: What was the point upon which
you and your father had this final quarrel?
"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.
"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press
it.
"Witness: It is really impossible for me to
tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing
to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
"The Coroner: That is for the court to
decide. I need not point out to you that your
refusal to answer will prejudice your case
considerably in any future proceedings which may
arise.
"Witness: I must still refuse.
"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of
`Cooee` was a common signal between you and your
father?
"Witness: It was.
"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he
uttered it before he saw you, and before he even
knew that you had returned from Bristol?
"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do
not know.
"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused
your suspicions when you returned on hearing the
cry and found your father fatally injured?
"Witness: Nothing definite.
"The Coroner: What do you mean?
"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I
rushed out into the open, that I could think of
nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague
impression that as I ran forward something lay
upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to
me to be something grey in colour, a coat of
some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from
my father I looked round for it, but it was
gone.
"`Do you mean that it disappeared before you
went for help?`
"`Yes, it was gone.`
"`You cannot say what it was?`
"`No, I had a feeling something was there.`
"`How far from the body?`
"`A dozen yards or so.`
"`And how far from the edge of the wood?`
"`About the same.`
"`Then if it was removed it was while you
were within a dozen yards of it?`
"`Yes, but with my back towards it.`
"This concluded the examination of the
witness."
"I see," said I as I glanced down the column,
"that the coroner in his concluding remarks was
rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls
attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy
about his father having signalled to him before
seeing him, also to his refusal to give details
of his conversation with his father, and his
singular account of his father`s dying words.
They are all, as he remarks, very much against
the son."
Holmes laughed softly to himself and
stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat.
"Both you and the coroner have been at some
pains," said he, "to single out the very
strongest points in the young man`s favour.
Don`t you see that you alternately give him
credit for having too much imagination and too
little? Too little, if he could not invent a
cause of quarrel which would give him the
sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved
from his own inner consciousness anything so
outré ¡s a dying reference to a rat, and the
incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I
shall approach this case from the point of view
that what this young man says is true, and we
shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us.
And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not
another word shall I say of this case until we
are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon,
and I see that we shall be there in twenty
minutes."
It was nearly four o`clock when we at last,
after passing through the beautiful Stroud
Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,
found ourselves at the pretty little
country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like man,
furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon
the platform. In spite of the light brown
dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in
deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no
difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland
Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms
where a room had already been engaged for us.
"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as
we sat over a cup of tea. "I knew your energetic
nature, and that you would not be happy until
you had been on the scene of the crime."
"It was very nice and complimentary of you,"
Holmes answered. "It is entirely a question of
barometric pressure."
Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite
follow," he said.
"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No
wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a
caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking,
and the sofa is very much superior to the usual
country hotel abomination. I do not think that
it is probable that I shall use the carriage
to-night."
Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no
doubt, already formed your conclusions from the
newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain as a
pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the
plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can`t
refuse a lady, and such a very positive one,
too. She has heard of you, and would have your
opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there
was nothing which you could do which I had not
already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her
carriage at the door."
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into
the room one of the most lovely young women that
I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes
shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her
cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost
in her overpowering excitement and concern.
"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried,
glancing from one to the other of us, and
finally, with a woman`s quick intuition,
fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that
you have come. I have driven down to tell you
so. I know that James didn`t do it. I know it,
and I want you to start upon your work knowing
it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that
point. We have known each other since we were
little children, and I know his faults as no one
else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt
a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who
really knows him."
"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said
Sherlock Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all
that I can."
"But you have read the evidence. You have
formed some conclusion? Do you not see some
loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think
that he is innocent?"
"I think that it is very probable."
"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her
head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. "You
hear! He gives me hopes."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid
that my colleague has been a little quick in
forming his conclusions," he said.
"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is
right. James never did it. And about his quarrel
with his father, I am sure that the reason why
he would not speak about it to the coroner was
because I was concerned in it."
"In what way?" asked Holmes.
"It is no time for me to hide anything. James
and his father had many disagreements about me.
Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should
be a marriage between us. James and I have
always loved each other as brother and sister;
but of course he is young and has seen very
little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally
did not wish to do anything like that yet. So
there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was
one of them."
"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in
favour of such a union?"
"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr.
McCarthy was in favour of it." A quick blush
passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot
one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
"Thank you for this information," said he.
"May I see your father if I call to-morrow?"
"I am afraid the doctor won`t allow it."
"The doctor?"
"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has
never been strong for years back, but this has
broken him down completely. He has taken to his
bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and
that his nervous system is shattered. Mr.
McCarthy was the only man alive who had known
dad in the old days in Victoria."
"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."
"Yes, at the mines."
"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I
understand, Mr. Turner made his money."
"Yes, certainly."
"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of
material assistance to me."
"You will tell me if you have any news
to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to
see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell
him that I know him to be innocent."
"I will, Miss Turner."
"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and
he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and
God help you in your undertaking." She hurried
from the room as impulsively as she had entered,
and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle
off down the street.
"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade
with dignity after a few minutes` silence. "Why
should you raise up hopes which you are bound to
disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I
call it cruel."
"I think that I see my way to clearing James
McCarthy," said Holmes. "Have you an order to
see him in prison?"
"Yes, but only for you and me."
"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about
going out. We have still time to take a train to
Hereford and see him to-night?"
"Ample."
"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you
will find it very slow, but I shall only be away
a couple of hours."
I walked down to the station with them, and
then wandered through the streets of the little
town, finally returning to the hotel, where I
lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself
in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the
story was so thin, however, when compared to the
deep mystery through which we were groping, and
I found my attention wander so continually from
the action to the fact, that I at last flung it
across the room and gave myself up entirely to a
consideration of the events of the day.
Supposing that this unhappy young man`s story
were absolutely true, then what hellish thing,
what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary
calamity could have occurred between the time
when he parted from his father, and the moment
when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into
the glade? It was something terrible and deadly.
What could it be? Might not the nature of the
injuries reveal something to my medical
instincts? I rang the bell and called for the
weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim
account of the inquest. In the surgeon`s
deposition it was stated that the posterior
third of the left parietal bone and the left
half of the occipital bone had been shattered by
a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the
spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must
have been struck from behind. That was to some
extent in favour of the accused, as when seen
quarrelling he was face to face with his father.
Still, it did not go for very much, for the
older man might have turned his back before the
blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to
call Holmes` attention to it. Then there was the
peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could
that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying
from a sudden blow does not commonly become
delirious. No, it was more likely to be an
attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what
could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find
some possible explanation. And then the incident
of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If
that were true the murderer must have dropped
some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat,
in his flight, and must have had the hardihood
to return and to carry it away at the instant
when the son was kneeling with his back turned
not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of
mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing
was! I did not wonder at Lestrade`s opinion, and
yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes`
insight that I could not lose hope as long as
every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his
conviction of young McCarthy`s innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned.
He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in
lodgings in the town.
"The glass still keeps very high," he
remarked as he sat down. "It is of importance
that it should not rain before we are able to go
over the ground. On the other hand, a man should
be at his very best and keenest for such nice
work as that, and I did not wish to do it when
fagged by a long journey. I have seen young
McCarthy."
"And what did you learn from him?"
"Nothing."
"Could he throw no light?"
"None at all. I was inclined to think at one
time that he knew who had done it and was
screening him or her, but I am convinced now
that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is
not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to
look at and, I should think, sound at heart."
"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if
it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a
marriage with so charming a young lady as this
Miss Turner."
"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale.
This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with
her, but some two years ago, when he was only a
lad, and before he really knew her, for she had
been away five years at a boarding-school, what
does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a
barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry
office? No one knows a word of the matter, but
you can imagine how maddening it must be to him
to be upbraided for not doing what he would give
his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be
absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of
this sort which made him throw his hands up into
the air when his father, at their last
interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss
Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of
supporting himself, and his father, who was by
all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown
him over utterly had he known the truth. It was
with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last
three days in Bristol, and his father did not
know where he was. Mark that point. It is of
importance. Good has come out of evil, however,
for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he
is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged,
has thrown him over utterly and has written to
him to say that she has a husband already in the
Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie
between them. I think that that bit of news has
consoled young McCarthy for all that he has
suffered."
"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
"Ah! who? I would call your attention very
particularly to two points. One is that the
murdered man had an appointment with someone at
the pool, and that the someone could not have
been his son, for his son was away, and he did
not know when he would return. The second is
that the murdered man was heard to cry `Cooee!`
before he knew that his son had returned. Those
are the crucial points upon which the case
depends. And now let us talk about George
Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all
minor matters until to-morrow."
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold,
and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At
nine o`clock Lestrade called for us with the
carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and
the Boscombe Pool.
"There is serious news this morning,"
Lestrade observed. "It is said that Mr. Turner,
of the Hall, is so ill that his life is
despaired of."
"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.
"About sixty; but his constitution has been
shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in
failing health for some time. This business has
had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old
friend of McCarthy`s, and, I may add, a great
benefactor to him, for I have learned that he
gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has
helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his
kindness to him."
"Really! Does it not strike you as a little
singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have
had little of his own, and to have been under
such obligations to Turner, should still talk of
marrying his son to Turner`s daughter, who is,
presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in
such a very cocksure manner, as if it were
merely a case of a proposal and all else would
follow? It is the more strange, since we know
that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The
daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce
something from that?"
"We have got to the deductions and the
inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I
find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes,
without flying away after theories and fancies."
"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you
do find it very hard to tackle the facts."
"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you
seem to find it difficult to get hold of,"
replied Lestrade with some warmth.
"And that is--"
"That McCarthy senior met his death from
McCarthy junior and that all theories to the
contrary are the merest moonshine."
"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than
fog," said Holmes, laughing. "But I am very much
mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the
left."
"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread,
comfortable-looking building, two-storied,
slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of
lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and
the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a
stricken look, as though the weight of this
horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the
door, when the maid, at Holmes` request, showed
us the boots which her master wore at the time
of his death, and also a pair of the son`s,
though not the pair which he had then had.
Having measured these very carefully from seven
or eight different points, Holmes desired to be
led to the court-yard, from which we all
followed the winding track which led to Boscombe
Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was
hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only
known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker
Street would have failed to recognise him. His
face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn
into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone
out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His
face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his
lips compressed, and the veins stood out like
whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils
seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for
the chase, and his mind was so absolutely
concentrated upon the matter before him that a
question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears,
or, at the most, only provoked a quick,
impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently
he made his way along the track which ran
through the meadows, and so by way of the woods
to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy
ground, as is all that district, and there were
marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid
the short grass which bounded it on either side.
Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop
dead, and once he made quite a little detour
into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind
him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,
while I watched my friend with the interest
which sprang from the conviction that every one
of his actions was directed towards a definite
end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little
reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards
across, is situated at the boundary between the
Hatherley Farm and the private park of the
wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined
it upon the farther side we could see the red,
jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the
rich landowner`s dwelling. On the Hatherley side
of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there
was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces
across between the edge of the trees and the
reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us
the exact spot at which the body had been found,
and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I
could plainly see the traces which had been left
by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I
could see by his eager face and peering eyes,
very many other things were to be read upon the
trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is
picking up a scent, and then turned upon my
companion.
"What did you go into the pool for?" he
asked.
"I fished about with a rake. I thought there
might be some weapon or other trace. But how on
earth--"
"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot
of yours with its inward twist is all over the
place. A mole could trace it, and there it
vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it
would all have been had I been here before they
came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all
over it. Here is where the party with the
lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all
tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But
here are three separate tracks of the same
feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his
waterproof to have a better view, talking all
the time rather to himself than to us. "These
are young McCarthy`s feet. Twice he was walking,
and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are
deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That
bears out his story. He ran when he saw his
father on the ground. Then here are the father`s
feet as he paced up and down. What is this,
then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son
stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we
here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite
unusual boots! They come, they go, they come
again--of course that was for the cloak. Now
where did they come from?" He ran up and down,
sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track
until we were well within the edge of the wood
and under the shadow of a great beech, the
largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced
his way to the farther side of this and lay down
once more upon his face with a little cry of
satisfaction. For a long time he remained there,
turning over the leaves and dried sticks,
gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into
an envelope and examining with his lens not only
the ground but even the bark of the tree as far
as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying
among the moss, and this also he carefully
examined and retained. Then he followed a
pathway through the wood until he came to the
highroad, where all traces were lost.
"It has been a case of considerable
interest," he remarked, returning to his natural
manner. "I fancy that this grey house on the
right must be the lodge. I think that I will go
in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write
a little note. Having done that, we may drive
back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,
and I shall be with you presently."
It was about ten minutes before we regained
our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still
carrying with him the stone which he had picked
up in the wood.
"This may interest you, Lestrade," he
remarked, holding it out. "The murder was done
with it."
"I see no marks."
"There are none."
"How do you know, then?"
"The grass was growing under it. It had only
lain there a few days. There was no sign of a
place whence it had been taken. It corresponds
with the injuries. There is no sign of any other
weapon."
"And the murderer?"
"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the
right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and
a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a
cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in
his pocket. There are several other indications,
but these may be enough to aid us in our
search."
Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am
still a sceptic," he said. "Theories are all
very well, but we have to deal with a
hard-headed British jury."
"Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You
work your own method, and I shall work mine. I
shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably
return to London by the evening train."
"And leave your case unfinished?"
"No, finished."
"But the mystery?"
"It is solved."
"Who was the criminal, then?"
"The gentleman I describe."
"But who is he?"
"Surely it would not be difficult to find
out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a
practical man," he said, "and I really cannot
undertake to go about the country looking for a
left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should
become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."
"All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have
given you the chance. Here are your lodgings.
Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I
leave."
Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove
to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the
table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought
with a pained expression upon his face, as one
who finds himself in a perplexing position.
"Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth
was cleared "just sit down in this chair and let
me preach to you for a little. I don`t know
quite what to do, and I should value your
advice. Light a cigar and let me expound."
"Pray do so."
"Well, now, in considering this case there
are two points about young McCarthy`s narrative
which struck us both instantly, although they
impressed me in his favour and you against him.
One was the fact that his father should,
according to his account, cry `Cooee!` before
seeing him. The other was his singular dying
reference to a rat. He mumbled several words,
you understand, but that was all that caught the
son`s ear. Now from this double point our
research must commence, and we will begin it by
presuming that what the lad says is absolutely
true."
"What of this `Cooee!` then?"
"Well, obviously it could not have been meant
for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in
Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within
earshot. The `Cooee!` was meant to attract the
attention of whoever it was that he had the
appointment with. But `Cooee` is a distinctly
Australian cry, and one which is used between
Australians. There is a strong presumption that
the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at
Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in
Australia."
"What of the rat, then?"
Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his
pocket and flattened it out on the table. "This
is a map of the Colony of Victoria," he said. "I
wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his
hand over part of the map. "What do you read?"
"ARAT," I read.
"And now?" He raised his hand.
"BALLARAT."
"Quite so. That was the word the man uttered,
and of which his son only caught the last two
syllables. He was trying to utter the name of
his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."
"It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.
"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had
narrowed the field down considerably. The
possession of a grey garment was a third point
which, granting the son`s statement to be
correct, was a certainty. We have come now out
of mere vagueness to the definite conception of
an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak."
"Certainly."
"And one who was at home in the district, for
the pool can only be approached by the farm or
by the estate, where strangers could hardly
wander."
"Quite so."
"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an
examination of the ground I gained the trifling
details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade,
as to the personality of the criminal."
"But how did you gain them?"
"You know my method. It is founded upon the
observation of trifles."
"His height I know that you might roughly
judge from the length of his stride. His boots,
too, might be told from their traces."
"Yes, they were peculiar boots."
"But his lameness?"
"The impression of his right foot was always
less distinct than his left. He put less weight
upon it. Why? Because he limped--he was lame."
"But his left-handedness."
"You were yourself struck by the nature of
the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the
inquest. The blow was struck from immediately
behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how
can that be unless it were by a left-handed man?
He had stood behind that tree during the
interview between the father and son. He had
even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar,
which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes
enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I
have, as you know, devoted some attention to
this, and written a little monograph on the
ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar,
and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I
then looked round and discovered the stump among
the moss where he had tossed it. It was an
Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in
Rotterdam."
"And the cigar-holder?"
"I could see that the end had not been in his
mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had
been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was
not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt
pen-knife."
"Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round
this man from which he cannot escape, and you
have saved an innocent human life as truly as if
you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I
see the direction in which all this points. The
culprit is--"
"Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter,
opening the door of our sitting-room, and
ushering in a visitor.
The man who entered was a strange and
impressive figure. His slow, limping step and
bowed shoulders gave the appearance of
decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined,
craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed
that he was possessed of unusual strength of
body and of character. His tangled beard,
grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping
eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and
power to his appearance, but his face was of an
ashen white, while his lips and the corners of
his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue.
It was clear to me at a glance that he was in
the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
"Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes
gently. "You had my note?"
"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You
said that you wished to see me here to avoid
scandal."
"I thought people would talk if I went to the
Hall."
"And why did you wish to see me?" He looked
across at my companion with despair in his weary
eyes, as though his question was already
answered.
"Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather
than the words. "It is so. I know all about
McCarthy."
The old man sank his face in his hands. "God
help me!" he cried. "But I would not have let
the young man come to harm. I give you my word
that I would have spoken out if it went against
him at the Assizes."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes
gravely.
"I would have spoken now had it not been for
my dear girl. It would break her heart--it will
break her heart when she hears that I am
arrested."
"It may not come to that," said Holmes.
"What?"
"I am no official agent. I understand that it
was your daughter who required my presence here,
and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy
must be got off, however."
"I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have
had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a
question whether I shall live a month. Yet I
would rather die under my own roof than in a
gaol."
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with
his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before
him. "Just tell us the truth," he said. "I shall
jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson
here can witness it. Then I could produce your
confession at the last extremity to save young
McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it
unless it is absolutely needed."
"It`s as well," said the old man; "it`s a
question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so
it matters little to me, but I should wish to
spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the
thing clear to you; it has been a long time in
the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
"You didn`t know this dead man, McCarthy. He
was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep
you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His
grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he
has blasted my life. I`ll tell you first how I
came to be in his power.
"It was in the early `60`s at the diggings. I
was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless,
ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among
bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with
my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became
what you would call over here a highway robber.
There were six of us, and we had a wild, free
life of it, sticking up a station from time to
time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the
diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I
went under, and our party is still remembered in
the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
"One day a gold convoy came down from
Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it
and attacked it. There were six troopers and six
of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied
four of their saddles at the first volley. Three
of our boys were killed, however, before we got
the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the
wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I
wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I
spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes
fixed on my face, as though to remember every
feature. We got away with the gold, became
wealthy men, and made our way over to England
without being suspected. There I parted from my
old pals and determined to settle down to a
quiet and respectable life. I bought this
estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I
set myself to do a little good with my money, to
make up for the way in which I had earned it. I
married, too, and though my wife died young she
left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was
just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down
the right path as nothing else had ever done. In
a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best
to make up for the past. All was going well when
McCarthy laid his grip upon me.
"I had gone up to town about an investment,
and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a
coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
"`Here we are, Jack,` says he, touching me on
the arm; `we`ll be as good as a family to you.
There`s two of us, me and my son, and you can
have the keeping of us. If you don`t--it`s a
fine, law-abiding country is England, and
there`s always a policeman within hail.`
"Well, down they came to the west country,
there was no shaking them off, and there they
have lived rent free on my best land ever since.
There was no rest for me, no peace, no
forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his
cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew
worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was
more afraid of her knowing my past than of the
police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and
whatever it was I gave him without question,
land, money, houses, until at last he asked a
thing which I could not give. He asked for
Alice.
"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had
my girl, and as I was known to be in weak
health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his
lad should step into the whole property. But
there I was firm. I would not have his cursed
stock mixed with mine; not that I had any
dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him,
and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy
threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We
were to meet at the pool midway between our
houses to talk it over.
"When I went down there I found him talking
with his son, so I smoked a cigar and waited
behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I
listened to his talk all that was black and
bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was
urging his son to marry my daughter with as
little regard for what she might think as if she
were a slut from off the streets. It drove me
mad to think that I and all that I held most
dear should be in the power of such a man as
this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a
dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind
and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own
fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both
could be saved if I could but silence that foul
tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it
again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a
life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my
girl should be entangled in the same meshes
which held me was more than I could suffer. I
struck him down with no more compunction than if
he had been some foul and venomous beast. His
cry brought back his son; but I had gained the
cover of the wood, though I was forced to go
back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in
my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of
all that occurred."
"Well, it is not for me to judge you," said
Holmes as the old man signed the statement which
had been drawn out. "I pray that we may never be
exposed to such a temptation."
"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to
do?"
"In view of your health, nothing. You are
yourself aware that you will soon have to answer
for your deed at a higher court than the
Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if
McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use
it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal
eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or
dead, shall be safe with us."
"Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly.
"Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the
easier for the thought of the peace which you
have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in
all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the
room.
"God help us!" said Holmes after a long
silence. "Why does fate play such tricks with
poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a
case as this that I do not think of Baxter`s
words, and say, `There, but for the grace of
God, goes Sherlock Holmes.`"
James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes
on the strength of a number of objections which
had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to
the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for
seven months after our interview, but he is now
dead; and there is every prospect that the son
and daughter may come to live happily together
in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon
their past.
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THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases
between the years `82 and `90, I am faced by so
many which present strange and interesting
features that it is no easy matter to know which
to choose and which to leave. Some, however,
have already gained publicity through the
papers, and others have not offered a field for
those peculiar qualities which my friend
possessed in so high a degree, and which it is
the object of these papers to illustrate. Some,
too, have baffled his analytical skill, and
would be, as narratives, beginnings without an
ending, while others have been but partially
cleared up, and have their explanations founded
rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that
absolute logical proof which was so dear to him.
There is, however, one of these last which was
so remarkable in its details and so startling in
its results that I am tempted to give some
account of it in spite of the fact that there
are points in connection with it which never
have been, and probably never will be, entirely
cleared up.
The year `87 furnished us with a long series
of cases of greater or less interest, of which I
retain the records. Among my headings under this
one twelve months I find an account of the
adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur
Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in
the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the
facts connected with the loss of the British
barque "Sophy Anderson", of the singular
adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island
of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning
case. In the latter, as may be remembered,
Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead
man`s watch, to prove that it had been wound up
two hours before, and that therefore the
deceased had gone to bed within that time--a
deduction which was of the greatest importance
in clearing up the case. All these I may sketch
out at some future date, but none of them
present such singular features as the strange
train of circumstances which I have now taken up
my pen to describe.
It was in the latter days of September, and
the equinoctial gales had set in with
exceptional violence. All day the wind had
screamed and the rain had beaten against the
windows, so that even here in the heart of
great, hand-made London we were forced to raise
our minds for the instant from the routine of
life and to recognise the presence of those
great elemental forces which shriek at mankind
through the bars of his civilisation, like
untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in,
the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind
cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney.
Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the
fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime,
while I at the other was deep in one of Clark
Russell`s fine sea-stories until the howl of the
gale from without seemed to blend with the text,
and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into
the long swash of the sea waves. My wife was on
a visit to her mother`s, and for a few days I
was a dweller once more in my old quarters at
Baker Street.
"Why," said I, glancing up at my companion,
"that was surely the bell. Who could come
to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?"
"Except yourself I have none," he answered.
"I do not encourage visitors."
"A client, then?"
"If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less
would bring a man out on such a day and at such
an hour. But I take it that it is more likely to
be some crony of the landlady`s."
Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture,
however, for there came a step in the passage
and a tapping at the door. He stretched out his
long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and
towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer
must sit.
"Come in!" said he.
The man who entered was young, some
two-and-twenty at the outside, well-groomed and
trimly clad, with something of refinement and
delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella
which he held in his hand, and his long shining
waterproof told of the fierce weather through
which he had come. He looked about him anxiously
in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that
his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those
of a man who is weighed down with some great
anxiety.
"I owe you an apology," he said, raising his
golden pince-nez to his eyes. "I trust that I am
not intruding. I fear that I have brought some
traces of the storm and rain into your snug
chamber."
"Give me your coat and umbrella," said
Holmes. "They may rest here on the hook and will
be dry presently. You have come up from the
south-west, I see."
"Yes, from Horsham."
"That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon
your toe caps is quite distinctive."
"I have come for advice."
"That is easily got."
"And help."
"That is not always so easy."
"I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard
from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the
Tankerville Club scandal."
"Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of
cheating at cards."
"He said that you could solve anything."
"He said too much."
"That you are never beaten."
"I have been beaten four times--three times
by men, and once by a woman."
"But what is that compared with the number of
your successes?"
"It is true that I have been generally
successful."
"Then you may be so with me."
"I beg that you will draw your chair up to
the fire and favour me with some details as to
your case."
"It is no ordinary one."
"None of those which come to me are. I am the
last court of appeal."
"And yet I question, sir, whether, in all
your experience, you have ever listened to a
more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events
than those which have happened in my own
family."
"You fill me with interest," said Holmes.
"Pray give us the essential facts from the
commencement, and I can afterwards question you
as to those details which seem to me to be most
important."
The young man pulled his chair up and pushed
his wet feet out towards the blaze.
"My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my
own affairs have, as far as I can understand,
little to do with this awful business. It is a
hereditary matter; so in order to give you an
idea of the facts, I must go back to the
commencement of the affair.
"You must know that my grandfather had two
sons--my uncle Elias and my father Joseph. My
father had a small factory at Coventry, which he
enlarged at the time of the invention of
bicycling. He was a patentee of the Openshaw
unbreakable tire, and his business met with such
success that he was able to sell it and to
retire upon a handsome competence.
"My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he
was a young man and became a planter in Florida,
where he was reported to have done very well. At
the time of the war he fought in Jackson`s army,
and afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a
colonel. When Lee laid down his arms my uncle
returned to his plantation, where he remained
for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he
came back to Europe and took a small estate in
Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very
considerable fortune in the States, and his
reason for leaving them was his aversion to the
negroes, and his dislike of the Republican
policy in extending the franchise to them. He
was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered,
very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a
most retiring disposition. During all the years
that he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever he set
foot in the town. He had a garden and two or
three fields round his house, and there he would
take his exercise, though very often for weeks
on end he would never leave his room. He drank a
great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily,
but he would see no society and did not want any
friends, not even his own brother.
"He didn`t mind me; in fact, he took a fancy
to me, for at the time when he saw me first I
was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be
in the year 1878, after he had been eight or
nine years in England. He begged my father to
let me live with him and he was very kind to me
in his way. When he was sober he used to be fond
of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and
he would make me his representative both with
the servants and with the tradespeople, so that
by the time that I was sixteen I was quite
master of the house. I kept all the keys and
could go where I liked and do what I liked, so
long as I did not disturb him in his privacy.
There was one singular exception, however, for
he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the
attics, which was invariably locked, and which
he would never permit either me or anyone else
to enter. With a boy`s curiosity I have peeped
through the keyhole, but I was never able to see
more than such a collection of old trunks and
bundles as would be expected in such a room.
"One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter
with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front
of the colonel`s plate. It was not a common
thing for him to receive letters, for his bills
were all paid in ready money, and he had no
friends of any sort. `From India!` said he as he
took it up, `Pondicherry postmark! What can this
be?` Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five
little dried orange pips, which pattered down
upon his plate. I began to laugh at this, but
the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight
of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were
protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he
glared at the envelope which he still held in
his trembling hand, `K. K. K.!` he shrieked, and
then, `My God, my God, my sins have overtaken
me!`
"`What is it, uncle?` I cried.
"`Death,` said he, and rising from the table
he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating
with horror. I took up the envelope and saw
scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just
above the gum, the letter K three times
repeated. There was nothing else save the five
dried pips. What could be the reason of his
overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table,
and as I ascended the stair I met him coming
down with an old rusty key, which must have
belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small
brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.
"`They may do what they like, but I`ll
checkmate them still,` said he with an oath.
`Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room
to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham
lawyer.`
"I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer
arrived I was asked to step up to the room. The
fire was burning brightly, and in the grate
there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of
burned paper, while the brass box stood open and
empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I
noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was
printed the treble K which I had read in the
morning upon the envelope.
"`I wish you, John,` said my uncle, `to
witness my will. I leave my estate, with all its
advantages and all its disadvantages, to my
brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt,
descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace,
well and good! If you find you cannot, take my
advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest
enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged
thing, but I can`t say what turn things are
going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr.
Fordham shows you.`
"I signed the paper as directed, and the
lawyer took it away with him. The singular
incident made, as you may think, the deepest
impression upon me, and I pondered over it and
turned it every way in my mind without being
able to make anything of it. Yet I could not
shake off the vague feeling of dread which it
left behind, though the sensation grew less keen
as the weeks passed and nothing happened to
disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could
see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more
than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort
of society. Most of his time he would spend in
his room, with the door locked upon the inside,
but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of
drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house
and tear about the garden with a revolver in his
hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no
man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a
sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot
fits were over, however, he would rush
tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it
behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no
longer against the terror which lies at the
roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his
face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture,
as though it were new raised from a basin.
"Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr.
Holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there
came a night when he made one of those drunken
sallies from which he never came back. We found
him, when we went to search for him, face
downward in a little green-scummed pool, which
lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign
of any violence, and the water was but two feet
deep, so that the jury, having regard to his
known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of
`suicide.` But I, who knew how he winced from
the very thought of death, had much ado to
persuade myself that he had gone out of his way
to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my
father entered into possession of the estate,
and of some 14,000 pounds, which lay to his
credit at the bank."
"One moment," Holmes interposed, "your
statement is, I foresee, one of the most
remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me
have the date of the reception by your uncle of
the letter, and the date of his supposed
suicide."
"The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His
death was seven weeks later, upon the night of
May 2nd."
"Thank you. Pray proceed."
"When my father took over the Horsham
property, he, at my request, made a careful
examination of the attic, which had been always
locked up. We found the brass box there,
although its contents had been destroyed. On the
inside of the cover was a paper label, with the
initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and
`Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register`
written beneath. These, we presume, indicated
the nature of the papers which had been
destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest,
there was nothing of much importance in the
attic save a great many scattered papers and
note-books bearing upon my uncle`s life in
America. Some of them were of the war time and
showed that he had done his duty well and had
borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were
of a date during the reconstruction of the
Southern states, and were mostly concerned with
politics, for he had evidently taken a strong
part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who
had been sent down from the North.
"Well, it was the beginning of `84 when my
father came to live at Horsham, and all went as
well as possible with us until the January of
`85. On the fourth day after the new year I
heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as
we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he
was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one
hand and five dried orange pips in the
outstretched palm of the other one. He had
always laughed at what he called my
cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he
looked very scared and puzzled now that the same
thing had come upon himself.
"`Why, what on earth does this mean, John?`
he stammered.
"My heart had turned to lead. `It is K. K.
K.,` said I.
"He looked inside the envelope. `So it is,`
he cried. `Here are the very letters. But what
is this written above them?`
"`Put the papers on the sundial,` I read,
peeping over his shoulder.
"`What papers? What sundial?` he asked.
"`The sundial in the garden. There is no
other,` said I; `but the papers must be those
that are destroyed.`
"`Pooh!` said he, gripping hard at his
courage. `We are in a civilised land here, and
we can`t have tomfoolery of this kind. Where
does the thing come from?`
"`From Dundee,` I answered, glancing at the
postmark.
"`Some preposterous practical joke,` said he.
`What have I to do with sundials and papers? I
shall take no notice of such nonsense.`
"`I should certainly speak to the police,` I
said.
"`And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of
the sort.`
"`Then let me do so?`
"`No, I forbid you. I won`t have a fuss made
about such nonsense.`
"It was in vain to argue with him, for he was
a very obstinate man. I went about, however,
with a heart which was full of forebodings.
"On the third day after the coming of the
letter my father went from home to visit an old
friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command
of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was
glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that
he was farther from danger when he was away from
home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the
second day of his absence I received a telegram
from the major, imploring me to come at once. My
father had fallen over one of the deep
chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood,
and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull.
I hurried to him, but he passed away without
having ever recovered his consciousness. He had,
as it appears, been returning from Fareham in
the twilight, and as the country was unknown to
him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no
hesitation in bringing in a verdict of `death
from accidental causes.` Carefully as I examined
every fact connected with his death, I was
unable to find anything which could suggest the
idea of murder. There were no signs of violence,
no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers
having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need
not tell you that my mind was far from at ease,
and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul
plot had been woven round him.
"In this sinister way I came into my
inheritance. You will ask me why I did not
dispose of it? I answer, because I was well
convinced that our troubles were in some way
dependent upon an incident in my uncle`s life,
and that the danger would be as pressing in one
house as in another.
"It was in January, `85, that my poor father
met his end, and two years and eight months have
elapsed since then. During that time I have
lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to
hope that this curse had passed away from the
family, and that it had ended with the last
generation. I had begun to take comfort too
soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell
in the very shape in which it had come upon my
father."
The young man took from his waistcoat a
crumpled envelope, and turning to the table he
shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.
"This is the envelope," he continued. "The
postmark is London--eastern division. Within are
the very words which were upon my father`s last
message: `K. K. K.`; and then `Put the papers on
the sundial.`"
"What have you done?" asked Holmes.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"To tell the truth"--he sank his face into
his thin, white hands--"I have felt helpless. I
have felt like one of those poor rabbits when
the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be
in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable
evil, which no foresight and no precautions can
guard against."
"Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must
act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy
can save you. This is no time for despair."
"I have seen the police."
"Ah!"
"But they listened to my story with a smile.
I am convinced that the inspector has formed the
opinion that the letters are all practical
jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were
really accidents, as the jury stated, and were
not to be connected with the warnings."
Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air.
"Incredible imbecility!" he cried.
"They have, however, allowed me a policeman,
who may remain in the house with me."
"Has he come with you to-night?"
"No. His orders were to stay in the house."
Again Holmes raved in the air.
"Why did you come to me," he cried, "and,
above all, why did you not come at once?"
"I did not know. It was only to-day that I
spoke to Major Prendergast about my troubles and
was advised by him to come to you."
"It is really two days since you had the
letter. We should have acted before this. You
have no further evidence, I suppose, than that
which you have placed before us--no suggestive
detail which might help us?"
"There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He
rummaged in his coat pocket, and, drawing out a
piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid
it out upon the table. "I have some
remembrance," said he, "that on the day when my
uncle burned the papers I observed that the
small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes
were of this particular colour. I found this
single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I
am inclined to think that it may be one of the
papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from
among the others, and in that way has escaped
destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do
not see that it helps us much. I think myself
that it is a page from some private diary. The
writing is undoubtedly my uncle`s."
Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over
the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged
edge that it had indeed been torn from a book.
It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were
the following enigmatical notices:
"4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.
"7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and
John Swain, of St. Augustine.
"9th. McCauley cleared.
"10th. John Swain cleared.
"12th. Visited Paramore. All well."
"Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the
paper and returning it to our visitor. "And now
you must on no account lose another instant. We
cannot spare time even to discuss what you have
told me. You must get home instantly and act."
"What shall I do?"
"There is but one thing to do. It must be
done at once. You must put this piece of paper
which you have shown us into the brass box which
you have described. You must also put in a note
to say that all the other papers were burned by
your uncle, and that this is the only one which
remains. You must assert that in such words as
will carry conviction with them. Having done
this, you must at once put the box out upon the
sundial, as directed. Do you understand?"
"Entirely."
"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the
sort, at present. I think that we may gain that
by means of the law; but we have our web to
weave, while theirs is already woven. The first
consideration is to remove the pressing danger
which threatens you. The second is to clear up
the mystery and to punish the guilty parties."
"I thank you," said the young man, rising and
pulling on his overcoat. "You have given me
fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you
advise."
"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take
care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not
think that there can be a doubt that you are
threatened by a very real and imminent danger.
How do you go back?"
"By train from Waterloo."
"It is not yet nine. The streets will be
crowded, so I trust that you may be in safety.
And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely."
"I am armed."
"That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work
upon your case."
"I shall see you at Horsham, then?"
"No, your secret lies in London. It is there
that I shall seek it."
"Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in
two days, with news as to the box and the
papers. I shall take your advice in every
particular." He shook hands with us and took his
leave. Outside the wind still screamed and the
rain splashed and pattered against the windows.
This strange, wild story seemed to have come to
us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us
like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale--and now to
have been reabsorbed by them once more.
Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence,
with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent
upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his
pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched
the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other
up to the ceiling.
"I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that
of all our cases we have had none more fantastic
than this."
"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."
"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this
John Openshaw seems to me to be walking amid
even greater perils than did the Sholtos."
"But have you," I asked, "formed any definite
conception as to what these perils are?"
"There can be no question as to their
nature," he answered.
"Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K.,
and why does he pursue this unhappy family?"
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed
his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his
finger-tips together. "The ideal reasoner," he
remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a
single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it
not only all the chain of events which led up to
it but also all the results which would follow
from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a
whole animal by the contemplation of a single
bone, so the observer who has thoroughly
understood one link in a series of incidents
should be able to accurately state all the other
ones, both before and after. We have not yet
grasped the results which the reason alone can
attain to. Problems may be solved in the study
which have baffled all those who have sought a
solution by the aid of their senses. To carry
the art, however, to its highest pitch, it is
necessary that the reasoner should be able to
utilise all the facts which have come to his
knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you
will readily see, a possession of all knowledge,
which, even in these days of free education and
encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare
accomplishment. It is not so impossible,
however, that a man should possess all knowledge
which is likely to be useful to him in his work,
and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If
I remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the
early days of our friendship, defined my limits
in a very precise fashion."
"Yes," I answered, laughing. "It was a
singular document. Philosophy, astronomy, and
politics were marked at zero, I remember. Botany
variable, geology profound as regards the
mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of
town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic,
sensational literature and crime records unique,
violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and
self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I
think, were the main points of my analysis."
Holmes grinned at the last item. "Well," he
said, "I say now, as I said then, that a man
should keep his little brain-attic stocked with
all the furniture that he is likely to use, and
the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of
his library, where he can get it if he wants it.
Now, for such a case as the one which has been
submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to
muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down
the letter K of the `American Encyclopaedia`
which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank
you. Now let us consider the situation and see
what may be deduced from it. In the first place,
we may start with a strong presumption that
Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for
leaving America. Men at his time of life do not
change all their habits and exchange willingly
the charming climate of Florida for the lonely
life of an English provincial town. His extreme
love of solitude in England suggests the idea
that he was in fear of someone or something, so
we may assume as a working hypothesis that it
was fear of someone or something which drove him
from America. As to what it was he feared, we
can only deduce that by considering the
formidable letters which were received by
himself and his successors. Did you remark the
postmarks of those letters?"
"The first was from Pondicherry, the second
from Dundee, and the third from London."
"From East London. What do you deduce from
that?"
"They are all seaports. That the writer was
on board of a ship."
"Excellent. We have already a clue. There can
be no doubt that the probability--the strong
probability--is that the writer was on board of
a ship. And now let us consider another point.
In the case of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed
between the threat and its fulfilment, in Dundee
it was only some three or four days. Does that
suggest anything?"
"A greater distance to travel."
"But the letter had also a greater distance
to come."
"Then I do not see the point."
"There is at least a presumption that the
vessel in which the man or men are is a
sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send
their singular warning or token before them when
starting upon their mission. You see how quickly
the deed followed the sign when it came from
Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a
steamer they would have arrived almost as soon
as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven
weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeks
represented the difference between the mail-boat
which brought the letter and the sailing vessel
which brought the writer."
"It is possible."
"More than that. It is probable. And now you
see the deadly urgency of this new case, and why
I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow has
always fallen at the end of the time which it
would take the senders to travel the distance.
But this one comes from London, and therefore we
cannot count upon delay."
"Good God!" I cried. "What can it mean, this
relentless persecution?"
"The papers which Openshaw carried are
obviously of vital importance to the person or
persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is
quite clear that there must be more than one of
them. A single man could not have carried out
two deaths in such a way as to deceive a
coroner`s jury. There must have been several in
it, and they must have been men of resource and
determination. Their papers they mean to have,
be the holder of them who it may. In this way
you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an
individual and becomes the badge of a society."
"But of what society?"
"Have you never--" said Sherlock Holmes,
bending forward and sinking his voice--"have you
never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?"
"I never have."
Holmes turned over the leaves of the book
upon his knee. "Here it is," said he presently:
"`Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the
fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by
cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society
was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in
the Southern states after the Civil War, and it
rapidly formed local branches in different parts
of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana,
the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power
was used for political purposes, principally for
the terrorising of the negro voters and the
murdering and driving from the country of those
who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were
usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked
man in some fantastic but generally recognised
shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts,
melon seeds or orange pips in others. On
receiving this the victim might either openly
abjure his former ways, or might fly from the
country. If he braved the matter out, death
would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in
some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect
was the organisation of the society, and so
systematic its methods, that there is hardly a
case upon record where any man succeeded in
braving it with impunity, or in which any of its
outrages were traced home to the perpetrators.
For some years the organisation flourished in
spite of the efforts of the United States
government and of the better classes of the
community in the South. Eventually, in the year
1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed,
although there have been sporadic outbreaks of
the same sort since that date.`
"You will observe," said Holmes, laying down
the volume, "that the sudden breaking up of the
society was coincident with the disappearance of
Openshaw from America with their papers. It may
well have been cause and effect. It is no wonder
that he and his family have some of the more
implacable spirits upon their track. You can
understand that this register and diary may
implicate some of the first men in the South,
and that there may be many who will not sleep
easy at night until it is recovered."
"Then the page we have seen--"
"Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I
remember right, `sent the pips to A, B, and
C`--that is, sent the society`s warning to them.
Then there are successive entries that A and B
cleared, or left the country, and finally that C
was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for
C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let some
light into this dark place, and I believe that
the only chance young Openshaw has in the
meantime is to do what I have told him. There is
nothing more to be said or to be done to-night,
so hand me over my violin and let us try to
forget for half an hour the miserable weather
and the still more miserable ways of our
fellow-men."
It had cleared in the morning, and the sun
was shining with a subdued brightness through
the dim veil which hangs over the great city.
Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I
came down.
"You will excuse me for not waiting for you,"
said he; "I have, I foresee, a very busy day
before me in looking into this case of young
Openshaw`s."
"What steps will you take?" I asked.
"It will very much depend upon the results of
my first inquiries. I may have to go down to
Horsham, after all."
"You will not go there first?"
"No, I shall commence with the City. Just
ring the bell and the maid will bring up your
coffee."
As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper
from the table and glanced my eye over it. It
rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my
heart.
"Holmes," I cried, "you are too late."
"Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared
as much. How was it done?" He spoke calmly, but
I could see that he was deeply moved.
"My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the
heading `Tragedy Near Waterloo Bridge.` Here is
the account:
"Between nine and ten last night
Police-Constable Cook, of the H Division, on
duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help
and a splash in the water. The night, however,
was extremely dark and stormy, so that, in spite
of the help of several passers-by, it was quite
impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm,
however, was given, and, by the aid of the
water-police, the body was eventually recovered.
It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose
name, as it appears from an envelope which was
found in his pocket, was John Openshaw, and
whose residence is near Horsham. It is
conjectured that he may have been hurrying down
to catch the last train from Waterloo Station,
and that in his haste and the extreme darkness
he missed his path and walked over the edge of
one of the small landing-places for river
steamboats. The body exhibited no traces of
violence, and there can be no doubt that the
deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate
accident, which should have the effect of
calling the attention of the authorities to the
condition of the riverside landing-stages."
We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes
more depressed and shaken than I had ever seen
him.
"That hurts my pride, Watson," he said at
last. "It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it
hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter
with me now, and, if God sends me health, I
shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should
come to me for help, and that I should send him
away to his death--!" He sprang from his chair
and paced about the room in uncontrollable
agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks
and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his
long thin hands.
"They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed
at last. "How could they have decoyed him down
there? The Embankment is not on the direct line
to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too
crowded, even on such a night, for their
purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win
in the long run. I am going out now!"
"To the police?"
"No; I shall be my own police. When I have
spun the web they may take the flies, but not
before."
All day I was engaged in my professional
work, and it was late in the evening before I
returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had
not come back yet. It was nearly ten o`clock
before he entered, looking pale and worn. He
walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece
from the loaf he devoured it voraciously,
washing it down with a long draught of water.
"You are hungry," I remarked.
"Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have
had nothing since breakfast."
"Nothing?"
"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it."
"And how have you succeeded?"
"Well."
"You have a clue?"
"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young
Openshaw shall not long remain unavenged. Why,
Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark
upon them. It is well thought of!"
"What do you mean?"
He took an orange from the cupboard, and
tearing it to pieces he squeezed out the pips
upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust
them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap
he wrote "S. H. for J. O." Then he sealed it and
addressed it to "Captain James Calhoun, Barque
`Lone Star,` Savannah, Georgia."
"That will await him when he enters port,"
said he, chuckling. "It may give him a sleepless
night. He will find it as sure a precursor of
his fate as Openshaw did before him."
"And who is this Captain Calhoun?"
"The leader of the gang. I shall have the
others, but he first."
"How did you trace it, then?"
He took a large sheet of paper from his
pocket, all covered with dates and names.
"I have spent the whole day," said he, "over
Lloyd`s registers and files of the old papers,
following the future career of every vessel
which touched at Pondicherry in January and
February in `83. There were thirty-six ships of
fair tonnage which were reported there during
those months. Of these, one, the `Lone Star,`
instantly attracted my attention, since,
although it was reported as having cleared from
London, the name is that which is given to one
of the states of the Union."
"Texas, I think."
"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew
that the ship must have an American origin."
"What then?"
"I searched the Dundee records, and when I
found that the barque `Lone Star` was there in
January, `85, my suspicion became a certainty. I
then inquired as to the vessels which lay at
present in the port of London."
"Yes?"
"The `Lone Star` had arrived here last week.
I went down to the Albert Dock and found that
she had been taken down the river by the early
tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I
wired to Gravesend and learned that she had
passed some time ago, and as the wind is
easterly I have no doubt that she is now past
the Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of
Wight."
"What will you do, then?"
"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two
mates, are as I learn, the only native-born
Americans in the ship. The others are Finns and
Germans. I know, also, that they were all three
away from the ship last night. I had it from the
stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By
the time that their sailing-ship reaches
Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this
letter, and the cable will have informed the
police of Savannah that these three gentlemen
are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder."
There is ever a flaw, however, in the best
laid of human plans, and the murderers of John
Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips
which would show them that another, as cunning
and as resolute as themselves, was upon their
track. Very long and very severe were the
equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for
news of the "Lone Star" of Savannah, but none
ever reached us. We did at last hear that
somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered
stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the
trough of a wave, with the letters "L. S."
carved upon it, and that is all which we shall
ever know of the fate of the "Lone Star."
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THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the
Theological College of St. George`s, was much
addicted to opium. The habit grew upon him, as I
understand, from some foolish freak when he was
at college; for having read De Quincey`s
description of his dreams and sensations, he had
drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt
to produce the same effects. He found, as so
many more have done, that the practice is easier
to attain than to get rid of, and for many years
he continued to be a slave to the drug, an
object of mingled horror and pity to his friends
and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow,
pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils,
all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a
noble man.
One night--it was in June, `89--there came a
ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives
his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat
up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work
down in her lap and made a little face of
disappointment.
"A patient!" said she. "You`ll have to go
out."
I groaned, for I was newly come back from a
weary day.
We heard the door open, a few hurried words,
and then quick steps upon the linoleum. Our own
door flew open, and a lady, clad in some
dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered
the room.
"You will excuse my calling so late," she
began, and then, suddenly losing her
self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms
about my wife`s neck, and sobbed upon her
shoulder. "Oh, I`m in such trouble!" she cried;
"I do so want a little help."
"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it
is Kate Whitney. How you startled me, Kate! I
had not an idea who you were when you came in."
"I didn`t know what to do, so I came straight
to you." That was always the way. Folk who were
in grief came to my wife like birds to a
light-house.
"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you
must have some wine and water, and sit here
comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should
you rather that I sent James off to bed?"
"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor`s advice and
help, too. It`s about Isa. He has not been home
for two days. I am so frightened about him!"
It was not the first time that she had spoken
to us of her husband`s trouble, to me as a
doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school
companion. We soothed and comforted her by such
words as we could find. Did she know where her
husband was? Was it possible that we could bring
him back to her?
It seems that it was. She had the surest
information that of late he had, when the fit
was on him, made use of an opium den in the
farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies
had always been confined to one day, and he had
come back, twitching and shattered, in the
evening. But now the spell had been upon him
eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there,
doubtless among the dregs of the docks,
breathing in the poison or sleeping off the
effects. There he was to be found, she was sure
of it, at the Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam
Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a
young and timid woman, make her way into such a
place and pluck her husband out from among the
ruffians who surrounded him?
There was the case, and of course there was
but one way out of it. Might I not escort her to
this place? And then, as a second thought, why
should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney`s
medical adviser, and as such I had influence
over him. I could manage it better if I were
alone. I promised her on my word that I would
send him home in a cab within two hours if he
were indeed at the address which she had given
me. And so in ten minutes I had left my armchair
and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was
speeding eastward in a hansom on a strange
errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though
the future only could show how strange it was to
be.
But there was no great difficulty in the
first stage of my adventure. Upper Swandam Lane
is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves
which line the north side of the river to the
east of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a
gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps
leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a
cave, I found the den of which I was in search.
Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the
steps, worn hollow in the centre by the
ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the
light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I
found the latch and made my way into a long, low
room, thick and heavy with the brown opium
smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the
forecastle of an emigrant ship.
Through the gloom one could dimly catch a
glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic
poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown
back, and chins pointing upward, with here and
there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the
newcomer. Out of the black shadows there
glimmered little red circles of light, now
bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed
or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The
most lay silent, but some muttered to
themselves, and others talked together in a
strange, low, monotonous voice, their
conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly
tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his
own thoughts and paying little heed to the words
of his neighbour. At the farther end was a small
brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a
three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin
old man, with his jaw resting upon his two
fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring
into the fire.
As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had
hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of
the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.
"Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I.
"There is a friend of mine here, Mr. Isa
Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."
There was a movement and an exclamation from
my right, and peering through the gloom, I saw
Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out
at me.
"My God! It`s Watson," said he. He was in a
pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in
a twitter. "I say, Watson, what o`clock is it?"
"Nearly eleven."
"Of what day?"
"Of Friday, June 19th."
"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It
is Wednesday. What d`you want to frighten a chap
for?" He sank his face onto his arms and began
to sob in a high treble key.
"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife
has been waiting this two days for you. You
should be ashamed of yourself!"
"So I am. But you`ve got mixed, Watson, for I
have only been here a few hours, three pipes,
four pipes--I forget how many. But I`ll go home
with you. I wouldn`t frighten Kate--poor little
Kate. Give me your hand! Have you a cab?"
"Yes, I have one waiting."
"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe
something. Find what I owe, Watson. I am all off
colour. I can do nothing for myself."
I walked down the narrow passage between the
double row of sleepers, holding my breath to
keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug,
and looking about for the manager. As I passed
the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a
sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice
whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back at
me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my
ear. I glanced down. They could only have come
from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now
as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled,
bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from
between his knees, as though it had dropped in
sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two
steps forward and looked back. It took all my
self-control to prevent me from breaking out
into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his
back so that none could see him but I. His form
had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull
eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting
by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was
none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a
slight motion to me to approach him, and
instantly, as he turned his face half round to
the company once more, subsided into a
doddering, loose-lipped senility.
"Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you
doing in this den?"
"As low as you can," he answered; "I have
excellent ears. If you would have the great
kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of
yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a
little talk with you."
"I have a cab outside."
"Then pray send him home in it. You may
safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp
to get into any mischief. I should recommend you
also to send a note by the cabman to your wife
to say that you have thrown in your lot with me.
If you will wait outside, I shall be with you in
five minutes."
It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock
Holmes` requests, for they were always so
exceedingly definite, and put forward with such
a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that
when Whitney was once confined in the cab my
mission was practically accomplished; and for
the rest, I could not wish anything better than
to be associated with my friend in one of those
singular adventures which were the normal
condition of his existence. In a few minutes I
had written my note, paid Whitney`s bill, led
him out to the cab, and seen him driven through
the darkness. In a very short time a decrepit
figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was
walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes.
For two streets he shuffled along with a bent
back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing
quickly round, he straightened himself out and
burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
"I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you
imagine that I have added opium-smoking to
cocaine injections, and all the other little
weaknesses on which you have favoured me with
your medical views."
"I was certainly surprised to find you
there."
"But not more so than I to find you."
"I came to find a friend."
"And I to find an enemy."
"An enemy?"
"Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I
say, my natural prey. Briefly, Watson, I am in
the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and I
have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent
ramblings of these sots, as I have done before
now. Had I been recognised in that den my life
would not have been worth an hour`s purchase;
for I have used it before now for my own
purposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it
has sworn to have vengeance upon me. There is a
trap-door at the back of that building, near the
corner of Paul`s Wharf, which could tell some
strange tales of what has passed through it upon
the moonless nights."
"What! You do not mean bodies?"
"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if
we had 1000 pounds for every poor devil who has
been done to death in that den. It is the vilest
murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear
that Neville St. Clair has entered it never to
leave it more. But our trap should be here." He
put his two forefingers between his teeth and
whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by
a similar whistle from the distance, followed
shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of
horses` hoofs.
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall
dog-cart dashed up through the gloom, throwing
out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its
side lanterns. "You`ll come with me, won`t you?"
"If I can be of use."
"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a
chronicler still more so. My room at The Cedars
is a double-bedded one."
"The Cedars?"
"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair`s house. I am
staying there while I conduct the inquiry."
"Where is it, then?"
"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile
drive before us."
"But I am all in the dark."
"Of course you are. You`ll know all about it
presently. Jump up here. All right, John; we
shall not need you. Here`s half a crown. Look
out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her
head. So long, then!"
He flicked the horse with his whip, and we
dashed away through the endless succession of
sombre and deserted streets, which widened
gradually, until we were flying across a broad
balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing
sluggishly beneath us. Beyond lay another dull
wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence
broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of
the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some
belated party of revellers. A dull wrack was
drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or
two twinkled dimly here and there through the
rifts of the clouds. Holmes drove in silence,
with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air
of a man who is lost in thought, while I sat
beside him, curious to learn what this new quest
might be which seemed to tax his powers so
sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the
current of his thoughts. We had driven several
miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe
of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook
himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his
pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied
himself that he is acting for the best.
"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson,"
said he. "It makes you quite invaluable as a
companion. `Pon my word, it is a great thing for
me to have someone to talk to, for my own
thoughts are not over-pleasant. I was wondering
what I should say to this dear little woman
to-night when she meets me at the door."
"You forget that I know nothing about it."
"I shall just have time to tell you the facts
of the case before we get to Lee. It seems
absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get
nothing to go upon. There`s plenty of thread, no
doubt, but I can`t get the end of it into my
hand. Now, I`ll state the case clearly and
concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see
a spark where all is dark to me."
"Proceed, then."
"Some years ago--to be definite, in May,
1884--there came to Lee a gentleman, Neville St.
Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of
money. He took a large villa, laid out the
grounds very nicely, and lived generally in good
style. By degrees he made friends in the
neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the
daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has
two children. He had no occupation, but was
interested in several companies and went into
town as a rule in the morning, returning by the
5:14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr. St.
Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man
of temperate habits, a good husband, a very
affectionate father, and a man who is popular
with all who know him. I may add that his whole
debts at the present moment, as far as we have
been able to ascertain, amount to 88 pounds
10s., while he has 220 pounds standing to his
credit in the Capital and Counties Bank. There
is no reason, therefore, to think that money
troubles have been weighing upon his mind.
"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into
town rather earlier than usual, remarking before
he started that he had two important commissions
to perform, and that he would bring his little
boy home a box of bricks. Now, by the merest
chance, his wife received a telegram upon this
same Monday, very shortly after his departure,
to the effect that a small parcel of
considerable value which she had been expecting
was waiting for her at the offices of the
Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well
up in your London, you will know that the office
of the company is in Fresno Street, which
branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you
found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch,
started for the City, did some shopping,
proceeded to the company`s office, got her
packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35
walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to
the station. Have you followed me so far?"
"It is very clear."
"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly
hot day, and Mrs. St. Clair walked slowly,
glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as
she did not like the neighbourhood in which she
found herself. While she was walking in this way
down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an
ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see
her husband looking down at her and, as it
seemed to her, beckoning to her from a
second-floor window. The window was open, and
she distinctly saw his face, which she describes
as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands
frantically to her, and then vanished from the
window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he
had been plucked back by some irresistible force
from behind. One singular point which struck her
quick feminine eye was that although he wore
some dark coat, such as he had started to town
in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.
"Convinced that something was amiss with him,
she rushed down the steps--for the house was
none other than the opium den in which you found
me to-night--and running through the front room
she attempted to ascend the stairs which led to
the first floor. At the foot of the stairs,
however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I
have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a
Dane, who acts as assistant there, pushed her
out into the street. Filled with the most
maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the
lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno
Street a number of constables with an inspector,
all on their way to their beat. The inspector
and two men accompanied her back, and in spite
of the continued resistance of the proprietor,
they made their way to the room in which Mr. St.
Clair had last been seen. There was no sign of
him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor
there was no one to be found save a crippled
wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made
his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly
swore that no one else had been in the front
room during the afternoon. So determined was
their denial that the inspector was staggered,
and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St.
Clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she
sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the
table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a
cascade of children`s bricks. It was the toy
which he had promised to bring home.
"This discovery, and the evident confusion
which the cripple showed, made the inspector
realise that the matter was serious. The rooms
were carefully examined, and results all pointed
to an abominable crime. The front room was
plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into
a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back
of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the
bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry
at low tide but is covered at high tide with at
least four and a half feet of water. The bedroom
window was a broad one and opened from below. On
examination traces of blood were to be seen upon
the windowsill, and several scattered drops were
visible upon the wooden floor of the bedroom.
Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room
were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair,
with the exception of his coat. His boots, his
socks, his hat, and his watch--all were there.
There were no signs of violence upon any of
these garments, and there were no other traces
of Mr. Neville St. Clair. Out of the window he
must apparently have gone for no other exit
could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains
upon the sill gave little promise that he could
save himself by swimming, for the tide was at
its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.
"And now as to the villains who seemed to be
immediately implicated in the matter. The Lascar
was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents,
but as, by Mrs. St. Clair`s story, he was known
to have been at the foot of the stair within a
very few seconds of her husband`s appearance at
the window, he could hardly have been more than
an accessory to the crime. His defence was one
of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he
had no knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone,
his lodger, and that he could not account in any
way for the presence of the missing gentleman`s
clothes.
"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the
sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor
of the opium den, and who was certainly the last
human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.
Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous
face is one which is familiar to every man who
goes much to the City. He is a professional
beggar, though in order to avoid the police
regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax
vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle
Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as
you may have remarked, a small angle in the
wall. Here it is that this creature takes his
daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of
matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous
spectacle a small rain of charity descends into
the greasy leather cap which lies upon the
pavement beside him. I have watched the fellow
more than once before ever I thought of making
his professional acquaintance, and I have been
surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in
a short time. His appearance, you see, is so
remarkable that no one can pass him without
observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale
face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by
its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of
his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of
very penetrating dark eyes, which present a
singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all
mark him out from amid the common crowd of
mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is
ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff
which may be thrown at him by the passers-by.
This is the man whom we now learn to have been
the lodger at the opium den, and to have been
the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are
in quest."
"But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have
done single-handed against a man in the prime of
life?"
"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks
with a limp; but in other respects he appears to
be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely your
medical experience would tell you, Watson, that
weakness in one limb is often compensated for by
exceptional strength in the others."
"Pray continue your narrative."
"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of
the blood upon the window, and she was escorted
home in a cab by the police, as her presence
could be of no help to them in their
investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge
of the case, made a very careful examination of
the premises, but without finding anything which
threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had
been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as
he was allowed some few minutes during which he
might have communicated with his friend the
Lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he
was seized and searched, without anything being
found which could incriminate him. There were,
it is true, some blood-stains upon his right
shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger,
which had been cut near the nail, and explained
that the bleeding came from there, adding that
he had been to the window not long before, and
that the stains which had been observed there
came doubtless from the same source. He denied
strenuously having ever seen Mr. Neville St.
Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes
in his room was as much a mystery to him as to
the police. As to Mrs. St. Clair`s assertion
that she had actually seen her husband at the
window, he declared that she must have been
either mad or dreaming. He was removed, loudly
protesting, to the police-station, while the
inspector remained upon the premises in the hope
that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh
clue.
"And it did, though they hardly found upon
the mud-bank what they had feared to find. It
was Neville St. Clair`s coat, and not Neville
St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide
receded. And what do you think they found in the
pockets?"
"I cannot imagine."
"No, I don`t think you would guess. Every
pocket stuffed with pennies and
half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies.
It was no wonder that it had not been swept away
by the tide. But a human body is a different
matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf
and the house. It seemed likely enough that the
weighted coat had remained when the stripped
body had been sucked away into the river."
"But I understand that all the other clothes
were found in the room. Would the body be
dressed in a coat alone?"
"No, sir, but the facts might be met
speciously enough. Suppose that this man Boone
had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window,
there is no human eye which could have seen the
deed. What would he do then? It would of course
instantly strike him that he must get rid of the
tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat,
then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when
it would occur to him that it would swim and not
sink. He has little time, for he has heard the
scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force
her way up, and perhaps he has already heard
from his Lascar confederate that the police are
hurrying up the street. There is not an instant
to be lost. He rushes to some secret hoard,
where he has accumulated the fruits of his
beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which
he can lay his hands into the pockets to make
sure of the coat`s sinking. He throws it out,
and would have done the same with the other
garments had not he heard the rush of steps
below, and only just had time to close the
window when the police appeared."
"It certainly sounds feasible."
"Well, we will take it as a working
hypothesis for want of a better. Boone, as I
have told you, was arrested and taken to the
station, but it could not be shown that there
had ever before been anything against him. He
had for years been known as a professional
beggar, but his life appeared to have been a
very quiet and innocent one. There the matter
stands at present, and the questions which have
to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing
in the opium den, what happened to him when
there, where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had
to do with his disappearance--are all as far
from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot
recall any case within my experience which
looked at the first glance so simple and yet
which presented such difficulties."
While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this
singular series of events, we had been whirling
through the outskirts of the great town until
the last straggling houses had been left behind,
and we rattled along with a country hedge upon
either side of us. Just as he finished, however,
we drove through two scattered villages, where a
few lights still glimmered in the windows.
"We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my
companion. "We have touched on three English
counties in our short drive, starting in
Middlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and
ending in Kent. See that light among the trees?
That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a
woman whose anxious ears have already, I have
little doubt, caught the clink of our horse`s
feet."
"But why are you not conducting the case from
Baker Street?" I asked.
"Because there are many inquiries which must
be made out here. Mrs. St. Clair has most kindly
put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest
assured that she will have nothing but a welcome
for my friend and colleague. I hate to meet her,
Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here
we are. Whoa, there, whoa!"
We had pulled up in front of a large villa
which stood within its own grounds. A stable-boy
had run out to the horse`s head, and springing
down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding
gravel-drive which led to the house. As we
approached, the door flew open, and a little
blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some
sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch
of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists.
She stood with her figure outlined against the
flood of light, one hand upon the door, one
half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly
bent, her head and face protruded, with eager
eyes and parted lips, a standing question.
"Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing
that there were two of us, she gave a cry of
hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my
companion shook his head and shrugged his
shoulders.
"No good news?"
"None."
"No bad?"
"No."
"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be
weary, for you have had a long day."
"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been
of most vital use to me in several of my cases,
and a lucky chance has made it possible for me
to bring him out and associate him with this
investigation."
"I am delighted to see you," said she,
pressing my hand warmly. "You will, I am sure,
forgive anything that may be wanting in our
arrangements, when you consider the blow which
has come so suddenly upon us."
"My dear madam," said I, "I am an old
campaigner, and if I were not I can very well
see that no apology is needed. If I can be of
any assistance, either to you or to my friend
here, I shall be indeed happy."
"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as
we entered a well-lit dining-room, upon the
table of which a cold supper had been laid out,
"I should very much like to ask you one or two
plain questions, to which I beg that you will
give a plain answer."
"Certainly, madam."
"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not
hysterical, nor given to fainting. I simply wish
to hear your real, real opinion."
"Upon what point?"
"In your heart of hearts, do you think that
Neville is alive?"
Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by
the question. "Frankly, now!" she repeated,
standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at
him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
"Frankly, then, madam, I do not."
"You think that he is dead?"
"I do."
"Murdered?"
"I don`t say that. Perhaps."
"And on what day did he meet his death?"
"On Monday."
"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good
enough to explain how it is that I have received
a letter from him to-day."
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if
he had been galvanised.
"What!" he roared.
"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up
a little slip of paper in the air.
"May I see it?"
"Certainly."
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and
smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the
lamp and examined it intently. I had left my
chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder.
The envelope was a very coarse one and was
stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the
date of that very day, or rather of the day
before, for it was considerably after midnight.
"Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely
this is not your husband`s writing, madam."
"No, but the enclosure is."
"I perceive also that whoever addressed the
envelope had to go and inquire as to the
address."
"How can you tell that?"
"The name, you see, is in perfectly black
ink, which has dried itself. The rest is of the
greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper
has been used. If it had been written straight
off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep
black shade. This man has written the name, and
there has then been a pause before he wrote the
address, which can only mean that he was not
familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle,
but there is nothing so important as trifles.
Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been an
enclosure here!"
"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring."
"And you are sure that this is your husband`s
hand?"
"One of his hands."
"One?"
"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very
unlike his usual writing, and yet I know it
well."
"`Dearest do not be frightened. All will come
well. There is a huge error which it may take
some little time to rectify. Wait in
patience.--NEVILLE.` Written in pencil upon the
fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no water-mark.
Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by a man with a
dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed,
if I am not very much in error, by a person who
had been chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt
that it is your husband`s hand, madam?"
"None. Neville wrote those words."
"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend.
Well, Mrs. St. Clair, the clouds lighten, though
I should not venture to say that the danger is
over."
"But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes."
"Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on
the wrong scent. The ring, after all, proves
nothing. It may have been taken from him."
"No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!"
"Very well. It may, however, have been
written on Monday and only posted to-day."
"That is possible."
"If so, much may have happened between."
"Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes.
I know that all is well with him. There is so
keen a sympathy between us that I should know if
evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw
him last he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet
I in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly
with the utmost certainty that something had
happened. Do you think that I would respond to
such a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?"
"I have seen too much not to know that the
impression of a woman may be more valuable than
the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. And in
this letter you certainly have a very strong
piece of evidence to corroborate your view. But
if your husband is alive and able to write
letters, why should he remain away from you?"
"I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable."
"And on Monday he made no remarks before
leaving you?"
"No."
"And you were surprised to see him in Swandam
Lane?"
"Very much so."
"Was the window open?"
"Yes."
"Then he might have called to you?"
"He might."
"He only, as I understand, gave an
inarticulate cry?"
"Yes."
"A call for help, you thought?"
"Yes. He waved his hands."
"But it might have been a cry of surprise.
Astonishment at the unexpected sight of you
might cause him to throw up his hands?"
"It is possible."
"And you thought he was pulled back?"
"He disappeared so suddenly."
"He might have leaped back. You did not see
anyone else in the room?"
"No, but this horrible man confessed to
having been there, and the Lascar was at the
foot of the stairs."
"Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could
see, had his ordinary clothes on?"
"But without his collar or tie. I distinctly
saw his bare throat."
"Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?"
"Never."
"Had he ever showed any signs of having taken
opium?"
"Never."
"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the
principal points about which I wished to be
absolutely clear. We shall now have a little
supper and then retire, for we may have a very
busy day to-morrow."
A large and comfortable double-bedded room
had been placed at our disposal, and I was
quickly between the sheets, for I was weary
after my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was
a man, however, who, when he had an unsolved
problem upon his mind, would go for days, and
even for a week, without rest, turning it over,
rearranging his facts, looking at it from every
point of view until he had either fathomed it or
convinced himself that his data were
insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he
was now preparing for an all-night sitting. He
took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large
blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the
room collecting pillows from his bed and
cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these
he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon
which he perched himself cross-legged, with an
ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid
out in front of him. In the dim light of the
lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe
between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon
the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke
curling up from him, silent, motionless, with
the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline
features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep,
and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused
me to wake up, and I found the summer sun
shining into the apartment. The pipe was still
between his lips, the smoke still curled upward,
and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze,
but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I
had seen upon the previous night.
"Awake, Watson?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Game for a morning drive?"
"Certainly."
"Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I
know where the stable-boy sleeps, and we shall
soon have the trap out." He chuckled to himself
as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a
different man to the sombre thinker of the
previous night.
As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no
wonder that no one was stirring. It was
twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly
finished when Holmes returned with the news that
the boy was putting in the horse.
"I want to test a little theory of mine,"
said he, pulling on his boots. "I think, Watson,
that you are now standing in the presence of one
of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve
to be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I
think I have the key of the affair now."
"And where is it?" I asked, smiling.
"In the bathroom," he answered. "Oh, yes, I
am not joking," he continued, seeing my look of
incredulity. "I have just been there, and I have
taken it out, and I have got it in this
Gladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we shall see
whether it will not fit the lock."
We made our way downstairs as quietly as
possible, and out into the bright morning
sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap,
with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the
head. We both sprang in, and away we dashed down
the London Road. A few country carts were
stirring, bearing in vegetables to the
metropolis, but the lines of villas on either
side were as silent and lifeless as some city in
a dream.
"It has been in some points a singular case,"
said Holmes, flicking the horse on into a
gallop. "I confess that I have been as blind as
a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late
than never to learn it at all."
In town the earliest risers were just
beginning to look sleepily from their windows as
we drove through the streets of the Surrey side.
Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed
over the river, and dashing up Wellington Street
wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves
in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well known to
the force, and the two constables at the door
saluted him. One of them held the horse`s head
while the other led us in.
"Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.
"Inspector Bradstreet, sir."
"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout
official had come down the stone-flagged
passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. "I
wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here."
It was a small, office-like room, with a huge
ledger upon the table, and a telephone
projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down
at his desk.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"
"I called about that beggarman, Boone--the
one who was charged with being concerned in the
disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee."
"Yes. He was brought up and remanded for
further inquiries."
"So I heard. You have him here?"
"In the cells."
"Is he quiet?"
"Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty
scoundrel."
"Dirty?"
"Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash
his hands, and his face is as black as a
tinker`s. Well, when once his case has been
settled, he will have a regular prison bath; and
I think, if you saw him, you would agree with me
that he needed it."
"I should like to see him very much."
"Would you? That is easily done. Come this
way. You can leave your bag."
"No, I think that I`ll take it."
"Very good. Come this way, if you please." He
led us down a passage, opened a barred door,
passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a
whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on
each side.
"The third on the right is his," said the
inspector. "Here it is!" He quietly shot back a
panel in the upper part of the door and glanced
through.
"He is asleep," said he. "You can see him
very well."
We both put our eyes to the grating. The
prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very
deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was
a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his
calling, with a coloured shirt protruding
through the rent in his tattered coat. He was,
as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but
the grime which covered his face could not
conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal
from an old scar ran right across it from eye to
chin, and by its contraction had turned up one
side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were
exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very
bright red hair grew low over his eyes and
forehead.
"He`s a beauty, isn`t he?" said the
inspector.
"He certainly needs a wash," remarked Holmes.
"I had an idea that he might, and I took the
liberty of bringing the tools with me." He
opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took
out, to my astonishment, a very large
bath-sponge.
"He! he! You are a funny one," chuckled the
inspector.
"Now, if you will have the great goodness to
open that door very quietly, we will soon make
him cut a much more respectable figure."
"Well, I don`t know why not," said the
inspector. "He doesn`t look a credit to the Bow
Street cells, does he?" He slipped his key into
the lock, and we all very quietly entered the
cell. The sleeper half turned, and then settled
down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes
stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge,
and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and
down the prisoner`s face.
"Let me introduce you," he shouted, "to Mr.
Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of
Kent."
Never in my life have I seen such a sight.
The man`s face peeled off under the sponge like
the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown
tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had
seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had
given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch
brought away the tangled red hair, and there,
sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced,
refined-looking man, black-haired and
smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring
about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then
suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a
scream and threw himself down with his face to
the pillow.
"Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is,
indeed, the missing man. I know him from the
photograph."
The prisoner turned with the reckless air of
a man who abandons himself to his destiny. "Be
it so," said he. "And pray what am I charged
with?"
"With making away with Mr. Neville St.-- Oh,
come, you can`t be charged with that unless they
make a case of attempted suicide of it," said
the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been
twenty-seven years in the force, but this really
takes the cake."
"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is
obvious that no crime has been committed, and
that, therefore, I am illegally detained."
"No crime, but a very great error has been
committed," said Holmes. "You would have done
better to have trusted you wife."
"It was not the wife; it was the children,"
groaned the prisoner. "God help me, I would not
have them ashamed of their father. My God! What
an exposure! What can I do?"
Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the
couch and patted him kindly on the shoulder.
"If you leave it to a court of law to clear
the matter up," said he, "of course you can
hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if
you convince the police authorities that there
is no possible case against you, I do not know
that there is any reason that the details should
find their way into the papers. Inspector
Bradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon
anything which you might tell us and submit it
to the proper authorities. The case would then
never go into court at all."
"God bless you!" cried the prisoner
passionately. "I would have endured
imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than
have left my miserable secret as a family blot
to my children.
"You are the first who have ever heard my
story. My father was a schoolmaster in
Chesterfield, where I received an excellent
education. I travelled in my youth, took to the
stage, and finally became a reporter on an
evening paper in London. One day my editor
wished to have a series of articles upon begging
in the metropolis, and I volunteered to supply
them. There was the point from which all my
adventures started. It was only by trying
begging as an amateur that I could get the facts
upon which to base my articles. When an actor I
had, of course, learned all the secrets of
making up, and had been famous in the green-room
for my skill. I took advantage now of my
attainments. I painted my face, and to make
myself as pitiable as possible I made a good
scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by
the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured
plaster. Then with a red head of hair, and an
appropriate dress, I took my station in the
business part of the city, ostensibly as a
match-seller but really as a beggar. For seven
hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home
in the evening I found to my surprise that I had
received no less than 26s. 4d.
"I wrote my articles and thought little more
of the matter until, some time later, I backed a
bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me
for 25 pounds. I was at my wit`s end where to
get the money, but a sudden idea came to me. I
begged a fortnight`s grace from the creditor,
asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent
the time in begging in the City under my
disguise. In ten days I had the money and had
paid the debt.
"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to
settle down to arduous work at 2 pounds a week
when I knew that I could earn as much in a day
by smearing my face with a little paint, laying
my cap on the ground, and sitting still. It was
a long fight between my pride and the money, but
the dollars won at last, and I threw up
reporting and sat day after day in the corner
which I had first chosen, inspiring pity by my
ghastly face and filling my pockets with
coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the
keeper of a low den in which I used to lodge in
Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge
as a squalid beggar and in the evenings
transform myself into a well-dressed man about
town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by me
for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was
safe in his possession.
"Well, very soon I found that I was saving
considerable sums of money. I do not mean that
any beggar in the streets of London could earn
700 pounds a year--which is less than my average
takings--but I had exceptional advantages in my
power of making up, and also in a facility of
repartee, which improved by practice and made me
quite a recognised character in the City. All
day a stream of pennies, varied by silver,
poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in
which I failed to take 2 pounds.
"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took
a house in the country, and eventually married,
without anyone having a suspicion as to my real
occupation. My dear wife knew that I had
business in the City. She little knew what.
"Last Monday I had finished for the day and
was dressing in my room above the opium den when
I looked out of my window and saw, to my horror
and astonishment, that my wife was standing in
the street, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I
gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to
cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the
Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from
coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs,
but I knew that she could not ascend. Swiftly I
threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a
beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a
wife`s eyes could not pierce so complete a
disguise. But then it occurred to me that there
might be a search in the room, and that the
clothes might betray me. I threw open the
window, reopening by my violence a small cut
which I had inflicted upon myself in the bedroom
that morning. Then I seized my coat, which was
weighted by the coppers which I had just
transferred to it from the leather bag in which
I carried my takings. I hurled it out of the
window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The
other clothes would have followed, but at that
moment there was a rush of constables up the
stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather,
I confess, to my relief, that instead of being
identified as Mr. Neville St. Clair, I was
arrested as his murderer.
"I do not know that there is anything else
for me to explain. I was determined to preserve
my disguise as long as possible, and hence my
preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my
wife would be terribly anxious, I slipped off my
ring and confided it to the Lascar at a moment
when no constable was watching me, together with
a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no
cause to fear."
"That note only reached her yesterday," said
Holmes.
"Good God! What a week she must have spent!"
"The police have watched this Lascar," said
Inspector Bradstreet, "and I can quite
understand that he might find it difficult to
post a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it
to some sailor customer of his, who forgot all
about it for some days."
"That was it," said Holmes, nodding
approvingly; "I have no doubt of it. But have
you never been prosecuted for begging?"
"Many times; but what was a fine to me?"
"It must stop here, however," said
Bradstreet. "If the police are to hush this
thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone."
"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths
which a man can take."
"In that case I think that it is probable
that no further steps may be taken. But if you
are found again, then all must come out. I am
sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted
to you for having cleared the matter up. I wish
I knew how you reach your results."
"I reached this one," said my friend, "by
sitting upon five pillows and consuming an ounce
of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to
Baker Street we shall just be in time for
breakfast."
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE
CARBUNCLE
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning
after Christmas, with the intention of wishing
him the compliments of the season. He was
lounging upon the sofa in a purple
dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon
the right, and a pile of crumpled morning
papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand.
Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the
angle of the back hung a very seedy and
disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for
wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and
a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair
suggested that the hat had been suspended in
this manner for the purpose of examination.
"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I
interrupt you."
"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with
whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a
perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his thumb in
the direction of the old hat--"but there are
points in connection with it which are not
entirely devoid of interest and even of
instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my
hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp
frost had set in, and the windows were thick
with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked,
"that, homely as it looks, this thing has some
deadly story linked on to it--that it is the
clue which will guide you in the solution of
some mystery and the punishment of some crime."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes,
laughing. "Only one of those whimsical little
incidents which will happen when you have four
million human beings all jostling each other
within the space of a few square miles. Amid the
action and reaction of so dense a swarm of
humanity, every possible combination of events
may be expected to take place, and many a little
problem will be presented which may be striking
and bizarre without being criminal. We have
already had experience of such."
"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last
six cases which I have added to my notes, three
have been entirely free of any legal crime."
"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to
recover the Irene Adler papers, to the singular
case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the
adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well,
I have no doubt that this small matter will fall
into the same innocent category. You know
Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I
beg that you will look upon it not as a battered
billycock but as an intellectual problem. And,
first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon
Christmas morning, in company with a good fat
goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at
this moment in front of Peterson`s fire. The
facts are these: about four o`clock on Christmas
morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very
honest fellow, was returning from some small
jollification and was making his way homeward
down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he
saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking
with a slight stagger, and carrying a white
goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the
corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between
this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One
of the latter knocked off the man`s hat, on
which he raised his stick to defend himself and,
swinging it over his head, smashed the shop
window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward
to protect the stranger from his assailants; but
the man, shocked at having broken the window,
and seeing an official-looking person in uniform
rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to
his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of
small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham
Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the
appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in
possession of the field of battle, and also of
the spoils of victory in the shape of this
battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas
goose."
"Which surely he restored to their owner?"
"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It
is true that `For Mrs. Henry Baker` was printed
upon a small card which was tied to the bird`s
left leg, and it is also true that the initials
`H. B.` are legible upon the lining of this hat,
but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and
some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of
ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to
any one of them."
"What, then, did Peterson do?"
"He brought round both hat and goose to me on
Christmas morning, knowing that even the
smallest problems are of interest to me. The
goose we retained until this morning, when there
were signs that, in spite of the slight frost,
it would be well that it should be eaten without
unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it
off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny
of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat
of the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas
dinner."
"Did he not advertise?"
"No."
"Then, what clue could you have as to his
identity?"
"Only as much as we can deduce."
"From his hat?"
"Precisely."
"But you are joking. What can you gather from
this old battered felt?"
"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What
can you gather yourself as to the individuality
of the man who has worn this article?"
I took the tattered object in my hands and
turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very
ordinary black hat of the usual round shape,
hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had
been of red silk, but was a good deal
discoloured. There was no maker`s name; but, as
Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were
scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the
brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was
missing. For the rest, it was cracked,
exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several
places, although there seemed to have been some
attempt to hide the discoloured patches by
smearing them with ink.
"I can see nothing," said I, handing it back
to my friend.
"On the contrary, Watson, you can see
everything. You fail, however, to reason from
what you see. You are too timid in drawing your
inferences."
"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can
infer from this hat?"
He picked it up and gazed at it in the
peculiar introspective fashion which was
characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less
suggestive than it might have been," he
remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences
which are very distinct, and a few others which
represent at least a strong balance of
probability. That the man was highly
intellectual is of course obvious upon the face
of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do
within the last three years, although he has now
fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has
less now than formerly, pointing to a moral
retrogression, which, when taken with the
decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some
evil influence, probably drink, at work upon
him. This may account also for the obvious fact
that his wife has ceased to love him."
"My dear Holmes!"
"He has, however, retained some degree of
self-respect," he continued, disregarding my
remonstrance. "He is a man who leads a sedentary
life, goes out little, is out of training
entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair
which he has had cut within the last few days,
and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are
the more patent facts which are to be deduced
from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is
extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in
his house."
"You are certainly joking, Holmes."
"Not in the least. Is it possible that even
now, when I give you these results, you are
unable to see how they are attained?"
"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I
must confess that I am unable to follow you. For
example, how did you deduce that this man was
intellectual?"
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his
head. It came right over the forehead and
settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is a
question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man
with so large a brain must have something in
it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is three years old. These flat
brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a
hat of the very best quality. Look at the band
of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this
man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three
years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has
assuredly gone down in the world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But
how about the foresight and the moral
retrogression?"
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the
foresight," said he putting his finger upon the
little disc and loop of the hat-securer. "They
are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered
one, it is a sign of a certain amount of
foresight, since he went out of his way to take
this precaution against the wind. But since we
see that he has broken the elastic and has not
troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he
has less foresight now than formerly, which is a
distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the
other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some
of these stains upon the felt by daubing them
with ink, which is a sign that he has not
entirely lost his self-respect."
"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."
"The further points, that he is middle-aged,
that his hair is grizzled, that it has been
recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are
all to be gathered from a close examination of
the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses
a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the
scissors of the barber. They all appear to be
adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of
lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not
the gritty, grey dust of the street but the
fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it
has been hung up indoors most of the time, while
the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof
positive that the wearer perspired very freely,
and could therefore, hardly be in the best of
training."
"But his wife--you said that she had ceased
to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for weeks.
When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week`s
accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when
your wife allows you to go out in such a state,
I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate
enough to lose your wife`s affection."
"But he might be a bachelor."
"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a
peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card
upon the bird`s leg."
"You have an answer to everything. But how on
earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on
in his house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by
chance; but when I see no less than five, I
think that there can be little doubt that the
individual must be brought into frequent contact
with burning tallow--walks upstairs at night
probably with his hat in one hand and a
guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never
got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you
satisfied?"
"Well, it is very ingenious," said I,
laughing; "but since, as you said just now,
there has been no crime committed, and no harm
done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to
be rather a waste of energy."
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to
reply, when the door flew open, and Peterson,
the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment
with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is
dazed with astonishment.
"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he
gasped.
"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to
life and flapped off through the kitchen
window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the
sofa to get a fairer view of the man`s excited
face.
"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its
crop!" He held out his hand and displayed upon
the centre of the palm a brilliantly
scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a
bean in size, but of such purity and radiance
that it twinkled like an electric point in the
dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By
Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is treasure
trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have
got?"
"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts
into glass as though it were putty."
"It`s more than a precious stone. It is the
precious stone."
"Not the Countess of Morcar`s blue
carbuncle!" I ejaculated.
"Precisely so. I ought to know its size and
shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement
about it in The Times every day lately. It is
absolutely unique, and its value can only be
conjectured, but the reward offered of 1000
pounds is certainly not within a twentieth part
of the market price."
"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The
commissionaire plumped down into a chair and
stared from one to the other of us.
"That is the reward, and I have reason to
know that there are sentimental considerations
in the background which would induce the
Countess to part with half her fortune if she
could but recover the gem."
"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the
Hotel Cosmopolitan," I remarked.
"Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five
days ago. John Horner, a plumber, was accused of
having abstracted it from the lady`s jewel-case.
The evidence against him was so strong that the
case has been referred to the Assizes. I have
some account of the matter here, I believe." He
rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the
dates, until at last he smoothed one out,
doubled it over, and read the following
paragraph:
"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John
Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the
charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted
from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar
the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle.
James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave
his evidence to the effect that he had shown
Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess
of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order
that he might solder the second bar of the
grate, which was loose. He had remained with
Horner some little time, but had finally been
called away. On returning, he found that Horner
had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced
open, and that the small morocco casket in
which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess
was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying
empty upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly
gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the same
evening; but the stone could not be found either
upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine
Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having
heard Ryder`s cry of dismay on discovering the
robbery, and to having rushed into the room,
where she found matters as described by the last
witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave
evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who
struggled frantically, and protested his
innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a
previous conviction for robbery having been
given against the prisoner, the magistrate
refused to deal summarily with the offence, but
referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had
shown signs of intense emotion during the
proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and
was carried out of court."
"Hum! So much for the police-court," said
Holmes thoughtfully, tossing aside the paper.
"The question for us now to solve is the
sequence of events leading from a rifled
jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose in
Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see,
Watson, our little deductions have suddenly
assumed a much more important and less innocent
aspect. Here is the stone; the stone came from
the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry
Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all
the other characteristics with which I have
bored you. So now we must set ourselves very
seriously to finding this gentleman and
ascertaining what part he has played in this
little mystery. To do this, we must try the
simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly
in an advertisement in all the evening papers.
If this fail, I shall have recourse to other
methods."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper.
Now, then: `Found at the corner of Goodge
Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr. Henry
Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this
evening at 221B, Baker Street.` That is clear
and concise."
"Very. But will he see it?"
"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the
papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was a
heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his
mischance in breaking the window and by the
approach of Peterson that he thought of nothing
but flight, but since then he must have bitterly
regretted the impulse which caused him to drop
his bird. Then, again, the introduction of his
name will cause him to see it, for everyone who
knows him will direct his attention to it. Here
you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising
agency and have this put in the evening papers."
"In which, sir?"
"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St.
James`s, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and any
others that occur to you."
"Very well, sir. And this stone?"
"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you.
And, I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on your
way back and leave it here with me, for we must
have one to give to this gentleman in place of
the one which your family is now devouring."
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took
up the stone and held it against the light.
"It`s a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it
glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus
and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They
are the devil`s pet baits. In the larger and
older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody
deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It
was found in the banks of the Amoy River in
southern China and is remarkable in having every
characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is
blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of
its youth, it has already a sinister history.
There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing,
a suicide, and several robberies brought about
for the sake of this forty-grain weight of
crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so
pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows
and the prison? I`ll lock it up in my strong box
now and drop a line to the Countess to say that
we have it."
"Do you think that this man Horner is
innocent?"
"I cannot tell."
"Well, then, do you imagine that this other
one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with the
matter?"
"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry
Baker is an absolutely innocent man, who had no
idea that the bird which he was carrying was of
considerably more value than if it were made of
solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by
a very simple test if we have an answer to our
advertisement."
"And you can do nothing until then?"
"Nothing."
"In that case I shall continue my
professional round. But I shall come back in the
evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I
should like to see the solution of so tangled a
business."
"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There
is a woodcock, I believe. By the way, in view of
recent occurrences, perhaps I ought to ask Mrs.
Hudson to examine its crop."
I had been delayed at a case, and it was a
little after half-past six when I found myself
in Baker Street once more. As I approached the
house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a
coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting
outside in the bright semicircle which was
thrown from the fanlight. Just as I arrived the
door was opened, and we were shown up together
to Holmes` room.
"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising
from his armchair and greeting his visitor with
the easy air of geniality which he could so
readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the
fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, and I
observe that your circulation is more adapted
for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have
just come at the right time. Is that your hat,
Mr. Baker?"
"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat."
He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a
massive head, and a broad, intelligent face,
sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled
brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a
slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled
Holmes` surmise as to his habits. His rusty
black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front,
with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists
protruded from his sleeves without a sign of
cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato
fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave
the impression generally of a man of learning
and letters who had had ill-usage at the hands
of fortune.
"We have retained these things for some
days," said Holmes, "because we expected to see
an advertisement from you giving your address. I
am at a loss to know now why you did not
advertise."
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh.
"Shillings have not been so plentiful with me as
they once were," he remarked. "I had no doubt
that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had
carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not
care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt
at recovering them."
"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird,
we were compelled to eat it."
"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his
chair in his excitement.
"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone
had we not done so. But I presume that this
other goose upon the sideboard, which is about
the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer
your purpose equally well?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr.
Baker with a sigh of relief.
"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs,
crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you
wish--"
The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They
might be useful to me as relics of my
adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can
hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my
late acquaintance are going to be to me. No,
sir, I think that, with your permission, I will
confine my attentions to the excellent bird
which I perceive upon the sideboard."
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me
with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"There is your hat, then, and there your
bird," said he. "By the way, would it bore you
to tell me where you got the other one from? I
am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom
seen a better grown goose."
"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen
and tucked his newly gained property under his
arm. "There are a few of us who frequent the
Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found
in the Museum itself during the day, you
understand. This year our good host, Windigate
by name, instituted a goose club, by which, on
consideration of some few pence every week, we
were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My
pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar
to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a
Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor
my gravity." With a comical pomposity of manner
he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off
upon his way.
"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes
when he had closed the door behind him. "It is
quite certain that he knows nothing whatever
about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"
"Not particularly."
"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into
a supper and follow up this clue while it is
still hot."
"By all means."
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our
ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats.
Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a
cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by
blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots.
Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we
swung through the doctors` quarter, Wimpole
Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore
Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an
hour we were in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn,
which is a small public-house at the corner of
one of the streets which runs down into Holborn.
Holmes pushed open the door of the private bar
and ordered two glasses of beer from the
ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.
"Your beer should be excellent if it is as
good as your geese," said he.
"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.
"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to
Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of your goose
club."
"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them`s not
our geese."
"Indeed! Whose, then?"
"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in
Covent Garden."
"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"
"Breckinridge is his name."
"Ah! I don`t know him. Well, here`s your good
health landlord, and prosperity to your house.
Good-night."
"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued,
buttoning up his coat as we came out into the
frosty air. "Remember, Watson that though we
have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of
this chain, we have at the other a man who will
certainly get seven years` penal servitude
unless we can establish his innocence. It is
possible that our inquiry may but confirm his
guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of
investigation which has been missed by the
police, and which a singular chance has placed
in our hands. Let us follow it out to the bitter
end. Faces to the south, then, and quick march!"
We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street,
and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent
Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore
the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the
proprietor a horsey-looking man, with a sharp
face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to
put up the shutters.
"Good-evening. It`s a cold night," said
Holmes.
The salesman nodded and shot a questioning
glance at my companion.
"Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes,
pointing at the bare slabs of marble.
"Let you have five hundred to-morrow
morning."
"That`s no good."
"Well, there are some on the stall with the
gas-flare."
"Ah, but I was recommended to you."
"Who by?"
"The landlord of the Alpha."
"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."
"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you
get them from?"
To my surprise the question provoked a burst
of anger from the salesman.
"Now, then, mister," said he, with his head
cocked and his arms akimbo, "what are you
driving at? Let`s have it straight, now."
"It is straight enough. I should like to know
who sold you the geese which you supplied to the
Alpha."
"Well then, I shan`t tell you. So now!"
"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I
don`t know why you should be so warm over such a
trifle."
"Warm! You`d be as warm, maybe, if you were
as pestered as I am. When I pay good money for a
good article there should be an end of the
business; but it`s `Where are the geese?` and
`Who did you sell the geese to?` and `What will
you take for the geese?` One would think they
were the only geese in the world, to hear the
fuss that is made over them."
"Well, I have no connection with any other
people who have been making inquiries," said
Holmes carelessly. "If you won`t tell us the bet
is off, that is all. But I`m always ready to
back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have
a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country
bred."
"Well, then, you`ve lost your fiver, for it`s
town bred," snapped the salesman.
"It`s nothing of the kind."
"I say it is."
"I don`t believe it."
"D`you think you know more about fowls than
I, who have handled them ever since I was a
nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to
the Alpha were town bred."
"You`ll never persuade me to believe that."
"Will you bet, then?"
"It`s merely taking your money, for I know
that I am right. But I`ll have a sovereign on
with you, just to teach you not to be
obstinate."
The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the
books, Bill," said he.
The small boy brought round a small thin
volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying
them out together beneath the hanging lamp.
"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman,
"I thought that I was out of geese, but before I
finish you`ll find that there is still one left
in my shop. You see this little book?"
"Well?"
"That`s the list of the folk from whom I buy.
D`you see? Well, then, here on this page are the
country folk, and the numbers after their names
are where their accounts are in the big ledger.
Now, then! You see this other page in red ink?
Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now,
look at that third name. Just read it out to
me."
"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249," read
Holmes.
"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."
Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here
you are, `Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg
and poultry supplier.`"
"Now, then, what`s the last entry?"
"`December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s.
6d.`"
"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?"
"`Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at
12s.`"
"What have you to say now?"
Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He
drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it
down upon the slab, turning away with the air of
a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few
yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and
laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which
was peculiar to him.
"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut
and the `Pink `un` protruding out of his pocket,
you can always draw him by a bet," said he. "I
daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in
front of him, that man would not have given me
such complete information as was drawn from him
by the idea that he was doing me on a wager.
Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end
of our quest, and the only point which remains
to be determined is whether we should go on to
this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or whether we
should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear
from what that surly fellow said that there are
others besides ourselves who are anxious about
the matter, and I should--"
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud
hubbub which broke out from the stall which we
had just left. Turning round we saw a little
rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the
circle of yellow light which was thrown by the
swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the salesman,
framed in the door of his stall, was shaking his
fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
"I`ve had enough of you and your geese," he
shouted. "I wish you were all at the devil
together. If you come pestering me any more with
your silly talk I`ll set the dog at you. You
bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I`ll answer her,
but what have you to do with it? Did I buy the
geese off you?"
"No; but one of them was mine all the same,"
whined the little man.
"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."
"She told me to ask you."
"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for
all I care. I`ve had enough of it. Get out of
this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and the
inquirer flitted away into the darkness.
"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton
Road," whispered Holmes. "Come with me, and we
will see what is to be made of this fellow."
Striding through the scattered knots of people
who lounged round the flaring stalls, my
companion speedily overtook the little man and
touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang round,
and I could see in the gas-light that every
vestige of colour had been driven from his face.
"Who are you, then? What do you want?" he
asked in a quavering voice.
"You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly,
"but I could not help overhearing the questions
which you put to the salesman just now. I think
that I could be of assistance to you."
"You? Who are you? How could you know
anything of the matter?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my
business to know what other people don`t know."
"But you can know nothing of this?"
"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are
endeavouring to trace some geese which were sold
by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to a salesman
named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.
Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club,
of which Mr. Henry Baker is a member."
"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have
longed to meet," cried the little fellow with
outstretched hands and quivering fingers. "I can
hardly explain to you how interested I am in
this matter."
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which
was passing. "In that case we had better discuss
it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept
market-place," said he. "But pray tell me,
before we go farther, who it is that I have the
pleasure of assisting."
The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is
John Robinson," he answered with a sidelong
glance.
"No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly.
"It is always awkward doing business with an
alias."
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the
stranger. "Well then," said he, "my real name is
James Ryder."
"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel
Cosmopolitan. Pray step into the cab, and I
shall soon be able to tell you everything which
you would wish to know."
The little man stood glancing from one to the
other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful
eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on
the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.
Then he stepped into the cab, and in half an
hour we were back in the sitting-room at Baker
Street. Nothing had been said during our drive,
but the high, thin breathing of our new
companion, and the claspings and unclaspings of
his hands, spoke of the nervous tension within
him.
"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we
filed into the room. "The fire looks very
seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr.
Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just
put on my slippers before we settle this little
matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know
what became of those geese?"
"Yes, sir."
"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was
one bird, I imagine in which you were
interested--white, with a black bar across the
tail."
Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he
cried, "can you tell me where it went to?"
"It came here."
"Here?"
"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I
don`t wonder that you should take an interest in
it. It laid an egg after it was dead--the
bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever
was seen. I have it here in my museum."
Our visitor staggered to his feet and
clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand.
Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the
blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star,
with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed radiance.
Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain
whether to claim or to disown it.
"The game`s up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly.
"Hold up, man, or you`ll be into the fire! Give
him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He`s not
got blood enough to go in for felony with
impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he
looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is,
to be sure!"
For a moment he had staggered and nearly
fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour
into his cheeks, and he sat staring with
frightened eyes at his accuser.
"I have almost every link in my hands, and
all the proofs which I could possibly need, so
there is little which you need tell me. Still,
that little may as well be cleared up to make
the case complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this
blue stone of the Countess of Morcar`s?"
"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,"
said he in a crackling voice.
"I see--her ladyship`s waiting-maid. Well,
the temptation of sudden wealth so easily
acquired was too much for you, as it has been
for better men before you; but you were not very
scrupulous in the means you used. It seems to
me, Ryder, that there is the making of a very
pretty villain in you. You knew that this man
Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some
such matter before, and that suspicion would
rest the more readily upon him. What did you do,
then? You made some small job in my lady`s
room--you and your confederate Cusack--and you
managed that he should be the man sent for.
Then, when he had left, you rifled the
jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this
unfortunate man arrested. You then--"
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the
rug and clutched at my companion`s knees. "For
God`s sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Think of
my father! Of my mother! It would break their
hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will
again. I swear it. I`ll swear it on a Bible. Oh,
don`t bring it into court! For Christ`s sake,
don`t!"
"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes
sternly. "It is very well to cringe and crawl
now, but you thought little enough of this poor
Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew
nothing."
"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the
country, sir. Then the charge against him will
break down."
"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us
hear a true account of the next act. How came
the stone into the goose, and how came the goose
into the open market? Tell us the truth, for
there lies your only hope of safety."
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched
lips. "I will tell you it just as it happened,
sir," said he. "When Horner had been arrested,
it seemed to me that it would be best for me to
get away with the stone at once, for I did not
know at what moment the police might not take it
into their heads to search me and my room. There
was no place about the hotel where it would be
safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and
I made for my sister`s house. She had married a
man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton Road,
where she fattened fowls for the market. All the
way there every man I met seemed to me to be a
policeman or a detective; and, for all that it
was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my
face before I came to the Brixton Road. My
sister asked me what was the matter, and why I
was so pale; but I told her that I had been
upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I
went into the back yard and smoked a pipe and
wondered what it would be best to do.
"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who
went to the bad, and has just been serving his
time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and
fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and
how they could get rid of what they stole. I
knew that he would be true to me, for I knew one
or two things about him; so I made up my mind to
go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take
him into my confidence. He would show me how to
turn the stone into money. But how to get to him
in safety? I thought of the agonies I had gone
through in coming from the hotel. I might at any
moment be seized and searched, and there would
be the stone in my waistcoat pocket. I was
leaning against the wall at the time and looking
at the geese which were waddling about round my
feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head
which showed me how I could beat the best
detective that ever lived.
"My sister had told me some weeks before that
I might have the pick of her geese for a
Christmas present, and I knew that she was
always as good as her word. I would take my
goose now, and in it I would carry my stone to
Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard,
and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine
big one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it,
and prying its bill open, I thrust the stone
down its throat as far as my finger could reach.
The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass
along its gullet and down into its crop. But the
creature flapped and struggled, and out came my
sister to know what was the matter. As I turned
to speak to her the brute broke loose and
fluttered off among the others.
"`Whatever were you doing with that bird,
Jem?` says she.
"`Well,` said I, `you said you`d give me one
for Christmas, and I was feeling which was the
fattest.`
"`Oh,` says she, `we`ve set yours aside for
you--Jem`s bird, we call it. It`s the big white
one over yonder. There`s twenty-six of them,
which makes one for you, and one for us, and two
dozen for the market.`
"`Thank you, Maggie,` says I; `but if it is
all the same to you, I`d rather have that one I
was handling just now.`
"`The other is a good three pound heavier,`
said she, `and we fattened it expressly for
you.`
"`Never mind. I`ll have the other, and I`ll
take it now,` said I.
"`Oh, just as you like,` said she, a little
huffed. `Which is it you want, then?`
"`That white one with the barred tail, right
in the middle of the flock.`
"`Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with
you.`
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I
carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told
my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it
was easy to tell a thing like that to. He
laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and
opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for
there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that
some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the
bird, rushed back to my sister`s, and hurried
into the back yard. There was not a bird to be
seen there.
"`Where are they all, Maggie?` I cried.
"`Gone to the dealer`s, Jem.`
"`Which dealer`s?`
"`Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.`
"`But was there another with a barred tail?`
I asked, `the same as the one I chose?`
"`Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed
ones, and I could never tell them apart.`
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I
ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to
this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot
at once, and not one word would he tell me as to
where they had gone. You heard him yourselves
to-night. Well, he has always answered me like
that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.
Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and
now I am myself a branded thief, without ever
having touched the wealth for which I sold my
character. God help me! God help me!" He burst
into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in
his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his
heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of
Sherlock Holmes` finger-tips upon the edge of
the table. Then my friend rose and threw open
the door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words. Get out!"
And no more words were needed. There was a
rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a
door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls
from the street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up
his hand for his clay pipe, "I am not retained
by the police to supply their deficiencies. If
Horner were in danger it would be another thing;
but this fellow will not appear against him, and
the case must collapse. I suppose that I am
commuting a felony, but it is just possible that
I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go
wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send
him to gaol now, and you make him a gaol-bird
for life. Besides, it is the season of
forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most
singular and whimsical problem, and its solution
is its own reward. If you will have the goodness
to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another
investigation, in which, also a bird will be the
chief feature." |
|
|
|
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED
BAND
On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have
during the last eight years studied the methods
of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many
tragic, some comic, a large number merely
strange, but none commonplace; for, working as
he did rather for the love of his art than for
the acquirement of wealth, he refused to
associate himself with any investigation which
did not tend towards the unusual, and even the
fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I
cannot recall any which presented more singular
features than that which was associated with the
well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of
Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in
the early days of my association with Holmes,
when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker
Street. It is possible that I might have placed
them upon record before, but a promise of
secrecy was made at the time, from which I have
only been freed during the last month by the
untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge
was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts
should now come to light, for I have reasons to
know that there are widespread rumours as to the
death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make
the matter even more terrible than the truth.
It was early in April in the year `83 that I
woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes
standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed.
He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock
on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a
quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some
surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment,
for I was myself regular in my habits.
"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said
he, "but it`s the common lot this morning. Mrs.
Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon
me, and I on you."
"What is it, then--a fire?"
"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has
arrived in a considerable state of excitement,
who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now
in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies
wander about the metropolis at this hour of the
morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their
beds, I presume that it is something very
pressing which they have to communicate. Should
it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I
am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I
thought, at any rate, that I should call you and
give you the chance."
"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for
anything."
I had no keener pleasure than in following
Holmes in his professional investigations, and
in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as
intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical
basis with which he unravelled the problems
which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on
my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to
accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A
lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who
had been sitting in the window, rose as we
entered.
"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate
friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom
you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I
am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good
sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and
I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I
observe that you are shivering."
"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said
the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as
requested.
"What, then?"
"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She
raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see
that she was indeed in a pitiable state of
agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with
restless frightened eyes, like those of some
hunted animal. Her features and figure were
those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was
shot with premature grey, and her expression was
weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over
with one of his quick, all-comprehensive
glances.
"You must not fear," said he soothingly,
bending forward and patting her forearm. "We
shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt.
You have come in by train this morning, I see."
"You know me, then?"
"No, but I observe the second half of a
return ticket in the palm of your left glove.
You must have started early, and yet you had a
good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads,
before you reached the station."
The lady gave a violent start and stared in
bewilderment at my companion.
"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said
he, smiling. "The left arm of your jacket is
spattered with mud in no less than seven places.
The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no
vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in
that way, and then only when you sit on the
left-hand side of the driver."
"Whatever your reasons may be, you are
perfectly correct," said she. "I started from
home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty
past, and came in by the first train to
Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no
longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have
no one to turn to--none, save only one, who
cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of
little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I
have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you
helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from
her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not
think that you could help me, too, and at least
throw a little light through the dense darkness
which surrounds me? At present it is out of my
power to reward you for your services, but in a
month or six weeks I shall be married, with the
control of my own income, and then at least you
shall not find me ungrateful."
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it,
drew out a small case-book, which he consulted.
"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the
case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. I
think it was before your time, Watson. I can
only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote
the same care to your case as I did to that of
your friend. As to reward, my profession is its
own reward; but you are at liberty to defray
whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time
which suits you best. And now I beg that you
will lay before us everything that may help us
in forming an opinion upon the matter."
"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror
of my situation lies in the fact that my fears
are so vague, and my suspicions depend so
entirely upon small points, which might seem
trivial to another, that even he to whom of all
others I have a right to look for help and
advice looks upon all that I tell him about it
as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not
say so, but I can read it from his soothing
answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr.
Holmes, that you can see deeply into the
manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may
advise me how to walk amid the dangers which
encompass me."
"I am all attention, madam."
"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living
with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of
one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the
Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border
of Surrey."
Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar
to me," said he.
"The family was at one time among the richest
in England, and the estates extended over the
borders into Berkshire in the north, and
Hampshire in the west. In the last century,
however, four successive heirs were of a
dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the
family ruin was eventually completed by a
gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was
left save a few acres of ground, and the
two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself
crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire
dragged out his existence there, living the
horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his
only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must
adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an
advance from a relative, which enabled him to
take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,
where, by his professional skill and his force
of character, he established a large practice.
In a fit of anger, however, caused by some
robberies which had been perpetrated in the
house, he beat his native butler to death and
narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was,
he suffered a long term of imprisonment and
afterwards returned to England a morose and
disappointed man.
"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my
mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of
Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.
My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were
only two years old at the time of my mother`s
re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of
money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and
this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely
while we resided with him, with a provision that
a certain annual sum should be allowed to each
of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly
after our return to England my mother died--she
was killed eight years ago in a railway accident
near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his
attempts to establish himself in practice in
London and took us to live with him in the old
ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which
my mother had left was enough for all our wants,
and there seemed to be no obstacle to our
happiness.
"But a terrible change came over our
stepfather about this time. Instead of making
friends and exchanging visits with our
neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to
see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old
family seat, he shut himself up in his house and
seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious
quarrels with whoever might cross his path.
Violence of temper approaching to mania has been
hereditary in the men of the family, and in my
stepfather`s case it had, I believe, been
intensified by his long residence in the
tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took
place, two of which ended in the police-court,
until at last he became the terror of the
village, and the folks would fly at his
approach, for he is a man of immense strength,
and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.
"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith
over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by
paying over all the money which I could gather
together that I was able to avert another public
exposure. He had no friends at all save the
wandering gipsies, and he would give these
vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of
bramble-covered land which represent the family
estate, and would accept in return the
hospitality of their tents, wandering away with
them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a
passion also for Indian animals, which are sent
over to him by a correspondent, and he has at
this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander
freely over his grounds and are feared by the
villagers almost as much as their master.
"You can imagine from what I say that my poor
sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our
lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a
long time we did all the work of the house. She
was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet
her hair had already begun to whiten, even as
mine has."
"Your sister is dead, then?"
"She died just two years ago, and it is of
her death that I wish to speak to you. You can
understand that, living the life which I have
described, we were little likely to see anyone
of our own age and position. We had, however, an
aunt, my mother`s maiden sister, Miss Honoria
Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were
occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this
lady`s house. Julia went there at Christmas two
years ago, and met there a half-pay major of
marines, to whom she became engaged. My
stepfather learned of the engagement when my
sister returned and offered no objection to the
marriage; but within a fortnight of the day
which had been fixed for the wedding, the
terrible event occurred which has deprived me of
my only companion."
Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his
chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in
a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and
glanced across at his visitor.
"Pray be precise as to details," said he.
"It is easy for me to be so, for every event
of that dreadful time is seared into my memory.
The manor-house is, as I have already said, very
old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The
bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor,
the sitting-rooms being in the central block of
the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is
Dr. Roylott`s, the second my sister`s, and the
third my own. There is no communication between
them, but they all open out into the same
corridor. Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly so."
"The windows of the three rooms open out upon
the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone
to his room early, though we knew that he had
not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled
by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which
it was his custom to smoke. She left her room,
therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for
some time, chatting about her approaching
wedding. At eleven o`clock she rose to leave me,
but she paused at the door and looked back.
"`Tell me, Helen,` said she, `have you ever
heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?`
"`Never,` said I.
"`I suppose that you could not possibly
whistle, yourself, in your sleep?`
"`Certainly not. But why?`
"`Because during the last few nights I have
always, about three in the morning, heard a low,
clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has
awakened me. I cannot tell where it came
from--perhaps from the next room, perhaps from
the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you
whether you had heard it.`
"`No, I have not. It must be those wretched
gipsies in the plantation.`
"`Very likely. And yet if it were on the
lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it also.`
"`Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.`
"`Well, it is of no great consequence, at any
rate.` She smiled back at me, closed my door,
and a few moments later I heard her key turn in
the lock."
"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom
always to lock yourselves in at night?"
"Always."
"And why?"
"I think that I mentioned to you that the
doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no
feeling of security unless our doors were
locked."
"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."
"I could not sleep that night. A vague
feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. My
sister and I, you will recollect, were twins,
and you know how subtle are the links which bind
two souls which are so closely allied. It was a
wild night. The wind was howling outside, and
the rain was beating and splashing against the
windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the
gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a
terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister`s
voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl
round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I
opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle,
such as my sister described, and a few moments
later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal
had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my
sister`s door was unlocked, and revolved slowly
upon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken,
not knowing what was about to issue from it. By
the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister
appear at the opening, her face blanched with
terror, her hands groping for help, her whole
figure swaying to and fro like that of a
drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round
her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give
way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as
one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were
dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that
she had not recognised me, but as I bent over
her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I
shall never forget, `Oh, my God! Helen! It was
the band! The speckled band!` There was
something else which she would fain have said,
and she stabbed with her finger into the air in
the direction of the doctor`s room, but a fresh
convulsion seized her and choked her words. I
rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather,
and I met him hastening from his room in his
dressing-gown. When he reached my sister`s side
she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy
down her throat and sent for medical aid from
the village, all efforts were in vain, for she
slowly sank and died without having recovered
her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of
my beloved sister."
"One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure
about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you
swear to it?"
"That was what the county coroner asked me at
the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I
heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale
and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly
have been deceived."
"Was your sister dressed?"
"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right
hand was found the charred stump of a match, and
in her left a match-box."
"Showing that she had struck a light and
looked about her when the alarm took place. That
is important. And what conclusions did the
coroner come to?"
"He investigated the case with great care,
for Dr. Roylott`s conduct had long been
notorious in the county, but he was unable to
find any satisfactory cause of death. My
evidence showed that the door had been fastened
upon the inner side, and the windows were
blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad
iron bars, which were secured every night. The
walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to
be quite solid all round, and the flooring was
also thoroughly examined, with the same result.
The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four
large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my
sister was quite alone when she met her end.
Besides, there were no marks of any violence
upon her."
"How about poison?"
"The doctors examined her for it, but without
success."
"What do you think that this unfortunate lady
died of, then?"
"It is my belief that she died of pure fear
and nervous shock, though what it was that
frightened her I cannot imagine."
"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the
time?"
"Yes, there are nearly always some there."
"Ah, and what did you gather from this
allusion to a band--a speckled band?"
"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely
the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may
have referred to some band of people, perhaps to
these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not
know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so
many of them wear over their heads might have
suggested the strange adjective which she used."
Holmes shook his head like a man who is far
from being satisfied.
"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray
go on with your narrative."
"Two years have passed since then, and my
life has been until lately lonelier than ever. A
month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have
known for many years, has done me the honour to
ask my hand in marriage. His name is
Armitage--Percy Armitage--the second son of Mr.
Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My
stepfather has offered no opposition to the
match, and we are to be married in the course of
the spring. Two days ago some repairs were
started in the west wing of the building, and my
bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have
had to move into the chamber in which my sister
died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she
slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when
last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her
terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence
of the night the low whistle which had been the
herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the
lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I
was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I
dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I
slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn,
which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead,
from whence I have come on this morning with the
one object of seeing you and asking your
advice."
"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But
have you told me all?"
"Yes, all."
"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are
screening your stepfather."
"Why, what do you mean?"
For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of
black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon
our visitor`s knee. Five little livid spots, the
marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed
upon the white wrist.
"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.
The lady coloured deeply and covered over her
injured wrist. "He is a hard man," she said,
"and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength."
There was a long silence, during which Holmes
leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into
the crackling fire.
"This is a very deep business," he said at
last. "There are a thousand details which I
should desire to know before I decide upon our
course of action. Yet we have not a moment to
lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day,
would it be possible for us to see over these
rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?"
"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town
to-day upon some most important business. It is
probable that he will be away all day, and that
there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a
housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and
I could easily get her out of the way."
"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip,
Watson?"
"By no means."
"Then we shall both come. What are you going
to do yourself?"
"I have one or two things which I would wish
to do now that I am in town. But I shall return
by the twelve o`clock train, so as to be there
in time for your coming."
"And you may expect us early in the
afternoon. I have myself some small business
matters to attend to. Will you not wait and
breakfast?"
"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already
since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall
look forward to seeing you again this
afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil
over her face and glided from the room.
"And what do you think of it all, Watson?"
asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his
chair.
"It seems to me to be a most dark and
sinister business."
"Dark enough and sinister enough."
"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that
the flooring and walls are sound, and that the
door, window, and chimney are impassable, then
her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when
she met her mysterious end."
"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal
whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of
the dying woman?"
"I cannot think."
"When you combine the ideas of whistles at
night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are
on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact
that we have every reason to believe that the
doctor has an interest in preventing his
stepdaughter`s marriage, the dying allusion to a
band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen
Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have
been caused by one of those metal bars that
secured the shutters falling back into its
place, I think that there is good ground to
think that the mystery may be cleared along
those lines."
"But what, then, did the gipsies do?"
"I cannot imagine."
"I see many objections to any such theory."
"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason
that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I
want to see whether the objections are fatal, or
if they may be explained away. But what in the
name of the devil!"
The ejaculation had been drawn from my
companion by the fact that our door had been
suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had
framed himself in the aperture. His costume was
a peculiar mixture of the professional and of
the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long
frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a
hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was
he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar
of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span
it across from side to side. A large face,
seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow
with the sun, and marked with every evil
passion, was turned from one to the other of us,
while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his
high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat
the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.
"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this
apparition.
"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of
me," said my companion quietly.
"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."
"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray
take a seat."
"I will do nothing of the kind. My
stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her.
What has she been saying to you?"
"It is a little cold for the time of the
year," said Holmes.
"What has she been saying to you?" screamed
the old man furiously.
"But I have heard that the crocuses promise
well," continued my companion imperturbably.
"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new
visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his
hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel! I have
heard of you before. You are Holmes, the
meddler."
My friend smiled.
"Holmes, the busybody!"
His smile broadened.
"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"
Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation
is most entertaining," said he. "When you go out
close the door, for there is a decided draught."
"I will go when I have said my say. Don`t you
dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss
Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a
dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He
stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and
bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.
"See that you keep yourself out of my grip,"
he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into
the fireplace he strode out of the room.
"He seems a very amiable person," said
Holmes, laughing. "I am not quite so bulky, but
if he had remained I might have shown him that
my grip was not much more feeble than his own."
As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and,
with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.
"Fancy his having the insolence to confound
me with the official detective force! This
incident gives zest to our investigation,
however, and I only trust that our little friend
will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing
this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we
shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall
walk down to Doctors` Commons, where I hope to
get some data which may help us in this matter."
It was nearly one o`clock when Sherlock
Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in
his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over
with notes and figures.
"I have seen the will of the deceased wife,"
said he. "To determine its exact meaning I have
been obliged to work out the present prices of
the investments with which it is concerned. The
total income, which at the time of the wife`s
death was little short of 1100 pounds, is now,
through the fall in agricultural prices, not
more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an
income of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is
evident, therefore, that if both girls had
married, this beauty would have had a mere
pittance, while even one of them would cripple
him to a very serious extent. My morning`s work
has not been wasted, since it has proved that he
has the very strongest motives for standing in
the way of anything of the sort. And now,
Watson, this is too serious for dawdling,
especially as the old man is aware that we are
interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you
are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to
Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you
would slip your revolver into your pocket. An
Eley`s No. 2 is an excellent argument with
gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots.
That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we
need."
At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a
train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at
the station inn and drove for four or five miles
through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a
perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy
clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside
hedges were just throwing out their first green
shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant
smell of the moist earth. To me at least there
was a strange contrast between the sweet promise
of the spring and this sinister quest upon which
we were engaged. My companion sat in the front
of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled
down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his
breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly,
however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder,
and pointed over the meadows.
"Look there!" said he.
A heavily timbered park stretched up in a
gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the
highest point. From amid the branches there
jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of
a very old mansion.
"Stoke Moran?" said he.
"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby
Roylott," remarked the driver.
"There is some building going on there," said
Holmes; "that is where we are going."
"There`s the village," said the driver,
pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to
the left; "but if you want to get to the house,
you`ll find it shorter to get over this stile,
and so by the foot-path over the fields. There
it is, where the lady is walking."
"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,"
observed Holmes, shading his eyes. "Yes, I think
we had better do as you suggest."
We got off, paid our fare, and the trap
rattled back on its way to Leatherhead.
"I thought it as well," said Holmes as we
climbed the stile, "that this fellow should
think we had come here as architects, or on some
definite business. It may stop his gossip.
Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we
have been as good as our word."
Our client of the morning had hurried forward
to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. "I
have been waiting so eagerly for you," she
cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "All has
turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to
town, and it is unlikely that he will be back
before evening."
"We have had the pleasure of making the
doctor`s acquaintance," said Holmes, and in a
few words he sketched out what had occurred.
Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she
listened.
"Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed
me, then."
"So it appears."
"He is so cunning that I never know when I am
safe from him. What will he say when he
returns?"
"He must guard himself, for he may find that
there is someone more cunning than himself upon
his track. You must lock yourself up from him
to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you
away to your aunt`s at Harrow. Now, we must make
the best use of our time, so kindly take us at
once to the rooms which we are to examine."
The building was of grey, lichen-blotched
stone, with a high central portion and two
curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown
out on each side. In one of these wings the
windows were broken and blocked with wooden
boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a
picture of ruin. The central portion was in
little better repair, but the right-hand block
was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the
windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the
chimneys, showed that this was where the family
resided. Some scaffolding had been erected
against the end wall, and the stone-work had
been broken into, but there were no signs of any
workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes
walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn
and examined with deep attention the outsides of
the windows.
"This, I take it, belongs to the room in
which you used to sleep, the centre one to your
sister`s, and the one next to the main building
to Dr. Roylott`s chamber?"
"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the
middle one."
"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By
the way, there does not seem to be any very
pressing need for repairs at that end wall."
"There were none. I believe that it was an
excuse to move me from my room."
"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other
side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from
which these three rooms open. There are windows
in it, of course?"
"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for
anyone to pass through."
"As you both locked your doors at night, your
rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now,
would you have the kindness to go into your room
and bar your shutters?"
Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a
careful examination through the open window,
endeavoured in every way to force the shutter
open, but without success. There was no slit
through which a knife could be passed to raise
the bar. Then with his lens he tested the
hinges, but they were of solid iron, built
firmly into the massive masonry. "Hum!" said he,
scratching his chin in some perplexity, "my
theory certainly presents some difficulties. No
one could pass these shutters if they were
bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws
any light upon the matter."
A small side door led into the whitewashed
corridor from which the three bedrooms opened.
Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so
we passed at once to the second, that in which
Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her
sister had met with her fate. It was a homely
little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping
fireplace, after the fashion of old
country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood
in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed
in another, and a dressing-table on the
left-hand side of the window. These articles,
with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all
the furniture in the room save for a square of
Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round
and the panelling of the walls were of brown,
worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it
may have dated from the original building of the
house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a
corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled
round and round and up and down, taking in every
detail of the apartment.
"Where does that bell communicate with?" he
asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope
which hung down beside the bed, the tassel
actually lying upon the pillow.
"It goes to the housekeeper`s room."
"It looks newer than the other things?"
"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years
ago."
"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"
"No, I never heard of her using it. We used
always to get what we wanted for ourselves."
"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice
a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few
minutes while I satisfy myself as to this
floor." He threw himself down upon his face with
his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly
backward and forward, examining minutely the
cracks between the boards. Then he did the same
with the wood-work with which the chamber was
panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and
spent some time in staring at it and in running
his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took
the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk
tug.
"Why, it`s a dummy," said he.
"Won`t it ring?"
"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This
is very interesting. You can see now that it is
fastened to a hook just above where the little
opening for the ventilator is."
"How very absurd! I never noticed that
before."
"Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at
the rope. "There are one or two very singular
points about this room. For example, what a fool
a builder must be to open a ventilator into
another room, when, with the same trouble, he
might have communicated with the outside air!"
"That is also quite modern," said the lady.
"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?"
remarked Holmes.
"Yes, there were several little changes
carried out about that time."
"They seem to have been of a most interesting
character--dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators
which do not ventilate. With your permission,
Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches
into the inner apartment."
Dr. Grimesby Roylott`s chamber was larger
than that of his step-daughter, but was as
plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden
shelf full of books, mostly of a technical
character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain
wooden chair against the wall, a round table,
and a large iron safe were the principal things
which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round
and examined each and all of them with the
keenest interest.
"What`s in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.
"My stepfather`s business papers."
"Oh! you have seen inside, then?"
"Only once, some years ago. I remember that
it was full of papers."
"There isn`t a cat in it, for example?"
"No. What a strange idea!"
"Well, look at this!" He took up a small
saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.
"No; we don`t keep a cat. But there is a
cheetah and a baboon."
"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just
a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go
very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay.
There is one point which I should wish to
determine." He squatted down in front of the
wooden chair and examined the seat of it with
the greatest attention.
"Thank you. That is quite settled," said he,
rising and putting his lens in his pocket.
"Hullo! Here is something interesting!"
The object which had caught his eye was a
small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed.
The lash, however, was curled upon itself and
tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.
"What do you make of that, Watson?"
"It`s a common enough lash. But I don`t know
why it should be tied."
"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me!
it`s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns
his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I
think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner,
and with your permission we shall walk out upon
the lawn."
I had never seen my friend`s face so grim or
his brow so dark as it was when we turned from
the scene of this investigation. We had walked
several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss
Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his
thoughts before he roused himself from his
reverie.
"It is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he,
"that you should absolutely follow my advice in
every respect."
"I shall most certainly do so."
"The matter is too serious for any
hesitation. Your life may depend upon your
compliance."
"I assure you that I am in your hands."
"In the first place, both my friend and I
must spend the night in your room."
Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in
astonishment.
"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I
believe that that is the village inn over
there?"
"Yes, that is the Crown."
"Very good. Your windows would be visible
from there?"
"Certainly."
"You must confine yourself to your room, on
pretence of a headache, when your stepfather
comes back. Then when you hear him retire for
the night, you must open the shutters of your
window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a
signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with
everything which you are likely to want into the
room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt
that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage
there for one night."
"Oh, yes, easily."
"The rest you will leave in our hands."
"But what will you do?"
"We shall spend the night in your room, and
we shall investigate the cause of this noise
which has disturbed you."
"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already
made up your mind," said Miss Stoner, laying her
hand upon my companion`s sleeve.
"Perhaps I have."
"Then, for pity`s sake, tell me what was the
cause of my sister`s death."
"I should prefer to have clearer proofs
before I speak."
"You can at least tell me whether my own
thought is correct, and if she died from some
sudden fright."
"No, I do not think so. I think that there
was probably some more tangible cause. And now,
Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr.
Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be
in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will
do what I have told you, you may rest assured
that we shall soon drive away the dangers that
threaten you."
Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in
engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown
Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our
window we could command a view of the avenue
gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran
Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott
drive past, his huge form looming up beside the
little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy
had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy
iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the
doctor`s voice and saw the fury with which he
shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove
on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden
light spring up among the trees as the lamp was
lit in one of the sitting-rooms.
"Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat
together in the gathering darkness, "I have
really some scruples as to taking you to-night.
There is a distinct element of danger."
"Can I be of assistance?"
"Your presence might be invaluable."
"Then I shall certainly come."
"It is very kind of you."
"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen
more in these rooms than was visible to me."
"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a
little more. I imagine that you saw all that I
did."
"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope,
and what purpose that could answer I confess is
more than I can imagine."
"You saw the ventilator, too?"
"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a
very unusual thing to have a small opening
between two rooms. It was so small that a rat
could hardly pass through."
"I knew that we should find a ventilator
before ever we came to Stoke Moran."
"My dear Holmes!"
"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her
statement she said that her sister could smell
Dr. Roylott`s cigar. Now, of course that
suggested at once that there must be a
communication between the two rooms. It could
only be a small one, or it would have been
remarked upon at the coroner`s inquiry. I
deduced a ventilator."
"But what harm can there be in that?"
"Well, there is at least a curious
coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a
cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed
dies. Does not that strike you?"
"I cannot as yet see any connection."
"Did you observe anything very peculiar about
that bed?"
"No."
"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever
see a bed fastened like that before?"
"I cannot say that I have."
"The lady could not move her bed. It must
always be in the same relative position to the
ventilator and to the rope--or so we may call
it, since it was clearly never meant for a
bell-pull."
"Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what
you are hinting at. We are only just in time to
prevent some subtle and horrible crime."
"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a
doctor does go wrong he is the first of
criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge.
Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of
their profession. This man strikes even deeper,
but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to
strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors
enough before the night is over; for goodness`
sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds
for a few hours to something more cheerful."
About nine o`clock the light among the trees
was extinguished, and all was dark in the
direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed
slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the
stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone
out right in front of us.
"That is our signal," said Holmes, springing
to his feet; "it comes from the middle window."
As we passed out he exchanged a few words
with the landlord, explaining that we were going
on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it
was possible that we might spend the night
there. A moment later we were out on the dark
road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one
yellow light twinkling in front of us through
the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.
There was little difficulty in entering the
grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the
old park wall. Making our way among the trees,
we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about
to enter through the window when out from a
clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed
to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw
itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and
then ran swiftly across the lawn into the
darkness.
"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I.
His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his
agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and
put his lips to my ear.
"It is a nice household," he murmured. "That
is the baboon."
I had forgotten the strange pets which the
doctor affected. There was a cheetah, too;
perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at
any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my
mind when, after following Holmes` example and
slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the
bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the
shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and
cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had
seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me
and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered
into my ear again so gently that it was all that
I could do to distinguish the words:
"The least sound would be fatal to our
plans."
I nodded to show that I had heard.
"We must sit without light. He would see it
through the ventilator."
I nodded again.
"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend
upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we
should need it. I will sit on the side of the
bed, and you in that chair."
I took out my revolver and laid it on the
corner of the table.
Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and
this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he
laid the box of matches and the stump of a
candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we
were left in darkness.
How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil?
I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing
of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion
sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the
same state of nervous tension in which I was
myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of
light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
From outside came the occasional cry of a
night-bird, and once at our very window a long
drawn catlike whine, which told us that the
cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could
hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which
boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long
they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and
one and two and three, and still we sat waiting
silently for whatever might befall.
Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a
light up in the direction of the ventilator,
which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by
a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.
Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern.
I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all
was silent once more, though the smell grew
stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining
ears. Then suddenly another sound became
audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like
that of a small jet of steam escaping
continually from a kettle. The instant that we
heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a
match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the
bell-pull.
"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see
it?"
But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes
struck the light I heard a low, clear whistle,
but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes
made it impossible for me to tell what it was at
which my friend lashed so savagely. I could,
however, see that his face was deadly pale and
filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased
to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator
when suddenly there broke from the silence of
the night the most horrible cry to which I have
ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder,
a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all
mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say
that away down in the village, and even in the
distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers
from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts,
and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me,
until the last echoes of it had died away into
the silence from which it rose.
"What can it mean?" I gasped.
"It means that it is all over," Holmes
answered. "And perhaps, after all, it is for the
best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr.
Roylott`s room."
With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the
way down the corridor. Twice he struck at the
chamber door without any reply from within. Then
he turned the handle and entered, I at his
heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.
It was a singular sight which met our eyes.
On the table stood a dark-lantern with the
shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of
light upon the iron safe, the door of which was
ajar. Beside this table, on the wooden chair,
sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey
dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding
beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless
Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short
stock with the long lash which we had noticed
during the day. His chin was cocked upward and
his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare
at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he
had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish
speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round
his head. As we entered he made neither sound
nor motion.
"The band! the speckled band!" whispered
Holmes.
I took a step forward. In an instant his
strange headgear began to move, and there reared
itself from among his hair the squat
diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a
loathsome serpent.
"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the
deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten
seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in
truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer
falls into the pit which he digs for another.
Let us thrust this creature back into its den,
and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place
of shelter and let the county police know what
has happened."
As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from
the dead man`s lap, and throwing the noose round
the reptile`s neck he drew it from its horrid
perch and, carrying it at arm`s length, threw it
into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.
Such are the true facts of the death of Dr.
Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not
necessary that I should prolong a narrative
which has already run to too great a length by
telling how we broke the sad news to the
terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the
morning train to the care of her good aunt at
Harrow, of how the slow process of official
inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor
met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a
dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to
learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes
as we travelled back next day.
"I had," said he, "come to an entirely
erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear
Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason
from insufficient data. The presence of the
gipsies, and the use of the word `band,` which
was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain
the appearance which she had caught a hurried
glimpse of by the light of her match, were
sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong
scent. I can only claim the merit that I
instantly reconsidered my position when,
however, it became clear to me that whatever
danger threatened an occupant of the room could
not come either from the window or the door. My
attention was speedily drawn, as I have already
remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the
bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The
discovery that this was a dummy, and that the
bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave
rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as
a bridge for something passing through the hole
and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake
instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it
with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished
with a supply of creatures from India, I felt
that I was probably on the right track. The idea
of using a form of poison which could not
possibly be discovered by any chemical test was
just such a one as would occur to a clever and
ruthless man who had had an Eastern training.
The rapidity with which such a poison would take
effect would also, from his point of view, be an
advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner,
indeed, who could distinguish the two little
dark punctures which would show where the poison
fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the
whistle. Of course he must recall the snake
before the morning light revealed it to the
victim. He had trained it, probably by the use
of the milk which we saw, to return to him when
summoned. He would put it through this
ventilator at the hour that he thought best,
with the certainty that it would crawl down the
rope and land on the bed. It might or might not
bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape
every night for a week, but sooner or later she
must fall a victim.
"I had come to these conclusions before ever
I had entered his room. An inspection of his
chair showed me that he had been in the habit of
standing on it, which of course would be
necessary in order that he should reach the
ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of
milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to
finally dispel any doubts which may have
remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss
Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather
hastily closing the door of his safe upon its
terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind,
you know the steps which I took in order to put
the matter to the proof. I heard the creature
hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I
instantly lit the light and attacked it."
"With the result of driving it through the
ventilator."
"And also with the result of causing it to
turn upon its master at the other side. Some of
the blows of my cane came home and roused its
snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first
person it saw. In this way I am no doubt
indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby
Roylott`s death, and I cannot say that it is
likely to weigh very heavily upon my
conscience."
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE
ENGINEER`S THUMB
Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years
of our intimacy, there were only two which I was
the means of introducing to his notice--that of
Mr. Hatherley`s thumb, and that of Colonel
Warburton`s madness. Of these the latter may
have afforded a finer field for an acute and
original observer, but the other was so strange
in its inception and so dramatic in its details
that it may be the more worthy of being placed
upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer
openings for those deductive methods of
reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable
results. The story has, I believe, been told
more than once in the newspapers, but, like all
such narratives, its effect is much less
striking when set forth en bloc in a single
half-column of print than when the facts slowly
evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery
clears gradually away as each new discovery
furnishes a step which leads on to the complete
truth. At the time the circumstances made a deep
impression upon me, and the lapse of two years
has hardly served to weaken the effect.
It was in the summer of `89, not long after
my marriage, that the events occurred which I am
now about to summarise. I had returned to civil
practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his
Baker Street rooms, although I continually
visited him and occasionally even persuaded him
to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come
and visit us. My practice had steadily
increased, and as I happened to live at no very
great distance from Paddington Station, I got a
few patients from among the officials. One of
these, whom I had cured of a painful and
lingering disease, was never weary of
advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to
send me on every sufferer over whom he might
have any influence.
One morning, at a little before seven
o`clock, I was awakened by the maid tapping at
the door to announce that two men had come from
Paddington and were waiting in the
consulting-room. I dressed hurriedly, for I knew
by experience that railway cases were seldom
trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I
descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of
the room and closed the door tightly behind him.
"I`ve got him here," he whispered, jerking
his thumb over his shoulder; "he`s all right."
"What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner
suggested that it was some strange creature
which he had caged up in my room.
"It`s a new patient," he whispered. "I
thought I`d bring him round myself; then he
couldn`t slip away. There he is, all safe and
sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties,
just the same as you." And off he went, this
trusty tout, without even giving me time to
thank him.
I entered my consulting-room and found a
gentleman seated by the table. He was quietly
dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft
cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books.
Round one of his hands he had a handkerchief
wrapped, which was mottled all over with
bloodstains. He was young, not more than
five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong,
masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and
gave me the impression of a man who was
suffering from some strong agitation, which it
took all his strength of mind to control.
"I am sorry to knock you up so early,
Doctor," said he, "but I have had a very serious
accident during the night. I came in by train
this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as
to where I might find a doctor, a worthy fellow
very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a
card, but I see that she has left it upon the
side-table."
I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor
Hatherley, hydraulic engineer, 16A, Victoria
Street (3rd floor)." That was the name, style,
and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that
I have kept you waiting," said I, sitting down
in my library-chair. "You are fresh from a night
journey, I understand, which is in itself a
monotonous occupation."
"Oh, my night could not be called
monotonous," said he, and laughed. He laughed
very heartily, with a high, ringing note,
leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides.
All my medical instincts rose up against that
laugh.
"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!"
and I poured out some water from a caraffe.
It was useless, however. He was off in one of
those hysterical outbursts which come upon a
strong nature when some great crisis is over and
gone. Presently he came to himself once more,
very weary and pale-looking.
"I have been making a fool of myself," he
gasped.
"Not at all. Drink this." I dashed some
brandy into the water, and the colour began to
come back to his bloodless cheeks.
"That`s better!" said he. "And now, Doctor,
perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or
rather to the place where my thumb used to be."
He unwound the handkerchief and held out his
hand. It gave even my hardened nerves a shudder
to look at it. There were four protruding
fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where
the thumb should have been. It had been hacked
or torn right out from the roots.
"Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible
injury. It must have bled considerably."
"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and
I think that I must have been senseless for a
long time. When I came to I found that it was
still bleeding, so I tied one end of my
handkerchief very tightly round the wrist and
braced it up with a twig."
"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon."
"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and
came within my own province."
"This has been done," said I, examining the
wound, "by a very heavy and sharp instrument."
"A thing like a cleaver," said he.
"An accident, I presume?"
"By no means."
"What! a murderous attack?"
"Very murderous indeed."
"You horrify me."
I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it,
and finally covered it over with cotton wadding
and carbolised bandages. He lay back without
wincing, though he bit his lip from time to
time.
"How is that?" I asked when I had finished.
"Capital! Between your brandy and your
bandage, I feel a new man. I was very weak, but
I have had a good deal to go through."
"Perhaps you had better not speak of the
matter. It is evidently trying to your nerves."
"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my
tale to the police; but, between ourselves, if
it were not for the convincing evidence of this
wound of mine, I should be surprised if they
believed my statement, for it is a very
extraordinary one, and I have not much in the
way of proof with which to back it up; and, even
if they believe me, the clues which I can give
them are so vague that it is a question whether
justice will be done."
"Ha!" cried I, "if it is anything in the
nature of a problem which you desire to see
solved, I should strongly recommend you to come
to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go
to the official police."
"Oh, I have heard of that fellow," answered
my visitor, "and I should be very glad if he
would take the matter up, though of course I
must use the official police as well. Would you
give me an introduction to him?"
"I`ll do better. I`ll take you round to him
myself."
"I should be immensely obliged to you."
"We`ll call a cab and go together. We shall
just be in time to have a little breakfast with
him. Do you feel equal to it?"
"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told
my story."
"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall
be with you in an instant." I rushed upstairs,
explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in
five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with
my new acquaintance to Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging
about his sitting-room in his dressing-gown,
reading the agony column of The Times and
smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was
composed of all the plugs and dottles left from
his smokes of the day before, all carefully
dried and collected on the corner of the
mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly
genial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs,
and joined us in a hearty meal. When it was
concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon
the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and
laid a glass of brandy and water within his
reach.
"It is easy to see that your experience has
been no common one, Mr. Hatherley," said he.
"Pray, lie down there and make yourself
absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but
stop when you are tired and keep up your
strength with a little stimulant."
"Thank you," said my patient. "but I have
felt another man since the doctor bandaged me,
and I think that your breakfast has completed
the cure. I shall take up as little of your
valuable time as possible, so I shall start at
once upon my peculiar experiences."
Holmes sat in his big armchair with the
weary, heavy-lidded expression which veiled his
keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to
him, and we listened in silence to the strange
story which our visitor detailed to us.
"You must know," said he, "that I am an
orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in
lodgings in London. By profession I am a
hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable
experience of my work during the seven years
that I was apprenticed to Venner & Matheson, the
well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago,
having served my time, and having also come into
a fair sum of money through my poor father`s
death, I determined to start in business for
myself and took professional chambers in
Victoria Street.
"I suppose that everyone finds his first
independent start in business a dreary
experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.
During two years I have had three consultations
and one small job, and that is absolutely all
that my profession has brought me. My gross
takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from
nine in the morning until four in the afternoon,
I waited in my little den, until at last my
heart began to sink, and I came to believe that
I should never have any practice at all.
"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking
of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say
there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see
me upon business. He brought up a card, too,
with the name of `Colonel Lysander Stark`
engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the
colonel himself, a man rather over the middle
size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not
think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His
whole face sharpened away into nose and chin,
and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense
over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation
seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no
disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk,
and his bearing assured. He was plainly but
neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge,
would be nearer forty than thirty.
"`Mr. Hatherley?` said he, with something of
a German accent. `You have been recommended to
me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is not
only proficient in his profession but is also
discreet and capable of preserving a secret.`
"I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young
man would at such an address. `May I ask who it
was who gave me so good a character?`
"`Well, perhaps it is better that I should
not tell you that just at this moment. I have it
from the same source that you are both an orphan
and a bachelor and are residing alone in
London.`
"`That is quite correct,` I answered; `but
you will excuse me if I say that I cannot see
how all this bears upon my professional
qualifications. I understand that it was on a
professional matter that you wished to speak to
me?`
"`Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all
I say is really to the point. I have a
professional commission for you, but absolute
secrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy,
you understand, and of course we may expect that
more from a man who is alone than from one who
lives in the bosom of his family.`
"`If I promise to keep a secret,` said I,
`you may absolutely depend upon my doing so.`
"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it
seemed to me that I had never seen so suspicious
and questioning an eye.
"`Do you promise, then?` said he at last.
"`Yes, I promise.`
"`Absolute and complete silence before,
during, and after? No reference to the matter at
all, either in word or writing?`
"`I have already given you my word.`
"`Very good.` He suddenly sprang up, and
darting like lightning across the room he flung
open the door. The passage outside was empty.
"`That`s all right,` said he, coming back. `I
know that clerks are sometimes curious as to
their master`s affairs. Now we can talk in
safety.` He drew up his chair very close to mine
and began to stare at me again with the same
questioning and thoughtful look.
"A feeling of repulsion, and of something
akin to fear had begun to rise within me at the
strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my
dread of losing a client could not restrain me
from showing my impatience.
"`I beg that you will state your business,
sir,` said I; `my time is of value.` Heaven
forgive me for that last sentence, but the words
came to my lips.
"`How would fifty guineas for a night`s work
suit you?` he asked.
"`Most admirably.`
"`I say a night`s work, but an hour`s would
be nearer the mark. I simply want your opinion
about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got
out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we
shall soon set it right ourselves. What do you
think of such a commission as that?`
"`The work appears to be light and the pay
munificent.`
"`Precisely so. We shall want you to come
to-night by the last train.`
"`Where to?`
"`To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little
place near the borders of Oxfordshire, and
within seven miles of Reading. There is a train
from Paddington which would bring you there at
about 11:15.`
"`Very good.`
"`I shall come down in a carriage to meet
you.`
"`There is a drive, then?`
"`Yes, our little place is quite out in the
country. It is a good seven miles from Eyford
Station.`
"`Then we can hardly get there before
midnight. I suppose there would be no chance of
a train back. I should be compelled to stop the
night.`
"`Yes, we could easily give you a
shake-down.`
"`That is very awkward. Could I not come at
some more convenient hour?`
"`We have judged it best that you should come
late. It is to recompense you for any
inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young
and unknown man, a fee which would buy an
opinion from the very heads of your profession.
Still, of course, if you would like to draw out
of the business, there is plenty of time to do
so.`
"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how
very useful they would be to me. `Not at all,`
said I, `I shall be very happy to accommodate
myself to your wishes. I should like, however,
to understand a little more clearly what it is
that you wish me to do.`
"`Quite so. It is very natural that the
pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you
should have aroused your curiosity. I have no
wish to commit you to anything without your
having it all laid before you. I suppose that we
are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?`
"`Entirely.`
"`Then the matter stands thus. You are
probably aware that fuller`s-earth is a valuable
product, and that it is only found in one or two
places in England?`
"`I have heard so.`
"`Some little time ago I bought a small
place--a very small place--within ten miles of
Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover that
there was a deposit of fuller`s-earth in one of
my fields. On examining it, however, I found
that this deposit was a comparatively small one,
and that it formed a link between two very much
larger ones upon the right and left--both of
them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours.
These good people were absolutely ignorant that
their land contained that which was quite as
valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my
interest to buy their land before they
discovered its true value, but unfortunately I
had no capital by which I could do this. I took
a few of my friends into the secret, however,
and they suggested that we should quietly and
secretly work our own little deposit and that in
this way we should earn the money which would
enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This
we have now been doing for some time, and in
order to help us in our operations we erected a
hydraulic press. This press, as I have already
explained, has got out of order, and we wish
your advice upon the subject. We guard our
secret very jealously, however, and if it once
became known that we had hydraulic engineers
coming to our little house, it would soon rouse
inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it
would be good-bye to any chance of getting these
fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I
have made you promise me that you will not tell
a human being that you are going to Eyford
to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?`
"`I quite follow you,` said I. `The only
point which I could not quite understand was
what use you could make of a hydraulic press in
excavating fuller`s-earth, which, as I
understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit.`
"`Ah!` said he carelessly, `we have our own
process. We compress the earth into bricks, so
as to remove them without revealing what they
are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you
fully into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and
I have shown you how I trust you.` He rose as he
spoke. `I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at
11:15.`
"`I shall certainly be there.`
"`And not a word to a soul.` He looked at me
with a last long, questioning gaze, and then,
pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he
hurried from the room.
"Well, when I came to think it all over in
cool blood I was very much astonished, as you
may both think, at this sudden commission which
had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of
course, I was glad, for the fee was at least
tenfold what I should have asked had I set a
price upon my own services, and it was possible
that this order might lead to other ones. On the
other hand, the face and manner of my patron had
made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I
could not think that his explanation of the
fuller`s-earth was sufficient to explain the
necessity for my coming at midnight, and his
extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of my
errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds,
ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and
started off, having obeyed to the letter the
injunction as to holding my tongue.
"At Reading I had to change not only my
carriage but my station. However, I was in time
for the last train to Eyford, and I reached the
little dim-lit station after eleven o`clock. I
was the only passenger who got out there, and
there was no one upon the platform save a single
sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out
through the wicket gate, however, I found my
acquaintance of the morning waiting in the
shadow upon the other side. Without a word he
grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage,
the door of which was standing open. He drew up
the windows on either side, tapped on the
wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse
could go."
"One horse?" interjected Holmes.
"Yes, only one."
"Did you observe the colour?"
"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was
stepping into the carriage. It was a chestnut."
"Tired-looking or fresh?"
"Oh, fresh and glossy."
"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted
you. Pray continue your most interesting
statement."
"Away we went then, and we drove for at least
an hour. Colonel Lysander Stark had said that it
was only seven miles, but I should think, from
the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time
that we took, that it must have been nearer
twelve. He sat at my side in silence all the
time, and I was aware, more than once when I
glanced in his direction, that he was looking at
me with great intensity. The country roads seem
to be not very good in that part of the world,
for we lurched and jolted terribly. I tried to
look out of the windows to see something of
where we were, but they were made of frosted
glass, and I could make out nothing save the
occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now
and then I hazarded some remark to break the
monotony of the journey, but the colonel
answered only in monosyllables, and the
conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the
bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp
smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage
came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang
out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me
swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us.
We stepped, as it were, right out of the
carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to
catch the most fleeting glance of the front of
the house. The instant that I had crossed the
threshold the door slammed heavily behind us,
and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as
the carriage drove away.
"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the
colonel fumbled about looking for matches and
muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door
opened at the other end of the passage, and a
long, golden bar of light shot out in our
direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared
with a lamp in her hand, which she held above
her head, pushing her face forward and peering
at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from
the gloss with which the light shone upon her
dark dress I knew that it was a rich material.
She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a
tone as though asking a question, and when my
companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she
gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from
her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her,
whispered something in her ear, and then,
pushing her back into the room from whence she
had come, he walked towards me again with the
lamp in his hand.
"`Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait
in this room for a few minutes,` said he,
throwing open another door. It was a quiet,
little, plainly furnished room, with a round
table in the centre, on which several German
books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down
the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the
door. `I shall not keep you waiting an instant,`
said he, and vanished into the darkness.
"I glanced at the books upon the table, and
in spite of my ignorance of German I could see
that two of them were treatises on science, the
others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked
across to the window, hoping that I might catch
some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak
shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it.
It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an
old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the
passage, but otherwise everything was deadly
still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to
steal over me. Who were these German people, and
what were they doing living in this strange,
out-of-the-way place? And where was the place? I
was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I
knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I
had no idea. For that matter, Reading, and
possibly other large towns, were within that
radius, so the place might not be so secluded,
after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the
absolute stillness, that we were in the country.
I paced up and down the room, humming a tune
under my breath to keep up my spirits and
feeling that I was thoroughly earning my
fifty-guinea fee.
"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in
the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my
room swung slowly open. The woman was standing
in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind
her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon
her eager and beautiful face. I could see at a
glance that she was sick with fear, and the
sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up
one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and
she shot a few whispered words of broken English
at me, her eyes glancing back, like those of a
frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.
"`I would go,` said she, trying hard, as it
seemed to me, to speak calmly; `I would go. I
should not stay here. There is no good for you
to do.`
"`But, madam,` said I, `I have not yet done
what I came for. I cannot possibly leave until I
have seen the machine.`
"`It is not worth your while to wait,` she
went on. `You can pass through the door; no one
hinders.` And then, seeing that I smiled and
shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her
constraint and made a step forward, with her
hands wrung together. `For the love of Heaven!`
she whispered, `get away from here before it is
too late!`
"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and
the more ready to engage in an affair when there
is some obstacle in the way. I thought of my
fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and
of the unpleasant night which seemed to be
before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why
should I slink away without having carried out
my commission, and without the payment which was
my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a
monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore,
though her manner had shaken me more than I
cared to confess, I still shook my head and
declared my intention of remaining where I was.
She was about to renew her entreaties when a
door slammed overhead, and the sound of several
footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She
listened for an instant, threw up her hands with
a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly
and as noiselessly as she had come.
"The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark
and a short thick man with a chinchilla beard
growing out of the creases of his double chin,
who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.
"`This is my secretary and manager,` said the
colonel. `By the way, I was under the impression
that I left this door shut just now. I fear that
you have felt the draught.`
"`On the contrary,` said I, `I opened the
door myself because I felt the room to be a
little close.`
"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me.
`Perhaps we had better proceed to business,
then,` said he. `Mr. Ferguson and I will take
you up to see the machine.`
"`I had better put my hat on, I suppose.`
"`Oh, no, it is in the house.`
"`What, you dig fuller`s-earth in the house?`
"`No, no. This is only where we compress it.
But never mind that. All we wish you to do is to
examine the machine and to let us know what is
wrong with it.`
"We went upstairs together, the colonel first
with the lamp, the fat manager and I behind him.
It was a labyrinth of an old house, with
corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases,
and little low doors, the thresholds of which
were hollowed out by the generations who had
crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs
of any furniture above the ground floor, while
the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the
damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy
blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an
air as possible, but I had not forgotten the
warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded
them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two
companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and
silent man, but I could see from the little that
he said that he was at least a
fellow-countryman.
"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last
before a low door, which he unlocked. Within was
a small, square room, in which the three of us
could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained
outside, and the colonel ushered me in.
"`We are now,` said he, `actually within the
hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly
unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn
it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is
really the end of the descending piston, and it
comes down with the force of many tons upon this
metal floor. There are small lateral columns of
water outside which receive the force, and which
transmit and multiply it in the manner which is
familiar to you. The machine goes readily
enough, but there is some stiffness in the
working of it, and it has lost a little of its
force. Perhaps you will have the goodness to
look it over and to show us how we can set it
right.`
"I took the lamp from him, and I examined the
machine very thoroughly. It was indeed a
gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous
pressure. When I passed outside, however, and
pressed down the levers which controlled it, I
knew at once by the whishing sound that there
was a slight leakage, which allowed a
regurgitation of water through one of the side
cylinders. An examination showed that one of the
india-rubber bands which was round the head of a
driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fill
the socket along which it worked. This was
clearly the cause of the loss of power, and I
pointed it out to my companions, who followed my
remarks very carefully and asked several
practical questions as to how they should
proceed to set it right. When I had made it
clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of
the machine and took a good look at it to
satisfy my own curiosity. It was obvious at a
glance that the story of the fuller`s-earth was
the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd
to suppose that so powerful an engine could be
designed for so inadequate a purpose. The walls
were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large
iron trough, and when I came to examine it I
could see a crust of metallic deposit all over
it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to
see exactly what it was when I heard a muttered
exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous
face of the colonel looking down at me.
"`What are you doing there?` he asked.
"I felt angry at having been tricked by so
elaborate a story as that which he had told me.
`I was admiring your fuller`s-earth,` said I; `I
think that I should be better able to advise you
as to your machine if I knew what the exact
purpose was for which it was used.`
"The instant that I uttered the words I
regretted the rashness of my speech. His face
set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his
grey eyes.
"`Very well,` said he, `you shall know all
about the machine.` He took a step backward,
slammed the little door, and turned the key in
the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the
handle, but it was quite secure, and did not
give in the least to my kicks and shoves.
`Hullo!` I yelled. `Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!`
"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a
sound which sent my heart into my mouth. It was
the clank of the levers and the swish of the
leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work.
The lamp still stood upon the floor where I had
placed it when examining the trough. By its
light I saw that the black ceiling was coming
down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew
better than myself, with a force which must
within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. I
threw myself, screaming, against the door, and
dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored
the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless
clanking of the levers drowned my cries. The
ceiling was only a foot or two above my head,
and with my hand upraised I could feel its hard,
rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind
that the pain of my death would depend very much
upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on
my face the weight would come upon my spine, and
I shuddered to think of that dreadful snap.
Easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had I
the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly
black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I
was unable to stand erect, when my eye caught
something which brought a gush of hope back to
my heart.
"I have said that though the floor and
ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. As
I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a
thin line of yellow light between two of the
boards, which broadened and broadened as a small
panel was pushed backward. For an instant I
could hardly believe that here was indeed a door
which led away from death. The next instant I
threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon
the other side. The panel had closed again
behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few
moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of
metal, told me how narrow had been my escape.
"I was recalled to myself by a frantic
plucking at my wrist, and I found myself lying
upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while
a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her
left hand, while she held a candle in her right.
It was the same good friend whose warning I had
so foolishly rejected.
"`Come! come!` she cried breathlessly. `They
will be here in a moment. They will see that you
are not there. Oh, do not waste the so-precious
time, but come!`
"This time, at least, I did not scorn her
advice. I staggered to my feet and ran with her
along the corridor and down a winding stair. The
latter led to another broad passage, and just as
we reached it we heard the sound of running feet
and the shouting of two voices, one answering
the other from the floor on which we were and
from the one beneath. My guide stopped and
looked about her like one who is at her wit`s
end. Then she threw open a door which led into a
bedroom, through the window of which the moon
was shining brightly.
"`It is your only chance,` said she. `It is
high, but it may be that you can jump it.`
"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the
further end of the passage, and I saw the lean
figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing forward
with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a
butcher`s cleaver in the other. I rushed across
the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked
out. How quiet and sweet and wholesome the
garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not
be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out
upon the sill, but I hesitated to jump until I
should have heard what passed between my saviour
and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were
ill-used, then at any risks I was determined to
go back to her assistance. The thought had
hardly flashed through my mind before he was at
the door, pushing his way past her; but she
threw her arms round him and tried to hold him
back.
"`Fritz! Fritz!` she cried in English,
`remember your promise after the last time. You
said it should not be again. He will be silent!
Oh, he will be silent!`
"`You are mad, Elise!` he shouted, struggling
to break away from her. `You will be the ruin of
us. He has seen too much. Let me pass, I say!`
He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the
window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had
let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to
the sill, when his blow fell. I was conscious of
a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into
the garden below.
"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I
picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes
as hard as I could run, for I understood that I
was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,
however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and
sickness came over me. I glanced down at my
hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then,
for the first time, saw that my thumb had been
cut off and that the blood was pouring from my
wound. I endeavoured to tie my handkerchief
round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my
ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint
among the rose-bushes.
"How long I remained unconscious I cannot
tell. It must have been a very long time, for
the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was
breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were
all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was
drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. The
smarting of it recalled in an instant all the
particulars of my night`s adventure, and I
sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might
hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But to my
astonishment, when I came to look round me,
neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had
been lying in an angle of the hedge close by the
highroad, and just a little lower down was a
long building, which proved, upon my approaching
it, to be the very station at which I had
arrived upon the previous night. Were it not for
the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed
during those dreadful hours might have been an
evil dream.
"Half dazed, I went into the station and
asked about the morning train. There would be
one to Reading in less than an hour. The same
porter was on duty, I found, as had been there
when I arrived. I inquired of him whether he had
ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name
was strange to him. Had he observed a carriage
the night before waiting for me? No, he had not.
Was there a police-station anywhere near? There
was one about three miles off.
"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as
I was. I determined to wait until I got back to
town before telling my story to the police. It
was a little past six when I arrived, so I went
first to have my wound dressed, and then the
doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I
put the case into your hands and shall do
exactly what you advise."
We both sat in silence for some little time
after listening to this extraordinary narrative.
Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the shelf
one of the ponderous commonplace books in which
he placed his cuttings.
"Here is an advertisement which will interest
you," said he. "It appeared in all the papers
about a year ago. Listen to this: `Lost, on the
9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged
twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his
lodgings at ten o`clock at night, and has not
been heard of since. Was dressed in,` etc., etc.
Ha! That represents the last time that the
colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I
fancy."
"Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that
explains what the girl said."
"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the
colonel was a cool and desperate man, who was
absolutely determined that nothing should stand
in the way of his little game, like those
out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor
from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is
precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go
down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary
to starting for Eyford."
Some three hours or so afterwards we were all
in the train together, bound from Reading to the
little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock
Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector
Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes
man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an
ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and
was busy with his compasses drawing a circle
with Eyford for its centre.
"There you are," said he. "That circle is
drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village.
The place we want must be somewhere near that
line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."
"It was an hour`s good drive."
"And you think that they brought you back all
that way when you were unconscious?"
"They must have done so. I have a confused
memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed
somewhere."
"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why
they should have spared you when they found you
lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the
villain was softened by the woman`s entreaties."
"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a
more inexorable face in my life."
"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said
Bradstreet. "Well, I have drawn my circle, and I
only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk
that we are in search of are to be found."
"I think I could lay my finger on it," said
Holmes quietly.
"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have
formed your opinion! Come, now, we shall see who
agrees with you. I say it is south, for the
country is more deserted there."
"And I say east," said my patient.
"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes
man. "There are several quiet little villages up
there."
"And I am for north," said I, "because there
are no hills there, and our friend says that he
did not notice the carriage go up any."
"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it`s
a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have
boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your
casting vote to?"
"You are all wrong."
"But we can`t all be."
"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He
placed his finger in the centre of the circle.
"This is where we shall find them."
"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped
Hatherley.
"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You
say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy
when you got in. How could it be that if it had
gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"
"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,"
observed Bradstreet thoughtfully. "Of course
there can be no doubt as to the nature of this
gang."
"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners
on a large scale, and have used the machine to
form the amalgam which has taken the place of
silver."
"We have known for some time that a clever
gang was at work," said the inspector. "They
have been turning out half-crowns by the
thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading,
but could get no farther, for they had covered
their traces in a way that showed that they were
very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky
chance, I think that we have got them right
enough."
But the inspector was mistaken, for those
criminals were not destined to fall into the
hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford
Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which
streamed up from behind a small clump of trees
in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense
ostrich feather over the landscape.
"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the
train steamed off again on its way.
"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.
"When did it break out?"
"I hear that it was during the night, sir,
but it has got worse, and the whole place is in
a blaze."
"Whose house is it?"
"Dr. Becher`s."
"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr.
Becher a German, very thin, with a long, sharp
nose?"
The station-master laughed heartily. "No,
sir, Dr. Becher is an Englishman, and there
isn`t a man in the parish who has a better-lined
waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with
him, a patient, as I understand, who is a
foreigner, and he looks as if a little good
Berkshire beef would do him no harm."
The station-master had not finished his
speech before we were all hastening in the
direction of the fire. The road topped a low
hill, and there was a great widespread
whitewashed building in front of us, spouting
fire at every chink and window, while in the
garden in front three fire-engines were vainly
striving to keep the flames under.
"That`s it!" cried Hatherley, in intense
excitement. "There is the gravel-drive, and
there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That
second window is the one that I jumped from."
"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had
your revenge upon them. There can be no question
that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was
crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden
walls, though no doubt they were too excited in
the chase after you to observe it at the time.
Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your
friends of last night, though I very much fear
that they are a good hundred miles off by now."
And Holmes` fears came to be realised, for
from that day to this no word has ever been
heard either of the beautiful woman, the
sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early
that morning a peasant had met a cart containing
several people and some very bulky boxes driving
rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there
all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and
even Holmes` ingenuity failed ever to discover
the least clue as to their whereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the
strange arrangements which they had found
within, and still more so by discovering a newly
severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the
second floor. About sunset, however, their
efforts were at last successful, and they
subdued the flames, but not before the roof had
fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to
such absolute ruin that, save some twisted
cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained
of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate
acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel
and of tin were discovered stored in an
out-house, but no coins were to be found, which
may have explained the presence of those bulky
boxes which have been already referred to.
How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed
from the garden to the spot where he recovered
his senses might have remained forever a mystery
were it not for the soft mould, which told us a
very plain tale. He had evidently been carried
down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably
small feet and the other unusually large ones.
On the whole, it was most probable that the
silent Englishman, being less bold or less
murderous than his companion, had assisted the
woman to bear the unconscious man out of the way
of danger.
"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took
our seats to return once more to London, "it has
been a pretty business for me! I have lost my
thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and
what have I gained?"
"Experience," said Holmes, laughing.
"Indirectly it may be of value, you know; you
have only to put it into words to gain the
reputation of being excellent company for the
remainder of your existence."
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE
BACHELOR
The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long
ceased to be a subject of interest in those
exalted circles in which the unfortunate
bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed
it, and their more piquant details have drawn
the gossips away from this four-year-old drama.
As I have reason to believe, however, that the
full facts have never been revealed to the
general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes
had a considerable share in clearing the matter
up, I feel that no memoir of him would be
complete without some little sketch of this
remarkable episode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage,
during the days when I was still sharing rooms
with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home
from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the
table waiting for him. I had remained indoors
all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn
to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the
Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of
my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign
throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in
one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had
surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers
until at last, saturated with the news of the
day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless,
watching the huge crest and monogram upon the
envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who
my friend`s noble correspondent could be.
"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I
remarked as he entered. "Your morning letters,
if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and
a tide-waiter."
"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the
charm of variety," he answered, smiling, "and
the humbler are usually the more interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome social
summonses which call upon a man either to be
bored or to lie."
He broke the seal and glanced over the
contents.
"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of
interest, after all."
"Not social, then?"
"No, distinctly professional."
"And from a noble client?"
"One of the highest in England."
"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."
"I assure you, Watson, without affectation,
that the status of my client is a matter of less
moment to me than the interest of his case. It
is just possible, however, that that also may
not be wanting in this new investigation. You
have been reading the papers diligently of late,
have you not?"
"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing
to a huge bundle in the corner. "I have had
nothing else to do."
"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be
able to post me up. I read nothing except the
criminal news and the agony column. The latter
is always instructive. But if you have followed
recent events so closely you must have read
about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?"
"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."
"That is well. The letter which I hold in my
hand is from Lord St. Simon. I will read it to
you, and in return you must turn over these
papers and let me have whatever bears upon the
matter. This is what he says:
"`MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord
Backwater tells me that I may place implicit
reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I
have determined, therefore, to call upon you and
to consult you in reference to the very painful
event which has occurred in connection with my
wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is
acting already in the matter, but he assures me
that he sees no objection to your co-operation,
and that he even thinks that it might be of some
assistance. I will call at four o`clock in the
afternoon, and, should you have any other
engagement at that time, I hope that you will
postpone it, as this matter is of paramount
importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.`
"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written
with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had the
misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer
side of his right little finger," remarked
Holmes as he folded up the epistle.
"He says four o`clock. It is three now. He
will be here in an hour."
"Then I have just time, with your assistance,
to get clear upon the subject. Turn over those
papers and arrange the extracts in their order
of time, while I take a glance as to who our
client is." He picked a red-covered volume from
a line of books of reference beside the
mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting down
and flattening it out upon his knee. "`Lord
Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son
of the Duke of Balmoral.` Hum! `Arms: Azure,
three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born
in 1846.` He`s forty-one years of age, which is
mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the
colonies in a late administration. The Duke, his
father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign
Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet blood by
direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side.
Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in
all this. I think that I must turn to you
Watson, for something more solid."
"I have very little difficulty in finding
what I want," said I, "for the facts are quite
recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable.
I feared to refer them to you, however, as I
knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that
you disliked the intrusion of other matters."
"Oh, you mean the little problem of the
Grosvenor Square furniture van. That is quite
cleared up now--though, indeed, it was obvious
from the first. Pray give me the results of your
newspaper selections."
"Here is the first notice which I can find.
It is in the personal column of the Morning
Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back: `A
marriage has been arranged,` it says, `and will,
if rumour is correct, very shortly take place,
between Lord Robert St. Simon, second son of the
Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only
daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San
Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.` That is all."
"Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes,
stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire.
"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one
of the society papers of the same week. Ah, here
it is: `There will soon be a call for protection
in the marriage market, for the present
free-trade principle appears to tell heavily
against our home product. One by one the
management of the noble houses of Great Britain
is passing into the hands of our fair cousins
from across the Atlantic. An important addition
has been made during the last week to the list
of the prizes which have been borne away by
these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has
shown himself for over twenty years proof
against the little god`s arrows, has now
definitely announced his approaching marriage
with Miss Hatty Doran, the fascinating daughter
of a California millionaire. Miss Doran, whose
graceful figure and striking face attracted much
attention at the Westbury House festivities, is
an only child, and it is currently reported that
her dowry will run to considerably over the six
figures, with expectancies for the future. As it
is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has
been compelled to sell his pictures within the
last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no
property of his own save the small estate of
Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian
heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance
which will enable her to make the easy and
common transition from a Republican lady to a
British peeress.`"
"Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.
"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note
in the Morning Post to say that the marriage
would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would
be at St. George`s, Hanover Square, that only
half a dozen intimate friends would be invited,
and that the party would return to the furnished
house at Lancaster Gate which has been taken by
Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on
Wednesday last--there is a curt announcement
that the wedding had taken place, and that the
honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater`s
place, near Petersfield. Those are all the
notices which appeared before the disappearance
of the bride."
"Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start.
"The vanishing of the lady."
"When did she vanish, then?"
"At the wedding breakfast."
"Indeed. This is more interesting than it
promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact."
"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of
the common."
"They often vanish before the ceremony, and
occasionally during the honeymoon; but I cannot
call to mind anything quite so prompt as this.
Pray let me have the details."
"I warn you that they are very incomplete."
"Perhaps we may make them less so."
"Such as they are, they are set forth in a
single article of a morning paper of yesterday,
which I will read to you. It is headed,
`Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding`:
"`The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has
been thrown into the greatest consternation by
the strange and painful episodes which have
taken place in connection with his wedding. The
ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of
yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but
it is only now that it has been possible to
confirm the strange rumours which have been so
persistently floating about. In spite of the
attempts of the friends to hush the matter up,
so much public attention has now been drawn to
it that no good purpose can be served by
affecting to disregard what is a common subject
for conversation.
"`The ceremony, which was performed at St.
George`s, Hanover Square, was a very quiet one,
no one being present save the father of the
bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of
Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady
Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister
of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington.
The whole party proceeded afterwards to the
house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate,
where breakfast had been prepared. It appears
that some little trouble was caused by a woman,
whose name has not been ascertained, who
endeavoured to force her way into the house
after the bridal party, alleging that she had
some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only
after a painful and prolonged scene that she was
ejected by the butler and the footman. The
bride, who had fortunately entered the house
before this unpleasant interruption, had sat
down to breakfast with the rest, when she
complained of a sudden indisposition and retired
to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused
some comment, her father followed her, but
learned from her maid that she had only come up
to her chamber for an instant, caught up an
ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the
passage. One of the footmen declared that he had
seen a lady leave the house thus apparelled, but
had refused to credit that it was his mistress,
believing her to be with the company. On
ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared,
Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with the
bridegroom, instantly put themselves in
communication with the police, and very
energetic inquiries are being made, which will
probably result in a speedy clearing up of this
very singular business. Up to a late hour last
night, however, nothing had transpired as to the
whereabouts of the missing lady. There are
rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is
said that the police have caused the arrest of
the woman who had caused the original
disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy
or some other motive, she may have been
concerned in the strange disappearance of the
bride.`"
"And is that all?"
"Only one little item in another of the
morning papers, but it is a suggestive one."
"And it is--"
"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had
caused the disturbance, has actually been
arrested. It appears that she was formerly a
danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known
the bridegroom for some years. There are no
further particulars, and the whole case is in
your hands now--so far as it has been set forth
in the public press."
"And an exceedingly interesting case it
appears to be. I would not have missed it for
worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson,
and as the clock makes it a few minutes after
four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be
our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson,
for I very much prefer having a witness, if only
as a check to my own memory."
"Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our
page-boy, throwing open the door. A gentleman
entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,
high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of
petulance about the mouth, and with the steady,
well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it
had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His
manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance
gave an undue impression of age, for he had a
slight forward stoop and a little bend of the
knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept
off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled
round the edges and thin upon the top. As to his
dress, it was careful to the verge of
foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat,
white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather
shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He advanced
slowly into the room, turning his head from left
to right, and swinging in his right hand the
cord which held his golden eyeglasses.
"Good-day, Lord St. Simon," said Holmes,
rising and bowing. "Pray take the basket-chair.
This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.
Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk
this matter over."
"A most painful matter to me, as you can most
readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to
the quick. I understand that you have already
managed several delicate cases of this sort,
sir, though I presume that they were hardly from
the same class of society."
"No, I am descending."
"I beg pardon."
"My last client of the sort was a king."
"Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?"
"The King of Scandinavia."
"What! Had he lost his wife?"
"You can understand," said Holmes suavely,
"that I extend to the affairs of my other
clients the same secrecy which I promise to you
in yours."
"Of course! Very right! very right! I`m sure
I beg pardon. As to my own case, I am ready to
give you any information which may assist you in
forming an opinion."
"Thank you. I have already learned all that
is in the public prints, nothing more. I presume
that I may take it as correct-- this article,
for example, as to the disappearance of the
bride."
Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "Yes, it is
correct, as far as it goes."
"But it needs a great deal of supplementing
before anyone could offer an opinion. I think
that I may arrive at my facts most directly by
questioning you."
"Pray do so."
"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"
"In San Francisco, a year ago."
"You were travelling in the States?"
"Yes."
"Did you become engaged then?"
"No."
"But you were on a friendly footing?"
"I was amused by her society, and she could
see that I was amused."
"Her father is very rich?"
"He is said to be the richest man on the
Pacific slope."
"And how did he make his money?"
"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago.
Then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by
leaps and bounds."
"Now, what is your own impression as to the
young lady`s--your wife`s character?"
The nobleman swung his glasses a little
faster and stared down into the fire. "You see,
Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife was twenty before
her father became a rich man. During that time
she ran free in a mining camp and wandered
through woods or mountains, so that her
education has come from Nature rather than from
the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England
a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free,
unfettered by any sort of traditions. She is
impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She is
swift in making up her mind and fearless in
carrying out her resolutions. On the other hand,
I would not have given her the name which I have
the honour to bear"--he gave a little stately
cough--"had not I thought her to be at bottom a
noble woman. I believe that she is capable of
heroic self-sacrifice and that anything
dishonourable would be repugnant to her."
"Have you her photograph?"
"I brought this with me." He opened a locket
and showed us the full face of a very lovely
woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory
miniature, and the artist had brought out the
full effect of the lustrous black hair, the
large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes
gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed
the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.
"The young lady came to London, then, and you
renewed your acquaintance?"
"Yes, her father brought her over for this
last London season. I met her several times,
became engaged to her, and have now married
her."
"She brought, I understand, a considerable
dowry?"
"A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my
family."
"And this, of course, remains to you, since
the marriage is a fait accompli?"
"I really have made no inquiries on the
subject."
"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran
on the day before the wedding?"
"Yes."
"Was she in good spirits?"
"Never better. She kept talking of what we
should do in our future lives."
"Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the
morning of the wedding?"
"She was as bright as possible--at least
until after the ceremony."
"And did you observe any change in her then?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the
first signs that I had ever seen that her temper
was just a little sharp. The incident however,
was too trivial to relate and can have no
possible bearing upon the case."
"Pray let us have it, for all that."
"Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet
as we went towards the vestry. She was passing
the front pew at the time, and it fell over into
the pew. There was a moment`s delay, but the
gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again,
and it did not appear to be the worse for the
fall. Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she
answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on
our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over
this trifling cause."
"Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman
in the pew. Some of the general public were
present, then?"
"Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them
when the church is open."
"This gentleman was not one of your wife`s
friends?"
"No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy,
but he was quite a common-looking person. I
hardly noticed his appearance. But really I
think that we are wandering rather far from the
point."
"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the
wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than
she had gone to it. What did she do on
re-entering her father`s house?"
"I saw her in conversation with her maid."
"And who is her maid?"
"Alice is her name. She is an American and
came from California with her."
"A confidential servant?"
"A little too much so. It seemed to me that
her mistress allowed her to take great
liberties. Still, of course, in America they
look upon these things in a different way."
"How long did she speak to this Alice?"
"Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to
think of."
"You did not overhear what they said?"
"Lady St. Simon said something about `jumping
a claim.` She was accustomed to use slang of the
kind. I have no idea what she meant."
"American slang is very expressive sometimes.
And what did your wife do when she finished
speaking to her maid?"
"She walked into the breakfast-room."
"On your arm?"
"No, alone. She was very independent in
little matters like that. Then, after we had sat
down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly,
muttered some words of apology, and left the
room. She never came back."
"But this maid, Alice, as I understand,
deposes that she went to her room, covered her
bride`s dress with a long ulster, put on a
bonnet, and went out."
"Quite so. And she was afterwards seen
walking into Hyde Park in company with Flora
Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who
had already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran`s
house that morning."
"Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as
to this young lady, and your relations to her."
Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and
raised his eyebrows. "We have been on a friendly
footing for some years--I may say on a very
friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro.
I have not treated her ungenerously, and she had
no just cause of complaint against me, but you
know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a
dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed
and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me
dreadful letters when she heard that I was about
to be married, and, to tell the truth, the
reason why I had the marriage celebrated so
quietly was that I feared lest there might be a
scandal in the church. She came to Mr. Doran`s
door just after we returned, and she endeavoured
to push her way in, uttering very abusive
expressions towards my wife, and even
threatening her, but I had foreseen the
possibility of something of the sort, and I had
two police fellows there in private clothes, who
soon pushed her out again. She was quiet when
she saw that there was no good in making a row."
"Did your wife hear all this?"
"No, thank goodness, she did not."
"And she was seen walking with this very
woman afterwards?"
"Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland
Yard, looks upon as so serious. It is thought
that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some
terrible trap for her."
"Well, it is a possible supposition."
"You think so, too?"
"I did not say a probable one. But you do not
yourself look upon this as likely?"
"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly."
"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of
characters. Pray what is your own theory as to
what took place?"
"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not
to propound one. I have given you all the facts.
Since you ask me, however, I may say that it has
occurred to me as possible that the excitement
of this affair, the consciousness that she had
made so immense a social stride, had the effect
of causing some little nervous disturbance in my
wife."
"In short, that she had become suddenly
deranged?"
"Well, really, when I consider that she has
turned her back--I will not say upon me, but
upon so much that many have aspired to without
success--I can hardly explain it in any other
fashion."
"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable
hypothesis," said Holmes, smiling. "And now,
Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all
my data. May I ask whether you were seated at
the breakfast-table so that you could see out of
the window?"
"We could see the other side of the road and
the Park."
"Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to
detain you longer. I shall communicate with
you."
"Should you be fortunate enough to solve this
problem," said our client, rising.
"I have solved it."
"Eh? What was that?"
"I say that I have solved it."
"Where, then, is my wife?"
"That is a detail which I shall speedily
supply."
Lord St. Simon shook his head. "I am afraid
that it will take wiser heads than yours or
mine," he remarked, and bowing in a stately,
old-fashioned manner he departed.
"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour
my head by putting it on a level with his own,"
said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "I think that I
shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after
all this cross-questioning. I had formed my
conclusions as to the case before our client
came into the room."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I have notes of several similar cases,
though none, as I remarked before, which were
quite as prompt. My whole examination served to
turn my conjecture into a certainty.
Circumstantial evidence is occasionally very
convincing, as when you find a trout in the
milk, to quote Thoreau`s example."
"But I have heard all that you have heard."
"Without, however, the knowledge of
pre-existing cases which serves me so well.
There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some
years back, and something on very much the same
lines at Munich the year after the
Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these
cases--but, hullo, here is Lestrade!
Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra
tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars
in the box."
The official detective was attired in a
pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a
decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a
black canvas bag in his hand. With a short
greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar
which had been offered to him.
"What`s up, then?" asked Holmes with a
twinkle in his eye. "You look dissatisfied."
"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal
St. Simon marriage case. I can make neither head
nor tail of the business."
"Really! You surprise me."
"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every
clue seems to slip through my fingers. I have
been at work upon it all day."
"And very wet it seems to have made you,"
said Holmes laying his hand upon the arm of the
pea-jacket.
"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine."
"In heaven`s name, what for?"
"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon."
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and
laughed heartily.
"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar
Square fountain?" he asked.
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Because you have just as good a chance of
finding this lady in the one as in the other."
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my
companion. "I suppose you know all about it," he
snarled.
"Well, I have only just heard the facts, but
my mind is made up."
"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the
Serpentine plays no part in the matter?"
"I think it very unlikely."
"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it
is that we found this in it?" He opened his bag
as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a
wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white
satin shoes and a bride`s wreath and veil, all
discoloured and soaked in water. "There," said
he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of
the pile. "There is a little nut for you to
crack, Master Holmes."
"Oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue
rings into the air. "You dragged them from the
Serpentine?"
"No. They were found floating near the margin
by a park-keeper. They have been identified as
her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the
clothes were there the body would not be far
off."
"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man`s
body is to be found in the neighbourhood of his
wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive
at through this?"
"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in
the disappearance."
"I am afraid that you will find it
difficult."
"Are you, indeed, now?" cried Lestrade with
some bitterness. "I am afraid, Holmes, that you
are not very practical with your deductions and
your inferences. You have made two blunders in
as many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss
Flora Millar."
"And how?"
"In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a
card-case. In the card-case is a note. And here
is the very note." He slapped it down upon the
table in front of him. "Listen to this: `You
will see me when all is ready. Come at once.
F.H.M.` Now my theory all along has been that
Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar,
and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was
responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed
with her initials, is the very note which was no
doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door
and which lured her within their reach."
"Very good, Lestrade," said Holmes, laughing.
"You really are very fine indeed. Let me see
it." He took up the paper in a listless way, but
his attention instantly became riveted, and he
gave a little cry of satisfaction. "This is
indeed important," said he.
"Ha! you find it so?"
"Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly."
Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his
head to look. "Why," he shrieked, "you`re
looking at the wrong side!"
"On the contrary, this is the right side."
"The right side? You`re mad! Here is the note
written in pencil over here."
"And over here is what appears to be the
fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me
deeply."
"There`s nothing in it. I looked at it
before," said Lestrade. "`Oct. 4th, rooms 8s.,
breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s. 6d.,
glass sherry, 8d.` I see nothing in that."
"Very likely not. It is most important, all
the same. As to the note, it is important also,
or at least the initials are, so I congratulate
you again."
"I`ve wasted time enough," said Lestrade,
rising. "I believe in hard work and not in
sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.
Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which
gets to the bottom of the matter first." He
gathered up the garments, thrust them into the
bag, and made for the door.
"Just one hint to you, Lestrade," drawled
Holmes before his rival vanished; "I will tell
you the true solution of the matter. Lady St.
Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never
has been, any such person."
Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then
he turned to me, tapped his forehead three
times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried
away.
He had hardly shut the door behind him when
Holmes rose to put on his overcoat. "There is
something in what the fellow says about outdoor
work," he remarked, "so I think, Watson, that I
must leave you to your papers for a little."
It was after five o`clock when Sherlock
Holmes left me, but I had no time to be lonely,
for within an hour there arrived a
confectioner`s man with a very large flat box.
This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom
he had brought with him, and presently, to my
very great astonishment, a quite epicurean
little cold supper began to be laid out upon our
humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a
couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a
pâ´© de foie gras pie with a group of ancient
and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these
luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like
the genii of the Arabian Nights, with no
explanation save that the things had been paid
for and were ordered to this address.
Just before nine o`clock Sherlock Holmes
stepped briskly into the room. His features were
gravely set, but there was a light in his eye
which made me think that he had not been
disappointed in his conclusions.
"They have laid the supper, then," he said,
rubbing his hands.
"You seem to expect company. They have laid
for five."
"Yes, I fancy we may have some company
dropping in," said he. "I am surprised that Lord
St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy
that I hear his step now upon the stairs."
It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon
who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more
vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed
expression upon his aristocratic features.
"My messenger reached you, then?" asked
Holmes.
"Yes, and I confess that the contents
startled me beyond measure. Have you good
authority for what you say?"
"The best possible."
Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed
his hand over his forehead.
"What will the Duke say," he murmured, "when
he hears that one of the family has been
subjected to such humiliation?"
"It is the purest accident. I cannot allow
that there is any humiliation."
"Ah, you look on these things from another
standpoint."
"I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can
hardly see how the lady could have acted
otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it
was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no
mother, she had no one to advise her at such a
crisis."
"It was a slight, sir, a public slight," said
Lord St. Simon, tapping his fingers upon the
table.
"You must make allowance for this poor girl,
placed in so unprecedented a position."
"I will make no allowance. I am very angry
indeed, and I have been shamefully used."
"I think that I heard a ring," said Holmes.
"Yes, there are steps on the landing. If I
cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of
the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an
advocate here who may be more successful." He
opened the door and ushered in a lady and
gentleman. "Lord St. Simon," said he "allow me
to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay
Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already
met."
At the sight of these newcomers our client
had sprung from his seat and stood very erect,
with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into
the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of
offended dignity. The lady had taken a quick
step forward and had held out her hand to him,
but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was
as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her
pleading face was one which it was hard to
resist.
"You`re angry, Robert," said she. "Well, I
guess you have every cause to be."
"Pray make no apology to me," said Lord St.
Simon bitterly.
"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real
bad and that I should have spoken to you before
I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from the
time when I saw Frank here again I just didn`t
know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I
didn`t fall down and do a faint right there
before the altar."
"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my
friend and me to leave the room while you
explain this matter?"
"If I may give an opinion," remarked the
strange gentleman, "we`ve had just a little too
much secrecy over this business already. For my
part, I should like all Europe and America to
hear the rights of it." He was a small, wiry,
sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face
and alert manner.
"Then I`ll tell our story right away," said
the lady. "Frank here and I met in `84, in
McQuire`s camp, near the Rockies, where pa was
working a claim. We were engaged to each other,
Frank and I; but then one day father struck a
rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank
here had a claim that petered out and came to
nothing. The richer pa grew the poorer was
Frank; so at last pa wouldn`t hear of our
engagement lasting any longer, and he took me
away to `Frisco. Frank wouldn`t throw up his
hand, though; so he followed me there, and he
saw me without pa knowing anything about it. It
would only have made him mad to know, so we just
fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that
he would go and make his pile, too, and never
come back to claim me until he had as much as
pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the
end of time and pledged myself not to marry
anyone else while he lived. `Why shouldn`t we be
married right away, then,` said he, `and then I
will feel sure of you; and I won`t claim to be
your husband until I come back?` Well, we talked
it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely,
with a clergyman all ready in waiting, that we
just did it right there; and then Frank went off
to seek his fortune, and I went back to pa.
"The next I heard of Frank was that he was in
Montana, and then he went prospecting in
Arizona, and then I heard of him from New
Mexico. After that came a long newspaper story
about how a miners` camp had been attacked by
Apache Indians, and there was my Frank`s name
among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was
very sick for months after. Pa thought I had a
decline and took me to half the doctors in
`Frisco. Not a word of news came for a year and
more, so that I never doubted that Frank was
really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to
`Frisco, and we came to London, and a marriage
was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I
felt all the time that no man on this earth
would ever take the place in my heart that had
been given to my poor Frank.
"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of
course I`d have done my duty by him. We can`t
command our love, but we can our actions. I went
to the altar with him with the intention to make
him just as good a wife as it was in me to be.
But you may imagine what I felt when, just as I
came to the altar rails, I glanced back and saw
Frank standing and looking at me out of the
first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first;
but when I looked again there he was still, with
a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me
whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I
wonder I didn`t drop. I know that everything was
turning round, and the words of the clergyman
were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I
didn`t know what to do. Should I stop the
service and make a scene in the church? I
glanced at him again, and he seemed to know what
I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his
lips to tell me to be still. Then I saw him
scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that he
was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on
the way out I dropped my bouquet over to him,
and he slipped the note into my hand when he
returned me the flowers. It was only a line
asking me to join him when he made the sign to
me to do so. Of course I never doubted for a
moment that my first duty was now to him, and I
determined to do just whatever he might direct.
"When I got back I told my maid, who had
known him in California, and had always been his
friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but to get
a few things packed and my ulster ready. I know
I ought to have spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it
was dreadful hard before his mother and all
those great people. I just made up my mind to
run away and explain afterwards. I hadn`t been
at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank out
of the window at the other side of the road. He
beckoned to me and then began walking into the
Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and
followed him. Some woman came talking something
or other about Lord St. Simon to me--seemed to
me from the little I heard as if he had a little
secret of his own before marriage also--but I
managed to get away from her and soon overtook
Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we
drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon
Square, and that was my true wedding after all
those years of waiting. Frank had been a
prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on
to `Frisco, found that I had given him up for
dead and had gone to England, followed me there,
and had come upon me at last on the very morning
of my second wedding."
"I saw it in a paper," explained the
American. "It gave the name and the church but
not where the lady lived."
"Then we had a talk as to what we should do,
and Frank was all for openness, but I was so
ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should
like to vanish away and never see any of them
again--just sending a line to pa, perhaps, to
show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to
think of all those lords and ladies sitting
round that breakfast-table and waiting for me to
come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and
things and made a bundle of them, so that I
should not be traced, and dropped them away
somewhere where no one could find them. It is
likely that we should have gone on to Paris
to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr.
Holmes, came round to us this evening, though
how he found us is more than I can think, and he
showed us very clearly and kindly that I was
wrong and that Frank was right, and that we
should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we
were so secret. Then he offered to give us a
chance of talking to Lord St. Simon alone, and
so we came right away round to his rooms at
once. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I
am very sorry if I have given you pain, and I
hope that you do not think very meanly of me."
Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his
rigid attitude, but had listened with a frowning
brow and a compressed lip to this long
narrative.
"Excuse me," he said, "but it is not my
custom to discuss my most intimate personal
affairs in this public manner."
"Then you won`t forgive me? You won`t shake
hands before I go?"
"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any
pleasure." He put out his hand and coldly
grasped that which she extended to him.
"I had hoped," suggested Holmes, "that you
would have joined us in a friendly supper."
"I think that there you ask a little too
much," responded his Lordship. "I may be forced
to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I
can hardly be expected to make merry over them.
I think that with your permission I will now
wish you all a very good-night." He included us
all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the
room.
"Then I trust that you at least will honour
me with your company," said Sherlock Holmes. "It
is always a joy to meet an American, Mr.
Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that
the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a
minister in far-gone years will not prevent our
children from being some day citizens of the
same world-wide country under a flag which shall
be a quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars
and Stripes."
"The case has been an interesting one,"
remarked Holmes when our visitors had left us,
"because it serves to show very clearly how
simple the explanation may be of an affair which
at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable.
Nothing could be more natural than the sequence
of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing
stranger than the result when viewed, for
instance, by Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard."
"You were not yourself at fault at all,
then?"
"From the first, two facts were very obvious
to me, the one that the lady had been quite
willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the
other that she had repented of it within a few
minutes of returning home. Obviously something
had occurred during the morning, then, to cause
her to change her mind. What could that
something be? She could not have spoken to
anyone when she was out, for she had been in the
company of the bridegroom. Had she seen someone,
then? If she had, it must be someone from
America because she had spent so short a time in
this country that she could hardly have allowed
anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her
that the mere sight of him would induce her to
change her plans so completely. You see we have
already arrived, by a process of exclusion, at
the idea that she might have seen an American.
Then who could this American be, and why should
he possess so much influence over her? It might
be a lover; it might be a husband. Her young
womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough
scenes and under strange conditions. So far I
had got before I ever heard Lord St. Simon`s
narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of
the change in the bride`s manner, of so
transparent a device for obtaining a note as the
dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her
confidential maid, and of her very significant
allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners`
parlance means taking possession of that which
another person has a prior claim to--the whole
situation became absolutely clear. She had gone
off with a man, and the man was either a lover
or was a previous husband--the chances being in
favour of the latter."
"And how in the world did you find them?"
"It might have been difficult, but friend
Lestrade held information in his hands the value
of which he did not himself know. The initials
were, of course, of the highest importance, but
more valuable still was it to know that within a
week he had settled his bill at one of the most
select London hotels."
"How did you deduce the select?"
"By the select prices. Eight shillings for a
bed and eightpence for a glass of sherry pointed
to one of the most expensive hotels. There are
not many in London which charge at that rate. In
the second one which I visited in Northumberland
Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book
that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman,
had left only the day before, and on looking
over the entries against him, I came upon the
very items which I had seen in the duplicate
bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226
Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being
fortunate enough to find the loving couple at
home, I ventured to give them some paternal
advice and to point out to them that it would be
better in every way that they should make their
position a little clearer both to the general
public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I
invited them to meet him here, and, as you see,
I made him keep the appointment."
"But with no very good result," I remarked.
"His conduct was certainly not very gracious."
"Ah, Watson," said Holmes, smiling, "perhaps
you would not be very gracious either, if, after
all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found
yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of
fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St.
Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that
we are never likely to find ourselves in the
same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my
violin, for the only problem we have still to
solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal
evenings."
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL
CORONET
"Holmes," said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down
the street, "here is a madman coming along. It
seems rather sad that his relatives should allow
him to come out alone."
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and
stood with his hands in the pockets of his
dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was
a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow
of the day before still lay deep upon the
ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun.
Down the centre of Baker Street it had been
ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the
traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up
edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as
when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned
and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery,
so that there were fewer passengers than usual.
Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan
Station no one was coming save the single
gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my
attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly,
and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked
face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in
a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat,
shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut
pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were in
absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and
features, for he was running hard, with
occasional little springs, such as a weary man
gives who is little accustomed to set any tax
upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up
and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face
into the most extraordinary contortions.
"What on earth can be the matter with him?" I
asked. "He is looking up at the numbers of the
houses."
"I believe that he is coming here," said
Holmes, rubbing his hands.
"Here?"
"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult
me professionally. I think that I recognise the
symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?" As he spoke,
the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door
and pulled at our bell until the whole house
resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still
puffing, still gesticulating, but with so fixed
a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our
smiles were turned in an instant to horror and
pity. For a while he could not get his words
out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair
like one who has been driven to the extreme
limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing
to his feet, he beat his head against the wall
with such force that we both rushed upon him and
tore him away to the centre of the room.
Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the
easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his
hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing
tones which he knew so well how to employ.
"You have come to me to tell your story, have
you not?" said he. "You are fatigued with your
haste. Pray wait until you have recovered
yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look
into any little problem which you may submit to
me."
The man sat for a minute or more with a
heaving chest, fighting against his emotion.
Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow,
set his lips tight, and turned his face towards
us.
"No doubt you think me mad?" said he.
"I see that you have had some great trouble,"
responded Holmes.
"God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough
to unseat my reason, so sudden and so terrible
is it. Public disgrace I might have faced,
although I am a man whose character has never
yet borne a stain. Private affliction also is
the lot of every man; but the two coming
together, and in so frightful a form, have been
enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not
I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer
unless some way be found out of this horrible
affair."
"Pray compose yourself, sir," said Holmes,
"and let me have a clear account of who you are
and what it is that has befallen you."
"My name," answered our visitor, "is probably
familiar to your ears. I am Alexander Holder, of
the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, of
Threadneedle Street."
The name was indeed well known to us as
belonging to the senior partner in the second
largest private banking concern in the City of
London. What could have happened, then, to bring
one of the foremost citizens of London to this
most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity,
until with another effort he braced himself to
tell his story.
"I feel that time is of value," said he;
"that is why I hastened here when the police
inspector suggested that I should secure your
co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the
Underground and hurried from there on foot, for
the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is
why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who
takes very little exercise. I feel better now,
and I will put the facts before you as shortly
and yet as clearly as I can.
"It is, of course, well known to you that in
a successful banking business as much depends
upon our being able to find remunerative
investments for our funds as upon our increasing
our connection and the number of our depositors.
One of our most lucrative means of laying out
money is in the shape of loans, where the
security is unimpeachable. We have done a good
deal in this direction during the last few
years, and there are many noble families to whom
we have advanced large sums upon the security of
their pictures, libraries, or plate.
"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office
at the bank when a card was brought in to me by
one of the clerks. I started when I saw the
name, for it was that of none other than--well,
perhaps even to you I had better say no more
than that it was a name which is a household
word all over the earth--one of the highest,
noblest, most exalted names in England. I was
overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he
entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into
business with the air of a man who wishes to
hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
"`Mr. Holder,` said he, `I have been informed
that you are in the habit of advancing money.`
"`The firm does so when the security is
good.` I answered.
"`It is absolutely essential to me,` said he,
`that I should have 50,000 pounds at once. I
could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten
times over from my friends, but I much prefer to
make it a matter of business and to carry out
that business myself. In my position you can
readily understand that it is unwise to place
one`s self under obligations.`
"`For how long, may I ask, do you want this
sum?` I asked.
"`Next Monday I have a large sum due to me,
and I shall then most certainly repay what you
advance, with whatever interest you think it
right to charge. But it is very essential to me
that the money should be paid at once.`
"`I should be happy to advance it without
further parley from my own private purse,` said
I, `were it not that the strain would be rather
more than it could bear. If, on the other hand,
I am to do it in the name of the firm, then in
justice to my partner I must insist that, even
in your case, every businesslike precaution
should be taken.`
"`I should much prefer to have it so,` said
he, raising up a square, black morocco case
which he had laid beside his chair. `You have
doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?`
"`One of the most precious public possessions
of the empire,` said I.
"`Precisely.` He opened the case, and there,
imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the
magnificent piece of jewellery which he had
named. `There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,`
said he, `and the price of the gold chasing is
incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the
worth of the coronet at double the sum which I
have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you
as my security.`
"I took the precious case into my hands and
looked in some perplexity from it to my
illustrious client.
"`You doubt its value?` he asked.
"`Not at all. I only doubt--`
"`The propriety of my leaving it. You may set
your mind at rest about that. I should not dream
of doing so were it not absolutely certain that
I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It
is a pure matter of form. Is the security
sufficient?`
"`Ample.`
"`You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am
giving you a strong proof of the confidence
which I have in you, founded upon all that I
have heard of you. I rely upon you not only to
be discreet and to refrain from all gossip upon
the matter but, above all, to preserve this
coronet with every possible precaution because I
need not say that a great public scandal would
be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any
injury to it would be almost as serious as its
complete loss, for there are no beryls in the
world to match these, and it would be impossible
to replace them. I leave it with you, however,
with every confidence, and I shall call for it
in person on Monday morning.`
"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave,
I said no more but, calling for my cashier, I
ordered him to pay over fifty 1000 pound notes.
When I was alone once more, however, with the
precious case lying upon the table in front of
me, I could not but think with some misgivings
of the immense responsibility which it entailed
upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it was
a national possession, a horrible scandal would
ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. I
already regretted having ever consented to take
charge of it. However, it was too late to alter
the matter now, so I locked it up in my private
safe and turned once more to my work.
"When evening came I felt that it would be an
imprudence to leave so precious a thing in the
office behind me. Bankers` safes had been forced
before now, and why should not mine be? If so,
how terrible would be the position in which I
should find myself! I determined, therefore,
that for the next few days I would always carry
the case backward and forward with me, so that
it might never be really out of my reach. With
this intention, I called a cab and drove out to
my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel with
me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken
it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my
dressing-room.
"And now a word as to my household, Mr.
Holmes, for I wish you to thoroughly understand
the situation. My groom and my page sleep out of
the house, and may be set aside altogether. I
have three maid-servants who have been with me a
number of years and whose absolute reliability
is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr,
the second waiting-maid, has only been in my
service a few months. She came with an excellent
character, however, and has always given me
satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has
attracted admirers who have occasionally hung
about the place. That is the only drawback which
we have found to her, but we believe her to be a
thoroughly good girl in every way.
"So much for the servants. My family itself
is so small that it will not take me long to
describe it. I am a widower and have an only
son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me,
Mr. Holmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no
doubt that I am myself to blame. People tell me
that I have spoiled him. Very likely I have.
When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I
had to love. I could not bear to see the smile
fade even for a moment from his face. I have
never denied him a wish. Perhaps it would have
been better for both of us had I been sterner,
but I meant it for the best.
"It was naturally my intention that he should
succeed me in my business, but he was not of a
business turn. He was wild, wayward, and, to
speak the truth, I could not trust him in the
handling of large sums of money. When he was
young he became a member of an aristocratic
club, and there, having charming manners, he was
soon the intimate of a number of men with long
purses and expensive habits. He learned to play
heavily at cards and to squander money on the
turf, until he had again and again to come to me
and implore me to give him an advance upon his
allowance, that he might settle his debts of
honour. He tried more than once to break away
from the dangerous company which he was keeping,
but each time the influence of his friend, Sir
George Burnwell, was enough to draw him back
again.
"And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a
man as Sir George Burnwell should gain an
influence over him, for he has frequently
brought him to my house, and I have found myself
that I could hardly resist the fascination of
his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of
the world to his finger-tips, one who had been
everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker,
and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I
think of him in cold blood, far away from the
glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his
cynical speech and the look which I have caught
in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply
distrusted. So I think, and so, too, thinks my
little Mary, who has a woman`s quick insight
into character.
"And now there is only she to be described.
She is my niece; but when my brother died five
years ago and left her alone in the world I
adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since
as my daughter. She is a sunbeam in my
house--sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful
manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet
and gentle as a woman could be. She is my right
hand. I do not know what I could do without her.
In only one matter has she ever gone against my
wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him,
for he loves her devotedly, but each time she
has refused him. I think that if anyone could
have drawn him into the right path it would have
been she, and that his marriage might have
changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too
late--forever too late!
"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who
live under my roof, and I shall continue with my
miserable story.
"When we were taking coffee in the
drawing-room that night after dinner, I told
Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the
precious treasure which we had under our roof,
suppressing only the name of my client. Lucy
Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am
sure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the
door was closed. Mary and Arthur were much
interested and wished to see the famous coronet,
but I thought it better not to disturb it.
"`Where have you put it?` asked Arthur.
"`In my own bureau.`
"`Well, I hope to goodness the house won`t be
burgled during the night.` said he.
"`It is locked up,` I answered.
"`Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When
I was a youngster I have opened it myself with
the key of the box-room cupboard.`
"He often had a wild way of talking, so that
I thought little of what he said. He followed me
to my room, however, that night with a very
grave face.
"`Look here, dad,` said he with his eyes cast
down, `can you let me have 200 pounds?`
"`No, I cannot!` I answered sharply. `I have
been far too generous with you in money
matters.`
"`You have been very kind,` said he, `but I
must have this money, or else I can never show
my face inside the club again.`
"`And a very good thing, too!` I cried.
"`Yes, but you would not have me leave it a
dishonoured man,` said he. `I could not bear the
disgrace. I must raise the money in some way,
and if you will not let me have it, then I must
try other means.`
"I was very angry, for this was the third
demand during the month. `You shall not have a
farthing from me,` I cried, on which he bowed
and left the room without another word.
"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made
sure that my treasure was safe, and locked it
again. Then I started to go round the house to
see that all was secure--a duty which I usually
leave to Mary but which I thought it well to
perform myself that night. As I came down the
stairs I saw Mary herself at the side window of
the hall, which she closed and fastened as I
approached.
"`Tell me, dad,` said she, looking, I
thought, a little disturbed, `did you give Lucy,
the maid, leave to go out to-night?`
"`Certainly not.`
"`She came in just now by the back door. I
have no doubt that she has only been to the side
gate to see someone, but I think that it is
hardly safe and should be stopped.`
"`You must speak to her in the morning, or I
will if you prefer it. Are you sure that
everything is fastened?`
"`Quite sure, dad.`
"`Then, good-night.` I kissed her and went up
to my bedroom again, where I was soon asleep.
"I am endeavouring to tell you everything,
Mr. Holmes, which may have any bearing upon the
case, but I beg that you will question me upon
any point which I do not make clear."
"On the contrary, your statement is
singularly lucid."
"I come to a part of my story now in which I
should wish to be particularly so. I am not a
very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind
tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than
usual. About two in the morning, then, I was
awakened by some sound in the house. It had
ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an
impression behind it as though a window had
gently closed somewhere. I lay listening with
all my ears. Suddenly, to my horror, there was a
distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in the
next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating
with fear, and peeped round the corner of my
dressing-room door.
"`Arthur!` I screamed, `you villain! you
thief! How dare you touch that coronet?`
"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and
my unhappy boy, dressed only in his shirt and
trousers, was standing beside the light, holding
the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be
wrenching at it, or bending it with all his
strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp
and turned as pale as death. I snatched it up
and examined it. One of the gold corners, with
three of the beryls in it, was missing.
"`You blackguard!` I shouted, beside myself
with rage. `You have destroyed it! You have
dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels
which you have stolen?`
"`Stolen!` he cried.
"`Yes, thief!` I roared, shaking him by the
shoulder.
"`There are none missing. There cannot be any
missing,` said he.
"`There are three missing. And you know where
they are. Must I call you a liar as well as a
thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off
another piece?`
"`You have called me names enough,` said he,
`I will not stand it any longer. I shall not say
another word about this business, since you have
chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in
the morning and make my own way in the world.`
"`You shall leave it in the hands of the
police!` I cried half-mad with grief and rage.
`I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.`
"`You shall learn nothing from me,` said he
with a passion such as I should not have thought
was in his nature. `If you choose to call the
police, let the police find what they can.`
"By this time the whole house was astir, for
I had raised my voice in my anger. Mary was the
first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of
the coronet and of Arthur`s face, she read the
whole story and, with a scream, fell down
senseless on the ground. I sent the house-maid
for the police and put the investigation into
their hands at once. When the inspector and a
constable entered the house, Arthur, who had
stood sullenly with his arms folded, asked me
whether it was my intention to charge him with
theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a
private matter, but had become a public one,
since the ruined coronet was national property.
I was determined that the law should have its
way in everything.
"`At least,` said he, `you will not have me
arrested at once. It would be to your advantage
as well as mine if I might leave the house for
five minutes.`
"`That you may get away, or perhaps that you
may conceal what you have stolen,` said I. And
then, realising the dreadful position in which I
was placed, I implored him to remember that not
only my honour but that of one who was far
greater than I was at stake; and that he
threatened to raise a scandal which would
convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he
would but tell me what he had done with the
three missing stones.
"`You may as well face the matter,` said I;
`you have been caught in the act, and no
confession could make your guilt more heinous.
If you but make such reparation as is in your
power, by telling us where the beryls are, all
shall be forgiven and forgotten.`
"`Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for
it,` he answered, turning away from me with a
sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any
words of mine to influence him. There was but
one way for it. I called in the inspector and
gave him into custody. A search was made at once
not only of his person but of his room and of
every portion of the house where he could
possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace
of them could be found, nor would the wretched
boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and
our threats. This morning he was removed to a
cell, and I, after going through all the police
formalities, have hurried round to you to
implore you to use your skill in unravelling the
matter. The police have openly confessed that
they can at present make nothing of it. You may
go to any expense which you think necessary. I
have already offered a reward of 1000 pounds. My
God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my
gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall I
do!"
He put a hand on either side of his head and
rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself
like a child whose grief has got beyond words.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few
minutes, with his brows knitted and his eyes
fixed upon the fire.
"Do you receive much company?" he asked.
"None save my partner with his family and an
occasional friend of Arthur`s. Sir George
Burnwell has been several times lately. No one
else, I think."
"Do you go out much in society?"
"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We
neither of us care for it."
"That is unusual in a young girl."
"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is
not so very young. She is four-and-twenty."
"This matter, from what you say, seems to
have been a shock to her also."
"Terrible! She is even more affected than I."
"You have neither of you any doubt as to your
son`s guilt?"
"How can we have when I saw him with my own
eyes with the coronet in his hands."
"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof.
Was the remainder of the coronet at all
injured?"
"Yes, it was twisted."
"Do you not think, then, that he might have
been trying to straighten it?"
"God bless you! You are doing what you can
for him and for me. But it is too heavy a task.
What was he doing there at all? If his purpose
were innocent, why did he not say so?"
"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he
not invent a lie? His silence appears to me to
cut both ways. There are several singular points
about the case. What did the police think of the
noise which awoke you from your sleep?"
"They considered that it might be caused by
Arthur`s closing his bedroom door."
"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony
would slam his door so as to wake a household.
What did they say, then, of the disappearance of
these gems?"
"They are still sounding the planking and
probing the furniture in the hope of finding
them."
"Have they thought of looking outside the
house?"
"Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy.
The whole garden has already been minutely
examined."
"Now, my dear sir," said Holmes. "is it not
obvious to you now that this matter really
strikes very much deeper than either you or the
police were at first inclined to think? It
appeared to you to be a simple case; to me it
seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is
involved by your theory. You suppose that your
son came down from his bed, went, at great risk,
to your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took
out your coronet, broke off by main force a
small portion of it, went off to some other
place, concealed three gems out of the
thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can
find them, and then returned with the other
thirty-six into the room in which he exposed
himself to the greatest danger of being
discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory
tenable?"
"But what other is there?" cried the banker
with a gesture of despair. "If his motives were
innocent, why does he not explain them?"
"It is our task to find that out," replied
Holmes; "so now, if you please, Mr. Holder, we
will set off for Streatham together, and devote
an hour to glancing a little more closely into
details."
My friend insisted upon my accompanying them
in their expedition, which I was eager enough to
do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply
stirred by the story to which we had listened. I
confess that the guilt of the banker`s son
appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his
unhappy father, but still I had such faith in
Holmes` judgment that I felt that there must be
some grounds for hope as long as he was
dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. He
hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the
southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his
breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in
the deepest thought. Our client appeared to have
taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope
which had been presented to him, and he even
broke into a desultory chat with me over his
business affairs. A short railway journey and a
shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest
residence of the great financier.
Fairbank was a good-sized square house of
white stone, standing back a little from the
road. A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad
lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron
gates which closed the entrance. On the right
side was a small wooden thicket, which led into
a narrow path between two neat hedges stretching
from the road to the kitchen door, and forming
the tradesmen`s entrance. On the left ran a lane
which led to the stables, and was not itself
within the grounds at all, being a public,
though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us
standing at the door and walked slowly all round
the house, across the front, down the
tradesmen`s path, and so round by the garden
behind into the stable lane. So long was he that
Mr. Holder and I went into the dining-room and
waited by the fire until he should return. We
were sitting there in silence when the door
opened and a young lady came in. She was rather
above the middle height, slim, with dark hair
and eyes, which seemed the darker against the
absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that
I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a
woman`s face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but
her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept
silently into the room she impressed me with a
greater sense of grief than the banker had done
in the morning, and it was the more striking in
her as she was evidently a woman of strong
character, with immense capacity for
self-restraint. Disregarding my presence, she
went straight to her uncle and passed her hand
over his head with a sweet womanly caress.
"You have given orders that Arthur should be
liberated, have you not, dad?" she asked.
"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed
to the bottom."
"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You
know what woman`s instincts are. I know that he
has done no harm and that you will be sorry for
having acted so harshly."
"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?"
"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry
that you should suspect him."
"How could I help suspecting him, when I
actually saw him with the coronet in his hand?"
"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at
it. Oh, do, do take my word for it that he is
innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more.
It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in
prison!"
"I shall never let it drop until the gems are
found--never, Mary! Your affection for Arthur
blinds you as to the awful consequences to me.
Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought a
gentleman down from London to inquire more
deeply into it."
"This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to
me.
"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him
alone. He is round in the stable lane now."
"The stable lane?" She raised her dark
eyebrows. "What can he hope to find there? Ah!
this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you
will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the
truth, that my cousin Arthur is innocent of this
crime."
"I fully share your opinion, and I trust,
with you, that we may prove it," returned
Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow
from his shoes. "I believe I have the honour of
addressing Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a
question or two?"
"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this
horrible affair up."
"You heard nothing yourself last night?"
"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak
loudly. I heard that, and I came down."
"You shut up the windows and doors the night
before. Did you fasten all the windows?"
"Yes."
"Were they all fastened this morning?"
"Yes."
"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I
think that you remarked to your uncle last night
that she had been out to see him?"
"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the
drawing-room, and who may have heard uncle`s
remarks about the coronet."
"I see. You infer that she may have gone out
to tell her sweetheart, and that the two may
have planned the robbery."
"But what is the good of all these vague
theories," cried the banker impatiently, "when I
have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet
in his hands?"
"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back
to that. About this girl, Miss Holder. You saw
her return by the kitchen door, I presume?"
"Yes; when I went to see if the door was
fastened for the night I met her slipping in. I
saw the man, too, in the gloom."
"Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings
our vegetables round. His name is Francis
Prosper."
"He stood," said Holmes, "to the left of the
door--that is to say, farther up the path than
is necessary to reach the door?"
"Yes, he did."
"And he is a man with a wooden leg?"
Something like fear sprang up in the young
lady`s expressive black eyes. "Why, you are like
a magician," said she. "How do you know that?"
She smiled, but there was no answering smile in
Holmes` thin, eager face.
"I should be very glad now to go upstairs,"
said he. "I shall probably wish to go over the
outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better
take a look at the lower windows before I go
up."
He walked swiftly round from one to the
other, pausing only at the large one which
looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This
he opened and made a very careful examination of
the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. "Now
we shall go upstairs," said he at last.
The banker`s dressing-room was a plainly
furnished little chamber, with a grey carpet, a
large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to
the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.
"Which key was used to open it?" he asked.
"That which my son himself indicated--that of
the cupboard of the lumber-room."
"Have you it here?"
"That is it on the dressing-table."
Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the
bureau.
"It is a noiseless lock," said he. "It is no
wonder that it did not wake you. This case, I
presume, contains the coronet. We must have a
look at it." He opened the case, and taking out
the diadem he laid it upon the table. It was a
magnificent specimen of the jeweller`s art, and
the thirty-six stones were the finest that I
have ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a
cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems
had been torn away.
"Now, Mr. Holder," said Holmes, "here is the
corner which corresponds to that which has been
so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you will
break it off."
The banker recoiled in horror. "I should not
dream of trying," said he.
"Then I will." Holmes suddenly bent his
strength upon it, but without result. "I feel it
give a little," said he; "but, though I am
exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would
take me all my time to break it. An ordinary man
could not do it. Now, what do you think would
happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There
would be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell
me that all this happened within a few yards of
your bed and that you heard nothing of it?"
"I do not know what to think. It is all dark
to me."
"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go.
What do you think, Miss Holder?"
"I confess that I still share my uncle`s
perplexity."
"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when
you saw him?"
"He had nothing on save only his trousers and
shirt."
"Thank you. We have certainly been favoured
with extraordinary luck during this inquiry, and
it will be entirely our own fault if we do not
succeed in clearing the matter up. With your
permission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my
investigations outside."
He went alone, at his own request, for he
explained that any unnecessary footmarks might
make his task more difficult. For an hour or
more he was at work, returning at last with his
feet heavy with snow and his features as
inscrutable as ever.
"I think that I have seen now all that there
is to see, Mr. Holder," said he; "I can serve
you best by returning to my rooms."
"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?"
"I cannot tell."
The banker wrung his hands. "I shall never
see them again!" he cried. "And my son? You give
me hopes?"
"My opinion is in no way altered."
"Then, for God`s sake, what was this dark
business which was acted in my house last
night?"
"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street
rooms to-morrow morning between nine and ten I
shall be happy to do what I can to make it
clearer. I understand that you give me carte
blanche to act for you, provided only that I get
back the gems, and that you place no limit on
the sum I may draw."
"I would give my fortune to have them back."
"Very good. I shall look into the matter
between this and then. Good-bye; it is just
possible that I may have to come over here again
before evening."
It was obvious to me that my companion`s mind
was now made up about the case, although what
his conclusions were was more than I could even
dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward
journey I endeavoured to sound him upon the
point, but he always glided away to some other
topic, until at last I gave it over in despair.
It was not yet three when we found ourselves in
our rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber
and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a
common loafer. With his collar turned up, his
shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn
boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.
"I think that this should do," said he,
glancing into the glass above the fireplace. "I
only wish that you could come with me, Watson,
but I fear that it won`t do. I may be on the
trail in this matter, or I may be following a
will-o`-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it
is. I hope that I may be back in a few hours."
He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the
sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of
bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his
pocket he started off upon his expedition.
I had just finished my tea when he returned,
evidently in excellent spirits, swinging an old
elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked it
down into a corner and helped himself to a cup
of tea.
"I only looked in as I passed," said he. "I
am going right on."
"Where to?"
"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It
may be some time before I get back. Don`t wait
up for me in case I should be late."
"How are you getting on?"
"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have
been out to Streatham since I saw you last, but
I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet
little problem, and I would not have missed it
for a good deal. However, I must not sit
gossiping here, but must get these disreputable
clothes off and return to my highly respectable
self."
I could see by his manner that he had
stronger reasons for satisfaction than his words
alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there
was even a touch of colour upon his sallow
cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a few minutes
later I heard the slam of the hall door, which
told me that he was off once more upon his
congenial hunt.
I waited until midnight, but there was no
sign of his return, so I retired to my room. It
was no uncommon thing for him to be away for
days and nights on end when he was hot upon a
scent, so that his lateness caused me no
surprise. I do not know at what hour he came in,
but when I came down to breakfast in the morning
there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand
and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as
possible.
"You will excuse my beginning without you,
Watson," said he, "but you remember that our
client has rather an early appointment this
morning."
"Why, it is after nine now," I answered. "I
should not be surprised if that were he. I
thought I heard a ring."
It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I
was shocked by the change which had come over
him, for his face which was naturally of a broad
and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen
in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade
whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargy
which was even more painful than his violence of
the morning before, and he dropped heavily into
the armchair which I pushed forward for him.
"I do not know what I have done to be so
severely tried," said he. "Only two days ago I
was a happy and prosperous man, without a care
in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and
dishonoured age. One sorrow comes close upon the
heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted
me."
"Deserted you?"
"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept
in, her room was empty, and a note for me lay
upon the hall table. I had said to her last
night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she
had married my boy all might have been well with
him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so.
It is to that remark that she refers in this
note:
"`MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have
brought trouble upon you, and that if I had
acted differently this terrible misfortune might
never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought
in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof,
and I feel that I must leave you forever. Do not
worry about my future, for that is provided for;
and, above all, do not search for me, for it
will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to
me. In life or in death, I am ever your
loving,--MARY.`
"What could she mean by that note, Mr.
Holmes? Do you think it points to suicide?"
"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps
the best possible solution. I trust, Mr. Holder,
that you are nearing the end of your troubles."
"Ha! You say so! You have heard something,
Mr. Holmes; you have learned something! Where
are the gems?"
"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an
excessive sum for them?"
"I would pay ten."
"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand
will cover the matter. And there is a little
reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book? Here
is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds."
With a dazed face the banker made out the
required check. Holmes walked over to his desk,
took out a little triangular piece of gold with
three gems in it, and threw it down upon the
table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it
up.
"You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am
saved!"
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his
grief had been, and he hugged his recovered gems
to his bosom.
"There is one other thing you owe, Mr.
Holder," said Sherlock Holmes rather sternly.
"Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and
I will pay it."
"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very
humble apology to that noble lad, your son, who
has carried himself in this matter as I should
be proud to see my own son do, should I ever
chance to have one."
"Then it was not Arthur who took them?"
"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day,
that it was not."
"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him
at once to let him know that the truth is
known."
"He knows it already. When I had cleared it
all up I had an interview with him, and finding
that he would not tell me the story, I told it
to him, on which he had to confess that I was
right and to add the very few details which were
not yet quite clear to me. Your news of this
morning, however, may open his lips."
"For heaven`s sake, tell me, then, what is
this extraordinary mystery!"
"I will do so, and I will show you the steps
by which I reached it. And let me say to you,
first, that which it is hardest for me to say
and for you to hear: there has been an
understanding between Sir George Burnwell and
your niece Mary. They have now fled together."
"My Mary? Impossible!"
"It is unfortunately more than possible; it
is certain. Neither you nor your son knew the
true character of this man when you admitted him
into your family circle. He is one of the most
dangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an
absolutely desperate villain, a man without
heart or conscience. Your niece knew nothing of
such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as
he had done to a hundred before her, she
flattered herself that she alone had touched his
heart. The devil knows best what he said, but at
least she became his tool and was in the habit
of seeing him nearly every evening."
"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried
the banker with an ashen face.
"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your
house last night. Your niece, when you had, as
she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and
talked to her lover through the window which
leads into the stable lane. His footmarks had
pressed right through the snow, so long had he
stood there. She told him of the coronet. His
wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he
bent her to his will. I have no doubt that she
loved you, but there are women in whom the love
of a lover extinguishes all other loves, and I
think that she must have been one. She had
hardly listened to his instructions when she saw
you coming downstairs, on which she closed the
window rapidly and told you about one of the
servants` escapade with her wooden-legged lover,
which was all perfectly true.
"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his
interview with you but he slept badly on account
of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the
middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass
his door, so he rose and, looking out, was
surprised to see his cousin walking very
stealthily along the passage until she
disappeared into your dressing-room. Petrified
with astonishment, the lad slipped on some
clothes and waited there in the dark to see what
would come of this strange affair. Presently she
emerged from the room again, and in the light of
the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried
the precious coronet in her hands. She passed
down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror,
ran along and slipped behind the curtain near
your door, whence he could see what passed in
the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open the
window, hand out the coronet to someone in the
gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back
to her room, passing quite close to where he
stood hid behind the curtain.
"As long as she was on the scene he could not
take any action without a horrible exposure of
the woman whom he loved. But the instant that
she was gone he realised how crushing a
misfortune this would be for you, and how
all-important it was to set it right. He rushed
down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened
the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran
down the lane, where he could see a dark figure
in the moonlight. Sir George Burnwell tried to
get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was a
struggle between them, your lad tugging at one
side of the coronet, and his opponent at the
other. In the scuffle, your son struck Sir
George and cut him over the eye. Then something
suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he
had the coronet in his hands, rushed back,
closed the window, ascended to your room, and
had just observed that the coronet had been
twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to
straighten it when you appeared upon the scene."
"Is it possible?" gasped the banker.
"You then roused his anger by calling him
names at a moment when he felt that he had
deserved your warmest thanks. He could not
explain the true state of affairs without
betraying one who certainly deserved little
enough consideration at his hands. He took the
more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her
secret."
"And that was why she shrieked and fainted
when she saw the coronet," cried Mr. Holder.
"Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And
his asking to be allowed to go out for five
minutes! The dear fellow wanted to see if the
missing piece were at the scene of the struggle.
How cruelly I have misjudged him!"
"When I arrived at the house," continued
Holmes, "I at once went very carefully round it
to observe if there were any traces in the snow
which might help me. I knew that none had fallen
since the evening before, and also that there
had been a strong frost to preserve impressions.
I passed along the tradesmen`s path, but found
it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just
beyond it, however, at the far side of the
kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with
a man, whose round impressions on one side
showed that he had a wooden leg. I could even
tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman
had run back swiftly to the door, as was shown
by the deep toe and light heel marks, while
Wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had
gone away. I thought at the time that this might
be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had
already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was
so. I passed round the garden without seeing
anything more than random tracks, which I took
to be the police; but when I got into the stable
lane a very long and complex story was written
in the snow in front of me.
"There was a double line of tracks of a
booted man, and a second double line which I saw
with delight belonged to a man with naked feet.
I was at once convinced from what you had told
me that the latter was your son. The first had
walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly,
and as his tread was marked in places over the
depression of the boot, it was obvious that he
had passed after the other. I followed them up
and found they led to the hall window, where
Boots had worn all the snow away while waiting.
Then I walked to the other end, which was a
hundred yards or more down the lane. I saw where
Boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up
as though there had been a struggle, and,
finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen,
to show me that I was not mistaken. Boots had
then run down the lane, and another little
smudge of blood showed that it was he who had
been hurt. When he came to the highroad at the
other end, I found that the pavement had been
cleared, so there was an end to that clue.
"On entering the house, however, I examined,
as you remember, the sill and framework of the
hall window with my lens, and I could at once
see that someone had passed out. I could
distinguish the outline of an instep where the
wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was
then beginning to be able to form an opinion as
to what had occurred. A man had waited outside
the window; someone had brought the gems; the
deed had been overseen by your son; he had
pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they
had each tugged at the coronet, their united
strength causing injuries which neither alone
could have effected. He had returned with the
prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of
his opponent. So far I was clear. The question
now was, who was the man and who was it brought
him the coronet?
"It is an old maxim of mine that when you
have excluded the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable, must be the truth. Now, I
knew that it was not you who had brought it
down, so there only remained your niece and the
maids. But if it were the maids, why should your
son allow himself to be accused in their place?
There could be no possible reason. As he loved
his cousin, however, there was an excellent
explanation why he should retain her secret--the
more so as the secret was a disgraceful one.
When I remembered that you had seen her at that
window, and how she had fainted on seeing the
coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty.
"And who could it be who was her confederate?
A lover evidently, for who else could outweigh
the love and gratitude which she must feel to
you? I knew that you went out little, and that
your circle of friends was a very limited one.
But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had
heard of him before as being a man of evil
reputation among women. It must have been he who
wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered
him, he might still flatter himself that he was
safe, for the lad could not say a word without
compromising his own family.
"Well, your own good sense will suggest what
measures I took next. I went in the shape of a
loafer to Sir George`s house, managed to pick up
an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his
master had cut his head the night before, and,
finally, at the expense of six shillings, made
all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes.
With these I journeyed down to Streatham and saw
that they exactly fitted the tracks."
"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane
yesterday evening," said Mr. Holder.
"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my
man, so I came home and changed my clothes. It
was a delicate part which I had to play then,
for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to
avert scandal, and I knew that so astute a
villain would see that our hands were tied in
the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of
course, he denied everything. But when I gave
him every particular that had occurred, he tried
to bluster and took down a life-preserver from
the wall. I knew my man, however, and I clapped
a pistol to his head before he could strike.
Then he became a little more reasonable. I told
him that we would give him a price for the
stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That brought
out the first signs of grief that he had shown.
`Why, dash it all!` said he, `I`ve let them go
at six hundred for the three!` I soon managed to
get the address of the receiver who had them, on
promising him that there would be no
prosecution. Off I set to him, and after much
chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds
apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him
that all was right, and eventually got to my bed
about two o`clock, after what I may call a
really hard day`s work."
"A day which has saved England from a great
public scandal," said the banker, rising. "Sir,
I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall
not find me ungrateful for what you have done.
Your skill has indeed exceeded all that I have
heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy
to apologise to him for the wrong which I have
done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary,
it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill
can inform me where she is now."
"I think that we may safely say," returned
Holmes, "that she is wherever Sir George
Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that
whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a
more than sufficient punishment."
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THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER
BEECHES
"To the man who loves art for its own sake,"
remarked Sherlock Holmes, tossing aside the
advertisement sheet of the Daily Telegraph, "it
is frequently in its least important and
lowliest manifestations that the keenest
pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me
to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped
this truth that in these little records of our
cases which you have been good enough to draw
up, and, I am bound to say, occasionally to
embellish, you have given prominence not so much
to the many causes c鬨bres and sensational
trials in which I have figured but rather to
those incidents which may have been trivial in
themselves, but which have given room for those
faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis
which I have made my special province."
"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite
hold myself absolved from the charge of
sensationalism which has been urged against my
records."
"You have erred, perhaps," he observed,
taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs and
lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which
was wont to replace his clay when he was in a
disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you
have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour
and life into each of your statements instead of
confining yourself to the task of placing upon
record that severe reasoning from cause to
effect which is really the only notable feature
about the thing."
"It seems to me that I have done you full
justice in the matter," I remarked with some
coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism
which I had more than once observed to be a
strong factor in my friend`s singular character.
"No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said
he, answering, as was his wont, my thoughts
rather than my words. "If I claim full justice
for my art, it is because it is an impersonal
thing--a thing beyond myself. Crime is common.
Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic
rather than upon the crime that you should
dwell. You have degraded what should have been a
course of lectures into a series of tales."
It was a cold morning of the early spring,
and we sat after breakfast on either side of a
cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A
thick fog rolled down between the lines of
dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows
loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the
heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and shone
on the white cloth and glimmer of china and
metal, for the table had not been cleared yet.
Sherlock Holmes had been silent all the morning,
dipping continuously into the advertisement
columns of a succession of papers until at last,
having apparently given up his search, he had
emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me
upon my literary shortcomings.
"At the same time," he remarked after a
pause, during which he had sat puffing at his
long pipe and gazing down into the fire, "you
can hardly be open to a charge of
sensationalism, for out of these cases which you
have been so kind as to interest yourself in, a
fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its
legal sense, at all. The small matter in which I
endeavoured to help the King of Bohemia, the
singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the
problem connected with the man with the twisted
lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor,
were all matters which are outside the pale of
the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear
that you may have bordered on the trivial."
"The end may have been so," I answered, "but
the methods I hold to have been novel and of
interest."
"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public,
the great unobservant public, who could hardly
tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by
his left thumb, care about the finer shades of
analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are
trivial. I cannot blame you, for the days of the
great cases are past. Man, or at least criminal
man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As
to my own little practice, it seems to be
degenerating into an agency for recovering lost
lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies
from boarding-schools. I think that I have
touched bottom at last, however. This note I had
this morning marks my zero-point, I fancy. Read
it!" He tossed a crumpled letter across to me.
It was dated from Montague Place upon the
preceding evening, and ran thus:
"DEAR MR. HOLMES:--I am very anxious to
consult you as to whether I should or should not
accept a situation which has been offered to me
as governess. I shall call at half-past ten
to-morrow if I do not inconvenience you. Yours
faithfully, "VIOLET HUNTER."
"Do you know the young lady?" I asked.
"Not I."
"It is half-past ten now."
"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring."
"It may turn out to be of more interest than
you think. You remember that the affair of the
blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim
at first, developed into a serious
investigation. It may be so in this case, also."
"Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will
very soon be solved, for here, unless I am much
mistaken, is the person in question."
As he spoke the door opened and a young lady
entered the room. She was plainly but neatly
dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled
like a plover`s egg, and with the brisk manner
of a woman who has had her own way to make in
the world.
"You will excuse my troubling you, I am
sure," said she, as my companion rose to greet
her, "but I have had a very strange experience,
and as I have no parents or relations of any
sort from whom I could ask advice, I thought
that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me
what I should do."
"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be
happy to do anything that I can to serve you."
I could see that Holmes was favourably
impressed by the manner and speech of his new
client. He looked her over in his searching
fashion, and then composed himself, with his
lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to
listen to her story.
"I have been a governess for five years,"
said she, "in the family of Colonel Spence
Munro, but two months ago the colonel received
an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and
took his children over to America with him, so
that I found myself without a situation. I
advertised, and I answered advertisements, but
without success. At last the little money which
I had saved began to run short, and I was at my
wit`s end as to what I should do.
"There is a well-known agency for governesses
in the West End called Westaway`s, and there I
used to call about once a week in order to see
whether anything had turned up which might suit
me. Westaway was the name of the founder of the
business, but it is really managed by Miss
Stoper. She sits in her own little office, and
the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an
anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when
she consults her ledgers and sees whether she
has anything which would suit them.
"Well, when I called last week I was shown
into the little office as usual, but I found
that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously
stout man with a very smiling face and a great
heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold
over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of
glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at
the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave
quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to
Miss Stoper.
"`That will do,` said he; `I could not ask
for anything better. Capital! capital!` He
seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands
together in the most genial fashion. He was such
a comfortable-looking man that it was quite a
pleasure to look at him.
"`You are looking for a situation, miss?` he
asked.
"`Yes, sir.`
"`As governess?`
"`Yes, sir.`
"`And what salary do you ask?`
"`I had 4 pounds a month in my last place
with Colonel Spence Munro.`
"`Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!` he
cried, throwing his fat hands out into the air
like a man who is in a boiling passion. `How
could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady
with such attractions and accomplishments?`
"`My accomplishments, sir, may be less than
you imagine,` said I. `A little French, a little
German, music, and drawing--`
"`Tut, tut!` he cried. `This is all quite
beside the question. The point is, have you or
have you not the bearing and deportment of a
lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have
not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a
child who may some day play a considerable part
in the history of the country. But if you have
why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to
condescend to accept anything under the three
figures? Your salary with me, madam, would
commence at 100 pounds a year.`
"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me,
destitute as I was, such an offer seemed almost
too good to be true. The gentleman, however,
seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my
face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note.
"`It is also my custom,` said he, smiling in
the most pleasant fashion until his eyes were
just two little shining slits amid the white
creases of his face, `to advance to my young
ladies half their salary beforehand, so that
they may meet any little expenses of their
journey and their wardrobe.`
"It seemed to me that I had never met so
fascinating and so thoughtful a man. As I was
already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was
a great convenience, and yet there was something
unnatural about the whole transaction which made
me wish to know a little more before I quite
committed myself.
"`May I ask where you live, sir?` said I.
"`Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper
Beeches, five miles on the far side of
Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my
dear young lady, and the dearest old
country-house.`
"`And my duties, sir? I should be glad to
know what they would be.`
"`One child--one dear little romper just six
years old. Oh, if you could see him killing
cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack!
Three gone before you could wink!` He leaned
back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his
head again.
"I was a little startled at the nature of the
child`s amusement, but the father`s laughter
made me think that perhaps he was joking.
"`My sole duties, then,` I asked, `are to
take charge of a single child?`
"`No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear
young lady,` he cried. `Your duty would be, as I
am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey
any little commands my wife might give, provided
always that they were such commands as a lady
might with propriety obey. You see no
difficulty, heh?`
"`I should be happy to make myself useful.`
"`Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are
faddy people, you know--faddy but kind-hearted.
If you were asked to wear any dress which we
might give you, you would not object to our
little whim. Heh?`
"`No,` said I, considerably astonished at his
words.
"`Or to sit here, or sit there, that would
not be offensive to you?`
"`Oh, no.`
"`Or to cut your hair quite short before you
come to us?`
"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may
observe, Mr. Holmes, my hair is somewhat
luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of
chestnut. It has been considered artistic. I
could not dream of sacrificing it in this
offhand fashion.
"`I am afraid that that is quite impossible,`
said I. He had been watching me eagerly out of
his small eyes, and I could see a shadow pass
over his face as I spoke.
"`I am afraid that it is quite essential,`
said he. `It is a little fancy of my wife`s, and
ladies` fancies, you know, madam, ladies`
fancies must be consulted. And so you won`t cut
your hair?`
"`No, sir, I really could not,` I answered
firmly.
"`Ah, very well; then that quite settles the
matter. It is a pity, because in other respects
you would really have done very nicely. In that
case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more
of your young ladies.`
"The manageress had sat all this while busy
with her papers without a word to either of us,
but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance
upon her face that I could not help suspecting
that she had lost a handsome commission through
my refusal.
"`Do you desire your name to be kept upon the
books?` she asked.
"`If you please, Miss Stoper.`
"`Well, really, it seems rather useless,
since you refuse the most excellent offers in
this fashion,` said she sharply. `You can hardly
expect us to exert ourselves to find another
such opening for you. Good-day to you, Miss
Hunter.` She struck a gong upon the table, and I
was shown out by the page.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my
lodgings and found little enough in the
cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table.
I began to ask myself whether I had not done a
very foolish thing. After all, if these people
had strange fads and expected obedience on the
most extraordinary matters, they were at least
ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few
governesses in England are getting 100 pounds a
year. Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many
people are improved by wearing it short and
perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I
was inclined to think that I had made a mistake,
and by the day after I was sure of it. I had
almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to
the agency and inquire whether the place was
still open when I received this letter from the
gentleman himself. I have it here and I will
read it to you:
"`The Copper Beeches, near
Winchester. "`DEAR MISS HUNTER:--Miss Stoper has
very kindly given me your address, and I write
from here to ask you whether you have
reconsidered your decision. My wife is very
anxious that you should come, for she has been
much attracted by my description of you. We are
willing to give 30 pounds a quarter, or 120
pounds a year, so as to recompense you for any
little inconvenience which our fads may cause
you. They are not very exacting, after all. My
wife is fond of a particular shade of electric
blue and would like you to wear such a dress
indoors in the morning. You need not, however,
go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have
one belonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in
Philadelphia), which would, I should think, fit
you very well. Then, as to sitting here or
there, or amusing yourself in any manner
indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience.
As regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity,
especially as I could not help remarking its
beauty during our short interview, but I am
afraid that I must remain firm upon this point,
and I only hope that the increased salary may
recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far
as the child is concerned, are very light. Now
do try to come, and I shall meet you with the
dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train.
Yours faithfully, JEPHRO RUCASTLE.`
"That is the letter which I have just
received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind is made up
that I will accept it. I thought, however, that
before taking the final step I should like to
submit the whole matter to your consideration."
"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up,
that settles the question," said Holmes,
smiling.
"But you would not advise me to refuse?"
"I confess that it is not the situation which
I should like to see a sister of mine apply
for."
"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?"
"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps
you have yourself formed some opinion?"
"Well, there seems to me to be only one
possible solution. Mr. Rucastle seemed to be a
very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible
that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to
keep the matter quiet for fear she should be
taken to an asylum, and that he humours her
fancies in every way in order to prevent an
outbreak?"
"That is a possible solution--in fact, as
matters stand, it is the most probable one. But
in any case it does not seem to be a nice
household for a young lady."
"But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!"
"Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too
good. That is what makes me uneasy. Why should
they give you 120 pounds a year, when they could
have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be
some strong reason behind."
"I thought that if I told you the
circumstances you would understand afterwards if
I wanted your help. I should feel so much
stronger if I felt that you were at the back of
me."
"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with
you. I assure you that your little problem
promises to be the most interesting which has
come my way for some months. There is something
distinctly novel about some of the features. If
you should find yourself in doubt or in
danger--"
"Danger! What danger do you foresee?"
Holmes shook his head gravely. "It would
cease to be a danger if we could define it,"
said he. "But at any time, day or night, a
telegram would bring me down to your help."
"That is enough." She rose briskly from her
chair with the anxiety all swept from her face.
"I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in my
mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once,
sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for
Winchester to-morrow." With a few grateful words
to Holmes she bade us both good-night and
bustled off upon her way.
"At least," said I as we heard her quick,
firm steps descending the stairs, "she seems to
be a young lady who is very well able to take
care of herself."
"And she would need to be," said Holmes
gravely. "I am much mistaken if we do not hear
from her before many days are past."
It was not very long before my friend`s
prediction was fulfilled. A fortnight went by,
during which I frequently found my thoughts
turning in her direction and wondering what
strange side-alley of human experience this
lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual
salary, the curious conditions, the light
duties, all pointed to something abnormal,
though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the
man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was
quite beyond my powers to determine. As to
Holmes, I observed that he sat frequently for
half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an
abstracted air, but he swept the matter away
with a wave of his hand when I mentioned it.
"Data! data! data!" he cried impatiently. "I
can`t make bricks without clay." And yet he
would always wind up by muttering that no sister
of his should ever have accepted such a
situation.
The telegram which we eventually received
came late one night just as I was thinking of
turning in and Holmes was settling down to one
of those all-night chemical researches which he
frequently indulged in, when I would leave him
stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night
and find him in the same position when I came
down to breakfast in the morning. He opened the
yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the
message, threw it across to me.
"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw," said
he, and turned back to his chemical studies.
The summons was a brief and urgent one.
"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at
Winchester at midday to-morrow," it said. "Do
come! I am at my wit`s end. HUNTER."
"Will you come with me?" asked Holmes,
glancing up.
"I should wish to."
"Just look it up, then."
"There is a train at half-past nine," said I,
glancing over my Bradshaw. "It is due at
Winchester at 11:30."
"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had
better postpone my analysis of the acetones, as
we may need to be at our best in the morning."
By eleven o`clock the next day we were well
upon our way to the old English capital. Holmes
had been buried in the morning papers all the
way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire
border he threw them down and began to admire
the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a light
blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white
clouds drifting across from west to east. The
sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was
an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an
edge to a man`s energy. All over the
countryside, away to the rolling hills around
Aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the
farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light
green of the new foliage.
"Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried
with all the enthusiasm of a man fresh from the
fogs of Baker Street.
But Holmes shook his head gravely.
"Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is
one of the curses of a mind with a turn like
mine that I must look at everything with
reference to my own special subject. You look at
these scattered houses, and you are impressed by
their beauty. I look at them, and the only
thought which comes to me is a feeling of their
isolation and of the impunity with which crime
may be committed there."
"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate
crime with these dear old homesteads?"
"They always fill me with a certain horror.
It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my
experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in
London do not present a more dreadful record of
sin than does the smiling and beautiful
countryside."
"You horrify me!"
"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure
of public opinion can do in the town what the
law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile
that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud
of a drunkard`s blow, does not beget sympathy
and indignation among the neighbours, and then
the whole machinery of justice is ever so close
that a word of complaint can set it going, and
there is but a step between the crime and the
dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in
its own fields, filled for the most part with
poor ignorant folk who know little of the law.
Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the
hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year
out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had
this lady who appeals to us for help gone to
live in Winchester, I should never have had a
fear for her. It is the five miles of country
which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that
she is not personally threatened."
"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us
she can get away."
"Quite so. She has her freedom."
"What CAN be the matter, then? Can you
suggest no explanation?"
"I have devised seven separate explanations,
each of which would cover the facts as far as we
know them. But which of these is correct can
only be determined by the fresh information
which we shall no doubt find waiting for us.
Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and
we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has to
tell."
The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the
High Street, at no distance from the station,
and there we found the young lady waiting for
us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our
lunch awaited us upon the table.
"I am so delighted that you have come," she
said earnestly. "It is so very kind of you both;
but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your
advice will be altogether invaluable to me."
"Pray tell us what has happened to you."
"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I
have promised Mr. Rucastle to be back before
three. I got his leave to come into town this
morning, though he little knew for what
purpose."
"Let us have everything in its due order."
Holmes thrust his long thin legs out towards the
fire and composed himself to listen.
"In the first place, I may say that I have
met, on the whole, with no actual ill-treatment
from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to
them to say that. But I cannot understand them,
and I am not easy in my mind about them."
"What can you not understand?"
"Their reasons for their conduct. But you
shall have it all just as it occurred. When I
came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and drove me
in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as
he said, beautifully situated, but it is not
beautiful in itself, for it is a large square
block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained
and streaked with damp and bad weather. There
are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and
on the fourth a field which slopes down to the
Southampton highroad, which curves past about a
hundred yards from the front door. This ground
in front belongs to the house, but the woods all
round are part of Lord Southerton`s preserves. A
clump of copper beeches immediately in front of
the hall door has given its name to the place.
"I was driven over by my employer, who was as
amiable as ever, and was introduced by him that
evening to his wife and the child. There was no
truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which
seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at
Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found
her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much
younger than her husband, not more than thirty,
I should think, while he can hardly be less than
forty-five. From their conversation I have
gathered that they have been married about seven
years, that he was a widower, and that his only
child by the first wife was the daughter who has
gone to Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastle told me in
private that the reason why she had left them
was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her
stepmother. As the daughter could not have been
less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her
position must have been uncomfortable with her
father`s young wife.
"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless
in mind as well as in feature. She impressed me
neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a
nonentity. It was easy to see that she was
passionately devoted both to her husband and to
her little son. Her light grey eyes wandered
continually from one to the other, noting every
little want and forestalling it if possible. He
was kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous
fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a
happy couple. And yet she had some secret
sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in
deep thought, with the saddest look upon her
face. More than once I have surprised her in
tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the
disposition of her child which weighed upon her
mind, for I have never met so utterly spoiled
and so ill-natured a little creature. He is
small for his age, with a head which is quite
disproportionately large. His whole life appears
to be spent in an alternation between savage
fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking.
Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself
seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he
shows quite remarkable talent in planning the
capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But
I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr.
Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my
story."
"I am glad of all details," remarked my
friend, "whether they seem to you to be relevant
or not."
"I shall try not to miss anything of
importance. The one unpleasant thing about the
house, which struck me at once, was the
appearance and conduct of the servants. There
are only two, a man and his wife. Toller, for
that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with
grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual
smell of drink. Twice since I have been with
them he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr.
Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His
wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour
face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less
amiable. They are a most unpleasant couple, but
fortunately I spend most of my time in the
nursery and my own room, which are next to each
other in one corner of the building.
"For two days after my arrival at the Copper
Beeches my life was very quiet; on the third,
Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and
whispered something to her husband.
"`Oh, yes,` said he, turning to me, `we are
very much obliged to you, Miss Hunter, for
falling in with our whims so far as to cut your
hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in
the tiniest iota from your appearance. We shall
now see how the electric-blue dress will become
you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in
your room, and if you would be so good as to put
it on we should both be extremely obliged.`
"The dress which I found waiting for me was
of a peculiar shade of blue. It was of excellent
material, a sort of beige, but it bore
unmistakable signs of having been worn before.
It could not have been a better fit if I had
been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle
expressed a delight at the look of it, which
seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They
were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which
is a very large room, stretching along the
entire front of the house, with three long
windows reaching down to the floor. A chair had
been placed close to the central window, with
its back turned towards it. In this I was asked
to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and
down on the other side of the room, began to
tell me a series of the funniest stories that I
have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how
comical he was, and I laughed until I was quite
weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who has evidently
no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but
sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad,
anxious look upon her face. After an hour or so,
Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time
to commence the duties of the day, and that I
might change my dress and go to little Edward in
the nursery.
"Two days later this same performance was
gone through under exactly similar
circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I
sat in the window, and again I laughed very
heartily at the funny stories of which my
employer had an immense ré°¥rtoire, and which he
told inimitably. Then he handed me a
yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a
little sideways, that my own shadow might not
fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud
to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning
in the heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in
the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease
and to change my dress.
"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how
curious I became as to what the meaning of this
extraordinary performance could possibly be.
They were always very careful, I observed, to
turn my face away from the window, so that I
became consumed with the desire to see what was
going on behind my back. At first it seemed to
be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My
hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought
seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass
in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the
midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief up
to my eyes, and was able with a little
management to see all that there was behind me.
I confess that I was disappointed. There was
nothing. At least that was my first impression.
At the second glance, however, I perceived that
there was a man standing in the Southampton
Road, a small bearded man in a grey suit, who
seemed to be looking in my direction. The road
is an important highway, and there are usually
people there. This man, however, was leaning
against the railings which bordered our field
and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my
handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to
find her eyes fixed upon me with a most
searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am
convinced that she had divined that I had a
mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind
me. She rose at once.
"`Jephro,` said she, `there is an impertinent
fellow upon the road there who stares up at Miss
Hunter.`
"`No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?` he asked.
"`No, I know no one in these parts.`
"`Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn
round and motion to him to go away.`
"`Surely it would be better to take no
notice.`
"`No, no, we should have him loitering here
always. Kindly turn round and wave him away like
that.`
"I did as I was told, and at the same instant
Mrs. Rucastle drew down the blind. That was a
week ago, and from that time I have not sat
again in the window, nor have I worn the blue
dress, nor seen the man in the road."
"Pray continue," said Holmes. "Your narrative
promises to be a most interesting one."
"You will find it rather disconnected, I
fear, and there may prove to be little relation
between the different incidents of which I
speak. On the very first day that I was at the
Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small
outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. As
we approached it I heard the sharp rattling of a
chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving
about.
"`Look in here!` said Mr. Rucastle, showing
me a slit between two planks. `Is he not a
beauty?`
"I looked through and was conscious of two
glowing eyes, and of a vague figure huddled up
in the darkness.
"`Don`t be frightened,` said my employer,
laughing at the start which I had given. `It`s
only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but
really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who
can do anything with him. We feed him once a
day, and not too much then, so that he is always
as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose every
night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays
his fangs upon. For goodness` sake don`t you
ever on any pretext set your foot over the
threshold at night, for it`s as much as your
life is worth.`
"The warning was no idle one, for two nights
later I happened to look out of my bedroom
window about two o`clock in the morning. It was
a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in
front of the house was silvered over and almost
as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the
peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was aware
that something was moving under the shadow of
the copper beeches. As it emerged into the
moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog,
as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging
jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones.
It walked slowly across the lawn and vanished
into the shadow upon the other side. That
dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which
I do not think that any burglar could have done.
"And now I have a very strange experience to
tell you. I had, as you know, cut off my hair in
London, and I had placed it in a great coil at
the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the
child was in bed, I began to amuse myself by
examining the furniture of my room and by
rearranging my own little things. There was an
old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper
ones empty and open, the lower one locked. I had
filled the first two with my linen, and as I had
still much to pack away I was naturally annoyed
at not having the use of the third drawer. It
struck me that it might have been fastened by a
mere oversight, so I took out my bunch of keys
and tried to open it. The very first key fitted
to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There
was only one thing in it, but I am sure that you
would never guess what it was. It was my coil of
hair.
"I took it up and examined it. It was of the
same peculiar tint, and the same thickness. But
then the impossibility of the thing obtruded
itself upon me. How could my hair have been
locked in the drawer? With trembling hands I
undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and
drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two
tresses together, and I assure you that they
were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle
as I would, I could make nothing at all of what
it meant. I returned the strange hair to the
drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the
Rucastles as I felt that I had put myself in the
wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked.
"I am naturally observant, as you may have
remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I soon had a pretty
good plan of the whole house in my head. There
was one wing, however, which appeared not to be
inhabited at all. A door which faced that which
led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into
this suite, but it was invariably locked. One
day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr.
Rucastle coming out through this door, his keys
in his hand, and a look on his face which made
him a very different person to the round, jovial
man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were
red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and
the veins stood out at his temples with passion.
He locked the door and hurried past me without a
word or a look.
"This aroused my curiosity, so when I went
out for a walk in the grounds with my charge, I
strolled round to the side from which I could
see the windows of this part of the house. There
were four of them in a row, three of which were
simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up.
They were evidently all deserted. As I strolled
up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr.
Rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and
jovial as ever.
"`Ah!` said he, `you must not think me rude
if I passed you without a word, my dear young
lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.`
"I assured him that I was not offended. `By
the way,` said I, `you seem to have quite a
suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them
has the shutters up.`
"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me,
a little startled at my remark.
"`Photography is one of my hobbies,` said he.
`I have made my dark room up there. But, dear
me! what an observant young lady we have come
upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have
ever believed it?` He spoke in a jesting tone,
but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked
at me. I read suspicion there and annoyance, but
no jest.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I
understood that there was something about that
suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was
all on fire to go over them. It was not mere
curiosity, though I have my share of that. It
was more a feeling of duty--a feeling that some
good might come from my penetrating to this
place. They talk of woman`s instinct; perhaps it
was woman`s instinct which gave me that feeling.
At any rate, it was there, and I was keenly on
the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden
door.
"It was only yesterday that the chance came.
I may tell you that, besides Mr. Rucastle, both
Toller and his wife find something to do in
these deserted rooms, and I once saw him
carrying a large black linen bag with him
through the door. Recently he has been drinking
hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk;
and when I came upstairs there was the key in
the door. I have no doubt at all that he had
left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both
downstairs, and the child was with them, so that
I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key
gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped
through.
"There was a little passage in front of me,
unpapered and uncarpeted, which turned at a
right angle at the farther end. Round this
corner were three doors in a line, the first and
third of which were open. They each led into an
empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two
windows in the one and one in the other, so
thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered
dimly through them. The centre door was closed,
and across the outside of it had been fastened
one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked
at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened
at the other with stout cord. The door itself
was locked as well, and the key was not there.
This barricaded door corresponded clearly with
the shuttered window outside, and yet I could
see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room
was not in darkness. Evidently there was a
skylight which let in light from above. As I
stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door
and wondering what secret it might veil, I
suddenly heard the sound of steps within the
room and saw a shadow pass backward and forward
against the little slit of dim light which shone
out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning
terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes.
My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I
turned and ran--ran as though some dreadful hand
were behind me clutching at the skirt of my
dress. I rushed down the passage, through the
door, and straight into the arms of Mr.
Rucastle, who was waiting outside.
"`So,` said he, smiling, `it was you, then. I
thought that it must be when I saw the door
open.`
"`Oh, I am so frightened!` I panted.
"`My dear young lady! my dear young
lady!`--you cannot think how caressing and
soothing his manner was--`and what has
frightened you, my dear young lady?`
"But his voice was just a little too coaxing.
He overdid it. I was keenly on my guard against
him.
"`I was foolish enough to go into the empty
wing,` I answered. `But it is so lonely and
eerie in this dim light that I was frightened
and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still
in there!`
"`Only that?` said he, looking at me keenly.
"`Why, what did you think?` I asked.
"`Why do you think that I lock this door?`
"`I am sure that I do not know.`
"`It is to keep people out who have no
business there. Do you see?` He was still
smiling in the most amiable manner.
"`I am sure if I had known--`
"`Well, then, you know now. And if you ever
put your foot over that threshold again`--here
in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of
rage, and he glared down at me with the face of
a demon--`I`ll throw you to the mastiff.`
"I was so terrified that I do not know what I
did. I suppose that I must have rushed past him
into my room. I remember nothing until I found
myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then
I thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live
there longer without some advice. I was
frightened of the house, of the man, of the
woman, of the servants, even of the child. They
were all horrible to me. If I could only bring
you down all would be well. Of course I might
have fled from the house, but my curiosity was
almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon
made up. I would send you a wire. I put on my
hat and cloak, went down to the office, which is
about half a mile from the house, and then
returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible
doubt came into my mind as I approached the door
lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered
that Toller had drunk himself into a state of
insensibility that evening, and I knew that he
was the only one in the household who had any
influence with the savage creature, or who would
venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety
and lay awake half the night in my joy at the
thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in
getting leave to come into Winchester this
morning, but I must be back before three
o`clock, for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on
a visit, and will be away all the evening, so
that I must look after the child. Now I have
told you all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I
should be very glad if you could tell me what it
all means, and, above all, what I should do."
Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this
extraordinary story. My friend rose now and
paced up and down the room, his hands in his
pockets, and an expression of the most profound
gravity upon his face.
"Is Toller still drunk?" he asked.
"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle
that she could do nothing with him."
"That is well. And the Rucastles go out
to-night?"
"Yes."
"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?"
"Yes, the wine-cellar."
"You seem to me to have acted all through
this matter like a very brave and sensible girl,
Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform
one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I
did not think you a quite exceptional woman."
"I will try. What is it?"
"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven
o`clock, my friend and I. The Rucastles will be
gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be
incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who
might give the alarm. If you could send her into
the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key
upon her, you would facilitate matters
immensely."
"I will do it."
"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly
into the affair. Of course there is only one
feasible explanation. You have been brought
there to personate someone, and the real person
is imprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious.
As to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that
it is the daughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I
remember right, who was said to have gone to
America. You were chosen, doubtless, as
resembling her in height, figure, and the colour
of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very
possibly in some illness through which she has
passed, and so, of course, yours had to be
sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came
upon her tresses. The man in the road was
undoubtedly some friend of hers--possibly her
fiancéand no doubt, as you wore the girl`s
dress and were so like her, he was convinced
from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and
afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle
was perfectly happy, and that she no longer
desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at
night to prevent him from endeavouring to
communicate with her. So much is fairly clear.
The most serious point in the case is the
disposition of the child."
"What on earth has that to do with it?" I
ejaculated.
"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are
continually gaining light as to the tendencies
of a child by the study of the parents. Don`t
you see that the converse is equally valid. I
have frequently gained my first real insight
into the character of parents by studying their
children. This child`s disposition is abnormally
cruel, merely for cruelty`s sake, and whether he
derives this from his smiling father, as I
should suspect, or from his mother, it bodes
evil for the poor girl who is in their power."
"I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,"
cried our client. "A thousand things come back
to me which make me certain that you have hit
it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing
help to this poor creature."
"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing
with a very cunning man. We can do nothing until
seven o`clock. At that hour we shall be with
you, and it will not be long before we solve the
mystery."
We were as good as our word, for it was just
seven when we reached the Copper Beeches, having
put up our trap at a wayside public-house. The
group of trees, with their dark leaves shining
like burnished metal in the light of the setting
sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had
Miss Hunter not been standing smiling on the
door-step.
"Have you managed it?" asked Holmes.
A loud thudding noise came from somewhere
downstairs. "That is Mrs. Toller in the cellar,"
said she. "Her husband lies snoring on the
kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the
duplicates of Mr. Rucastle`s."
"You have done well indeed!" cried Holmes
with enthusiasm. "Now lead the way, and we shall
soon see the end of this black business."
We passed up the stair, unlocked the door,
followed on down a passage, and found ourselves
in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had
described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the
transverse bar. Then he tried the various keys
in the lock, but without success. No sound came
from within, and at the silence Holmes` face
clouded over.
"I trust that we are not too late," said he.
"I think, Miss Hunter, that we had better go in
without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to
it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our
way in."
It was an old rickety door and gave at once
before our united strength. Together we rushed
into the room. It was empty. There was no
furniture save a little pallet bed, a small
table, and a basketful of linen. The skylight
above was open, and the prisoner gone.
"There has been some villainy here," said
Holmes; "this beauty has guessed Miss Hunter`s
intentions and has carried his victim off."
"But how?"
"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how
he managed it." He swung himself up onto the
roof. "Ah, yes," he cried, "here`s the end of a
long light ladder against the eaves. That is how
he did it."
"But it is impossible," said Miss Hunter;
"the ladder was not there when the Rucastles
went away."
"He has come back and done it. I tell you
that he is a clever and dangerous man. I should
not be very much surprised if this were he whose
step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson,
that it would be as well for you to have your
pistol ready."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before
a man appeared at the door of the room, a very
fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his
hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against
the wall at the sight of him, but Sherlock
Holmes sprang forward and confronted him.
"You villain!" said he, "where`s your
daughter?"
The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up
at the open skylight.
"It is for me to ask you that," he shrieked,
"you thieves! Spies and thieves! I have caught
you, have I? You are in my power. I`ll serve
you!" He turned and clattered down the stairs as
hard as he could go.
"He`s gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter.
"I have my revolver," said I.
"Better close the front door," cried Holmes,
and we all rushed down the stairs together. We
had hardly reached the hall when we heard the
baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony,
with a horrible worrying sound which it was
dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red
face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a
side door.
"My God!" he cried. "Someone has loosed the
dog. It`s not been fed for two days. Quick,
quick, or it`ll be too late!"
Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle
of the house, with Toller hurrying behind us.
There was the huge famished brute, its black
muzzle buried in Rucastle`s throat, while he
writhed and screamed upon the ground. Running
up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with
its keen white teeth still meeting in the great
creases of his neck. With much labour we
separated them and carried him, living but
horribly mangled, into the house. We laid him
upon the drawing-room sofa, and having
dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news
to his wife, I did what I could to relieve his
pain. We were all assembled round him when the
door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the
room.
"Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter.
"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he
came back before he went up to you. Ah, miss, it
is a pity you didn`t let me know what you were
planning, for I would have told you that your
pains were wasted."
"Ha!" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. "It
is clear that Mrs. Toller knows more about this
matter than anyone else."
"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to
tell what I know."
"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for
there are several points on which I must confess
that I am still in the dark."
"I will soon make it clear to you," said she;
"and I`d have done so before now if I could ha`
got out from the cellar. If there`s police-court
business over this, you`ll remember that I was
the one that stood your friend, and that I was
Miss Alice`s friend too.
"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice
wasn`t, from the time that her father married
again. She was slighted like and had no say in
anything, but it never really became bad for her
until after she met Mr. Fowler at a friend`s
house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had
rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet
and patient, she was, that she never said a word
about them but just left everything in Mr.
Rucastle`s hands. He knew he was safe with her;
but when there was a chance of a husband coming
forward, who would ask for all that the law
would give him, then her father thought it time
to put a stop on it. He wanted her to sign a
paper, so that whether she married or not, he
could use her money. When she wouldn`t do it, he
kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever,
and for six weeks was at death`s door. Then she
got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and
with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn`t
make no change in her young man, and he stuck to
her as true as man could be."
"Ah," said Holmes, "I think that what you
have been good enough to tell us makes the
matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all
that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took
to this system of imprisonment?"
"Yes, sir."
"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in
order to get rid of the disagreeable persistence
of Mr. Fowler."
"That was it, sir."
"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a
good seaman should be, blockaded the house, and
having met you succeeded by certain arguments,
metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that
your interests were the same as his."
"Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken,
free-handed gentleman," said Mrs. Toller
serenely.
"And in this way he managed that your good
man should have no want of drink, and that a
ladder should be ready at the moment when your
master had gone out."
"You have it, sir, just as it happened."
"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs.
Toller," said Holmes, "for you have certainly
cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here
comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so
I think, Watson, that we had best escort Miss
Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me
that our locus standi now is rather a
questionable one."
And thus was solved the mystery of the
sinister house with the copper beeches in front
of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was
always a broken man, kept alive solely through
the care of his devoted wife. They still live
with their old servants, who probably know so
much of Rucastle`s past life that he finds it
difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss
Rucastle were married, by special license, in
Southampton the day after their flight, and he
is now the holder of a government appointment in
the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet
Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my
disappointment, manifested no further interest
in her when once she had ceased to be the centre
of one of his problems, and she is now the head
of a private school at Walsall, where I believe
that she has met with considerable success. |
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Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
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Adventure I
Silver Blaze
"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat
down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King`s Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder
was that he had not already been mixed upon this
extraordinary case, which was the one topic of
conversation through the length and breadth of
England. For a whole day my companion had
rambled about the room with his chin upon his
chest and his brows knitted, charging and
recharging his pipe with the strongest black
tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my
questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every
paper had been sent up by our news agent, only
to be glanced over and tossed down into a
corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly
well what it was over which he was brooding.
There was but one problem before the public
which could challenge his powers of analysis,
and that was the singular disappearance of the
favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic
murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he
suddenly announced his intention of setting out
for the scene of the drama it was only what I
had both expected and hoped for.
"I should be most happy to go down with you
if I should not be in the way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great
favor upon me by coming. And I think that your
time will not be misspent, for there are points
about the case which promise to make it an
absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just
time to catch our train at Paddington, and I
will go further into the matter upon our
journey. You would oblige me by bringing with
you your very excellent field-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I
found myself in the corner of a first-class
carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while
Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face
framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped
rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he
had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading
far behind us before he thrust the last one of
them under the seat, and offered me his
cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out the
window and glancing at his watch. "Our rate at
present is fifty-three and a half miles an
hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,"
said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon
this line are sixty yards apart, and the
calculation is a simple one. I presume that you
have looked into this matter of the murder of
John Straker and the disappearance of Silver
Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the
Chronicle have to say."
"It is one of those cases where the art of
the reasoner should be used rather for the
sifting of details than for the acquiring of
fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so
uncommon, so complete and of such personal
importance to so many people, that we are
suffering from a plethora of surmise,
conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to
detach the framework of fact--of absolute
undeniable fact--from the embellishments of
theorists and reporters. Then, having
established ourselves upon this sound basis, it
is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn
and what are the special points upon which the
whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I
received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the
owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory,
who is looking after the case, inviting my
cooperation.
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is
Thursday morning. Why didn`t you go down
yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear
Watson--which is, I am afraid, a more common
occurrence than any one would think who only
knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I
could not believe is possible that the most
remarkable horse in England could long remain
concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a
place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to
hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had
been found, and that his abductor was the
murderer of John Straker. When, however, another
morning had come, and I found that beyond the
arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been
done, I felt that it was time for me to take
action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday
has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential
facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to
you, for nothing clears up a case so much as
stating it to another person, and I can hardly
expect your co-operation if I do not show you
the position from which we start."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at
my cigar, while Holmes, leaning forward, with
his long, thin forefinger checking off the
points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a
sketch of the events which had led to our
journey.
"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy
stock, and holds as brilliant a record as his
famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year,
and has brought in turn each of the prizes of
the turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner.
Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the
first favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting
being three to one on him. He has always,
however, been a prime favorite with the racing
public, and has never yet disappointed them, so
that even at those odds enormous sums of money
have been laid upon him. It is obvious,
therefore, that there were many people who had
the strongest interest in preventing Silver
Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag
next Tuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at
King`s Pyland, where the Colonel`s
training-stable is situated. Every precaution
was taken to guard the favorite. The trainer,
John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in
Colonel Ross`s colors before he became too heavy
for the weighing-chair. He has served the
Colonel for five years as jockey and for seven
as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a
zealous and honest servant. Under him were three
lads; for the establishment was a small one,
containing only four horses in all. One of these
lads sat up each night in the stable, while the
others slept in the loft. All three bore
excellent characters. John Straker, who is a
married man, lived in a small villa about two
hundred yards from the stables. He has no
children, keeps one maid-servant, and is
comfortably off. The country round is very
lonely, but about half a mile to the north there
is a small cluster of villas which have been
built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of
invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the
pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two
miles to the west, while across the moor, also
about two miles distant, is the larger training
establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord
Backwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In
every other direction the moor is a complete
wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming
gypsies. Such was the general situation last
Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.
"On that evening the horses had been
exercised and watered as usual, and the stables
were locked up at nine o`clock. Two of the lads
walked up to the trainer`s house, where they had
supper in the kitchen, while the third, Ned
Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes
after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down
to the stables his supper, which consisted of a
dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as
there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was
the rule that the lad on duty should drink
nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with
her, as it was very dark and the path ran across
the open moor.
"Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the
stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness
and called to her to stop. As he stepped into
the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern
she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly
bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with
a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a
heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most
impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his
face and by the nervousness of his manner. His
age, she thought, would be rather over thirty
than under it.
"`Can you tell me where I am?` he asked. `I
had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor,
when I saw the light of your lantern.`
"`You are close to the King`s Pyland
training-stables,` said she.
"`Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!` he
cried. `I understand that a stable-boy sleeps
there alone every night. Perhaps that is his
supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am
sure that you would not be too proud to earn the
price of a new dress, would you?` He took a
piece of white paper folded up out of his
waistcoat pocket. `See that the boy has this
to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock
that money can buy.`
"She was frightened by the earnestness of his
manner, and ran past him to the window through
which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It
was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the
small table inside. She had begun to tell him of
what had happened, when the stranger came up
again.
"`Good-evening,` said he, looking through the
window. `I wanted to have a word with you.` The
girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the
corner of the little paper packet protruding
from his closed hand.
"`What business have you here?` asked the
lad.
"`It`s business that may put something into
your pocket,` said the other. `You`ve two horses
in for the Wessex Cup--Silver Blaze and Bayard.
Let me have the straight tip and you won`t be a
loser. Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard
could give the other a hundred yards in five
furlongs, and that the stable have put their
money on him?`
"`So, you`re one of those damned touts!`
cried the lad. `I`ll show you how we serve them
in King`s Pyland.` He sprang up and rushed
across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl
fled away to the house, but as she ran she
looked back and saw that the stranger was
leaning through the window. A minute later,
however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound
he was gone, and though he ran all round the
buildings he failed to find any trace of him."
"One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy,
when he ran out with the dog, leave the door
unlocked behind him?"
"Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my
companion. "The importance of the point struck
me so forcibly that I sent a special wire to
Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The
boy locked the door before he left it. The
window, I may add, was not large enough for a
man to get through.
"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had
returned, when he sent a message to the trainer
and told him what had occurred. Straker was
excited at hearing the account, although he does
not seem to have quite realized its true
significance. It left him, however, vaguely
uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the
morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to
her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep
on account of his anxiety about the horses, and
that he intended to walk down to the stables to
see that all was well. She begged him to remain
at home, as she could hear the rain pattering
against the window, but in spite of her
entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and
left the house.
"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning,
to find that her husband had not yet returned.
She dressed herself hastily, called the maid,
and set off for the stables. The door was open;
inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter
was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the
favorite`s stall was empty, and there were no
signs of his trainer.
"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting
loft above the harness-room were quickly
aroused. They had heard nothing during the
night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter
was obviously under the influence of some
powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out
of him, he was left to sleep it off while the
two lads and the two women ran out in search of
the absentees. They still had hopes that the
trainer had for some reason taken out the horse
for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll
near the house, from which all the neighboring
moors were visible, they not only could see no
signs of the missing favorite, but they
perceived something which warned them that they
were in the presence of a tragedy.
"About a quarter of a mile from the stables
John Straker`s overcoat was flapping from a
furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a
bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the
bottom of this was found the dead body of the
unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered
by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he
was wounded on the thigh, where there was a
long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some
very sharp instrument. It was clear, however,
that Straker had defended himself vigorously
against his assailants, for in his right hand he
held a small knife, which was clotted with blood
up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a
red and black silk cravat, which was recognized
by the maid as having been worn on the preceding
evening by the stranger who had visited the
stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor,
was also quite positive as to the ownership of
the cravat. He was equally certain that the same
stranger had, while standing at the window,
drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the
stables of their watchman. As to the missing
horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud
which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that
he had been there at the time of the struggle.
But from that morning he has disappeared, and
although a large reward has been offered, and
all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no
news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has
shown that the remains of his supper left by the
stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of
powdered opium, while the people at the house
partook of the same dish on the same night
without any ill effect.
"Those are the main facts of the case,
stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as
possible. I shall now recapitulate what the
police have done in the matter.
"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been
committed, is an extremely competent officer.
Were he but gifted with imagination he might
rise to great heights in his profession. On his
arrival he promptly found and arrested the man
upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was
little difficulty in finding him, for he
inhabited one of those villas which I have
mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy
Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth and
education, who had squandered a fortune upon the
turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet
and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of
London. An examination of his betting-book shows
that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds
had been registered by him against the favorite.
On being arrested he volunteered that statement
that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of
getting some information about the King`s Pyland
horses, and also about Desborough, the second
favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at
the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny
that he had acted as described upon the evening
before, but declared that he had no sinister
designs, and had simply wished to obtain
first-hand information. When confronted with his
cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly
unable to account for its presence in the hand
of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed
that he had been out in the storm of the night
before, and his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer
weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as
might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the
terrible injuries to which the trainer had
succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound
upon his person, while the state of Straker`s
knife would show that one at least of his
assailants must bear his mark upon him. There
you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if
you can give me any light I shall be infinitely
obliged to you."
I had listened with the greatest interest to
the statement which Holmes, with characteristic
clearness, had laid before me. Though most of
the facts were familiar to me, I had not
sufficiently appreciated their relative
importance, nor their connection to each other.
"Is in not possible," I suggested, "that the
incised would upon Straker may have been caused
by his own knife in the convulsive struggles
which follow any brain injury?"
"It is more than possible; it is probable,"
said Holmes. "In that case one of the main
points in favor of the accused disappears."
"And yet," said I, "even now I fail to
understand what the theory of the police can
be."
"I am afraid that whatever theory we state
has very grave objections to it," returned my
companion. "The police imagine, I take it, that
this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad,
and having in some way obtained a duplicate key,
opened the stable door and took out the horse,
with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping
him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that
Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left
the door open behind him, he was leading the
horse away over the moor, when he was either met
or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally
ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer`s brains
with his heavy stick without receiving any
injury from the small knife which Straker used
in self-defence, and then the thief either led
the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or
else it may have bolted during the struggle, and
be now wandering out on the moors. That is the
case as it appears to the police, and improbable
as it is, all other explanations are more
improbable still. However, I shall very quickly
test the matter when I am once upon the spot,
and until then I cannot really see how we can
get much further than our present position."
It was evening before we reached the little
town of Tavistock, which lies, like the boss of
a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of
Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the
station--the one a tall, fair man with lion-like
hair and beard and curiously penetrating light
blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very
neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters,
with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass.
The latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known
sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a man
who was rapidly making his name in the English
detective service.
"I am delighted that you have come down, Mr.
Holmes," said the Colonel. "The Inspector here
has done all that could possibly be suggested,
but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying
to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my
horse."
"Have there been any fresh developments?"
asked Holmes.
"I am sorry to say that we have made very
little progress," said the Inspector. "We have
an open carriage outside, and as you would no
doubt like to see the place before the light
fails, we might talk it over as we drive."
A minute later we were all seated in a
comfortable landau, and were rattling through
the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector
Gregory was full of his case, and poured out a
stream of remarks, while Holmes threw in an
occasional question or interjection. Colonel
Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his
hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with
interest to the dialogue of the two detectives.
Gregory was formulating his theory, which was
almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the
train.
"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy
Simpson," he remarked, "and I believe myself
that he is our man. At the same time I recognize
that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and
that some new development may upset it."
"How about Straker`s knife?"
"We have quite come to the conclusion that he
wounded himself in his fall."
"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to
me as we came down. If so, it would tell against
this man Simpson."
"Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any
sign of a wound. The evidence against him is
certainly very strong. He had a great interest
in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies
under suspicion of having poisoned the
stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm,
he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat
was found in the dead man`s hand. I really think
we have enough to go before a jury."
Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel
would tear it all to rags," said he. "Why should
he take the horse out of the stable? If he
wished to injure it why could he not do it
there? Has a duplicate key been found in his
possession? What chemist sold him the powdered
opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to
the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as
this? What is his own explanation as to the
paper which he wished the maid to give to the
stable-boy?"
"He says that it was a ten-pound note. One
was found in his purse. But your other
difficulties are not so formidable as they seem.
He is not a stranger to the district. He has
twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The
opium was probably brought from London. The key,
having served its purpose, would be hurled away.
The horse may be at the bottom of one of the
pits or old mines upon the moor."
"What does he say about the cravat?"
"He acknowledges that it is his, and declares
that he had lost it. But a new element has been
introduced into the case which may account for
his leading the horse from the stable."
Holmes pricked up his ears.
"We have found traces which show that a party
of gypsies encamped on Monday night within a
mile of the spot where the murder took place. On
Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that
there was some understanding between Simpson and
these gypsies, might he not have been leading
the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may
they not have him now?"
"It is certainly possible."
"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies.
I have also examined every stable and out-house
in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles."
"There is another training-stable quite
close, I understand?"
"Yes, and that is a factor which we must
certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their
horse, was second in the betting, they had an
interest in the disappearance of the favorite.
Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had
large bets upon the event, and he was no friend
to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the
stables, and there is nothing to connect him
with the affair."
"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with
the interests of the Mapleton stables?"
"Nothing at all."
Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the
conversation ceased. A few minutes later our
driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick
villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the
road. Some distance off, across a paddock, lay a
long gray-tiled out-building. In every other
direction the low curves of the moor,
bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched
away to the sky-line, broken only by the
steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of
houses away to the westward which marked the
Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the
exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back
with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of
him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It
was only when I touched his arm that he roused
himself with a violent start and stepped out of
the carriage.
"Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel
Ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. "I
was day-dreaming." There was a gleam in his eyes
and a suppressed excitement in his manner which
convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that
his hand was upon a clue, though I could not
imagine where he had found it.
"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to
the scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes?" said
Gregory.
"I think that I should prefer to stay here a
little and go into one or two questions of
detail. Straker was brought back here, I
presume?"
"Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is
to-morrow."
"He has been in your service some years,
Colonel Ross?"
"I have always found him an excellent
servant."
"I presume that you made an inventory of what
he had in this pockets at the time of his death,
Inspector?"
"I have the things themselves in the
sitting-room, if you would care to see them."
"I should be very glad." We all filed into
the front room and sat round the central table
while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box
and laid a small heap of things before us. There
was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow
candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of
seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut
Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain,
five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum
pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled
knife with a very delicate, inflexible bade
marked Weiss & Co., London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes,
lifting it up and examining it minutely. "I
presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it
is the one which was found in the dead man`s
grasp. Watson, this knife is surely in your
line?"
"It is what we call a cataract knife," said
I.
"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised
for very delicate work. A strange thing for a
man to carry with him upon a rough expedition,
especially as it would not shut in his pocket."
"The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which
we found beside his body," said the Inspector.
"His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon
the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up
as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but
perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on
at the moment."
"Very possible. How about these papers?"
"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers`
accounts. One of them is a letter of
instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a
milliner`s account for thirty-seven pounds
fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of Bond
Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker
tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her
husband`s and that occasionally his letters were
addressed here."
"Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive
tastes," remarked Holmes, glancing down the
account. "Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for
a single costume. However there appears to be
nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to
the scene of the crime."
As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman,
who had been waiting in the passage, took a step
forward and laid her hand upon the Inspector`s
sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager,
stamped with the print of a recent horror.
"Have you got them? Have you found them?" she
panted.
"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has
come from London to help us, and we shall do all
that is possible."
"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a
garden-party some little time ago, Mrs.
Straker?" said Holmes.
"No, sir; you are mistaken."
"Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You
wore a costume of dove-colored silk with
ostrich-feather trimming."
"I never had such a dress, sir," answered the
lady.
"Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And
with an apology he followed the Inspector
outside. A short walk across the moor took us to
the hollow in which the body had been found. At
the brink of it was the furze-bush upon which
the coat had been hung.
"There was no wind that night, I understand,"
said Holmes.
"None; but very heavy rain."
"In that case the overcoat was not blown
against the furze-bush, but placed there."
"Yes, it was laid across the bush."
"You fill me with interest, I perceive that
the ground has been trampled up a good deal. No
doubt many feet have been here since Monday
night."
"A piece of matting has been laid here at the
side, and we have all stood upon that."
"Excellent."
"In this bag I have one of the boots which
Straker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson`s shoes,
and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze."
"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!"
Homes took the bag, and, descending into the
hollow, he pushed the matting into a more
central position. Then stretching himself upon
his face and leaning his chin upon his hands, he
made a careful study of the trampled mud in
front of him. "Hullo!" said he, suddenly.
"What`s this?" It was a wax vesta half burned,
which was so coated with mud that it looked at
first like a little chip of wood.
"I cannot think how I came to overlook it,"
said the Inspector, with an expression of
annoyance.
"It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only
saw it because I was looking for it."
"What! You expected to find it?"
"I thought it not unlikely."
He took the boots from the bag, and compared
the impressions of each of them with marks upon
the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of
the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns
and bushes.
"I am afraid that there are no more tracks,"
said the Inspector. "I have examined the ground
very carefully for a hundred yards in each
direction."
"Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not
have the impertinence to do it again after what
you say. But I should like to take a little walk
over the moor before it grows dark, that I may
know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I
shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for
luck."
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of
impatience at my companion`s quiet and
systematic method of work, glanced at his watch.
"I wish you would come back with me, Inspector,"
said he. "There are several points on which I
should like your advice, and especially as to
whether we do not owe it to the public to remove
our horse`s name from the entries for the Cup."
"Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision.
"I should let the name stand."
The Colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have
had your opinion, sir," said he. "You will find
us at poor Straker`s house when you have
finished your walk, and we can drive together
into Tavistock."
He turned back with the Inspector, while
Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. The
sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of
Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front
of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich,
ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles
caught the evening light. But the glories of the
landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who
was sunk in the deepest thought.
"It`s this way, Watson," said he at last. "We
may leave the question of who killed John
Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves
to finding out what has become of the horse.
Now, supposing that he broke away during or
after the tragedy, where could he have gone to?
The horse is a very gregarious creature. If left
to himself his instincts would have been either
to return to King`s Pyland or go over to
Mapleton. Why should he run wild upon the moor?
He would surely have been seen by now. And why
should gypsies kidnap him? These people always
clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do
not wish to be pestered by the police. They
could not hope to sell such a horse. They would
run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him.
Surely that is clear."
"Where is he, then?"
"I have already said that he must have gone
to King`s Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at
King`s Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let
us take that as a working hypothesis and see
what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as
the Inspector remarked, is very hard and dry.
But if falls away towards Mapleton, and you can
see from here that there is a long hollow over
yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday
night. If our supposition is correct, then the
horse must have crossed that, and there is the
point where we should look for his tracks."
We had been walking briskly during this
conversation, and a few more minutes brought us
to the hollow in question. At Holmes` request I
walked down the bank to the right, and he to the
left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I
heard him give a shout, and saw him waving his
hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly
outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and
the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly
fitted the impression.
"See the value of imagination," said Holmes.
"It is the one quality which Gregory lacks. We
imagined what might have happened, acted upon
the supposition, and find ourselves justified.
Let us proceed."
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over
a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the
ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks.
Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to
pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton.
It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood
pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A
man`s track was visible beside the horse`s.
"The horse was alone before," I cried.
"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what
is this?"
The double track turned sharp off and took
the direction of King`s Pyland. Homes whistled,
and we both followed along after it. His eyes
were on the trail, but I happened to look a
little to one side, and saw to my surprise the
same tracks coming back again in the opposite
direction.
"One for you, Watson," said Holmes, when I
pointed it out. "You have saved us a long walk,
which would have brought us back on our own
traces. Let us follow the return track."
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving
of asphalt which led up to the gates of the
Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran
out from them.
"We don`t want any loiterers about here,"
said he.
"I only wished to ask a question," said
Holmes, with his finger and thumb in his
waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early to see
your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call
at five o`clock to-morrow morning?"
"Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will
be, for he is always the first stirring. But
here he is, sir, to answer your questions for
himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place
is worth to let him see me touch your money.
Afterwards, if you like."
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown
which he had drawn from his pocket, a
fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the
gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
"What`s this, Dawson!" he cried. "No
gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what
the devil do you want here?"
"Ten minutes` talk with you, my good sir,"
said Holmes in the sweetest of voices.
"I`ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We
want no stranger here. Be off, or you may find a
dog at your heels."
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something
in the trainer`s ear. He started violently and
flushed to the temples.
"It`s a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!"
"Very good. Shall we argue about it here in
public or talk it over in your parlor?"
"Oh, come in if you wish to."
Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more
than a few minutes, Watson," said he. "Now, Mr.
Brown, I am quite at your disposal."
It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all
faded into grays before Holmes and the trainer
reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as
had been brought about in Silas Brown in that
short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of
perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands
shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a
branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing
manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at
my companion`s side like a dog with its master.
"You instructions will be done. It shall all
be done," said he.
"There must be no mistake," said Holmes,
looking round at him. The other winced as he
read the menace in his eyes.
"Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall
be there. Should I change it first or not?"
Holmes thought a little and then burst out
laughing. "No, don`t," said he; "I shall write
to you about it. No tricks, now, or--"
"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear
from me to-morrow." He turned upon his heel,
disregarding the trembling hand which the other
held out to him, and we set off for King`s
Pyland.
"A more perfect compound of the bully,
coward, and sneak than Master Silas Brown I have
seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudged
along together.
"He has the horse, then?"
"He tried to bluster out of it, but I
described to him so exactly what his actions had
been upon that morning that he is convinced that
I was watching him. Of course you observed the
peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and
that his own boots exactly corresponded to them.
Again, of course no subordinate would have dared
to do such a thing. I described to him how, when
according to his custom he was the first down,
he perceived a strange horse wandering over the
moor. How he went out to it, and his
astonishment at recognizing, from the white
forehead which has given the favorite its name,
that chance had put in his power the only horse
which could beat the one upon which he had put
his money. Then I described how his first
impulse had been to lead him back to King`s
Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he
could hide the horse until the race was over,
and how he had led it back and concealed it at
Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave
it up and thought only of saving his own skin."
"But his stables had been searched?"
"Oh, and old horse-fakir like him has many a
dodge."
"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in
his power now, since he has every interest in
injuring it?"
"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the
apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of
mercy is to produce it safe."
"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who
would be likely to show much mercy in any case."
"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross.
I follow my own methods, and tell as much or as
little as I choose. That is the advantage of
being unofficial. I don`t know whether you
observed it, Watson, but the Colonel`s manner
has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am
inclined now to have a little amusement at his
expense. Say nothing to him about the horse."
"Certainly not without your permission."
"And of course this is all quite a minor
point compared to the question of who killed
John Straker."
"And you will devote yourself to that?"
"On the contrary, we both go back to London
by the night train."
I was thunderstruck by my friend`s words. We
had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and
that he should give up an investigation which he
had begun so brilliantly was quite
incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I
draw from him until we were back at the
trainer`s house. The Colonel and the Inspector
were awaiting us in the parlor.
"My friend and I return to town by the
night-express," said Holmes. "We have had a
charming little breath of your beautiful
Dartmoor air."
The Inspector opened his eyes, and the
Colonel`s lip curled in a sneer.
"So you despair of arresting the murderer of
poor Straker," said he.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are
certainly grave difficulties in the way," said
he. "I have every hope, however, that your horse
will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will
have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a
photograph of Mr. John Straker?"
The Inspector took one from an envelope and
handed it to him.
"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my
wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an
instant, I have a question which I should like
to put to the maid."
"I must say that I am rather disappointed in
our London consultant," said Colonel Ross,
bluntly, as my friend left the room. "I do not
see that we are any further than when he came."
"At least you have his assurance that your
horse will run," said I.
"Yes, I have his assurance," said the
Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I
should prefer to have the horse."
I was about to make some reply in defence of
my friend when he entered the room again.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready
for Tavistock."
As we stepped into the carriage one of the
stable-lads held the door open for us. A sudden
idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned
forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he
said. "Who attends to them?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of
late?"
"Well, sir, not of much account; but three of
them have gone lame, sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely
pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands
together.
"A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said
he, pinching my arm. "Gregory, let me recommend
to your attention this singular epidemic among
the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which
showed the poor opinion which he had formed of
my companion`s ability, but I saw by the
Inspector`s face that his attention had been
keenly aroused.
"You consider that to be important?" he
asked.
"Exceedingly so."
"Is there any point to which you would wish
to draw my attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in the
night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time."
"That was the curious incident," remarked
Sherlock Holmes.
Four days later Holmes and I were again in
the train, bound for Winchester to see the race
for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by
appointment outside the station, and we drove in
his drag to the course beyond the town. His face
was grave, and his manner was cold in the
extreme.
"I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.
"I suppose that you would know him when you
saw him?" asked Holmes.
The Colonel was very angry. "I have been on
the turf for twenty years, and never was asked
such a question as that before," said he. "A
child would know Silver Blaze, with his white
forehead and his mottled off-foreleg."
"How is the betting?"
"Well, that is the curious part of it. You
could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the
price has become shorter and shorter, until you
can hardly get three to one now."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows
something, that is clear."
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the
grand stand I glanced at the card to see the
entries.
Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs each h ft with
1000 sovs added for four and five year olds.
Second, L300. Third, L200. New course (one mile
and five furlongs). Mr. Heath Newton`s The
Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket. Colonel
Wardlaw`s Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black
jacket. Lord Backwater`s Desborough. Yellow cap
and sleeves. Colonel Ross`s Silver Blaze. Black
cap. Red jacket. Duke of Balmoral`s Iris. Yellow
and black stripes. Lord Singleford`s Rasper.
Purple cap. Black sleeves.
"We scratched our other one, and put all
hopes on your word," said the Colonel. "Why,
what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?"
"Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared
the ring. "Five to four against Silver Blaze!
Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four
on the field!"
"There are the numbers up," I cried. "They
are all six there."
"All six there? Then my horse is running,"
cried the Colonel in great agitation. "But I
don`t see him. My colors have not passed."
"Only five have passed. This must be he."
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out
from the weighting enclosure and cantered past
us, bearing on it back the well-known black and
red of the Colonel.
"That`s not my horse," cried the owner. "That
beast has not a white hair upon its body. What
is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said
my friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he
gazed through my field-glass. "Capital! An
excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they
are, coming round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they
came up the straight. The six horses were so
close together that a carpet could have covered
them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton
stable showed to the front. Before they reached
us, however, Desborough`s bolt was shot, and the
Colonel`s horse, coming away with a rush, passed
the post a good six lengths before its rival,
the Duke of Balmoral`s Iris making a bad third.
"It`s my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel,
passing his hand over his eyes. "I confess that
I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don`t
you think that you have kept up your mystery
long enough, Mr. Holmes?"
"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know
everything. Let us all go round and have a look
at the horse together. Here he is," he
continued, as we made our way into the weighing
enclosure, where only owners and their friends
find admittance. "You have only to wash his face
and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will
find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as
ever."
"You take my breath away!"
"I found him in the hands of a fakir, and
took the liberty of running him just as he was
sent over."
"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The
horse looks very fit and well. It never went
better in its life. I owe you a thousand
apologies for having doubted your ability. You
have done me a great service by recovering my
horse. You would do me a greater still if you
could lay your hands on the murderer of John
Straker."
"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement.
"You have got him! Where is he, then?"
"He is here."
"Here! Where?"
"In my company at the present moment."
The Colonel flushed angrily. "I quite
recognize that I am under obligations to you,
Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard what
you have just said as either a very bad joke or
an insult."
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I
have not associated you with the crime,
Colonel," said he. "The real murderer is
standing immediately behind you." He stepped
past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of
the thoroughbred.
"The horse!" cried both the Colonel and
myself.
"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt
if I say that it was done in self-defence, and
that John Straker was a man who was entirely
unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the
bell, and as I stand to win a little on this
next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation
until a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to
ourselves that evening as we whirled back to
London, and I fancy that the journey was a short
one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we
listened to our companion`s narrative of the
events which had occurred at the Dartmoor
training-stables upon the Monday night, and the
means by which he had unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories
which I had formed from the newspaper reports
were entirely erroneous. And yet there were
indications there, had they not been overlaid by
other details which concealed their true import.
I went to Devonshire with the conviction that
Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although,
of course, I saw that the evidence against him
was by no means complete. It was while I was in
the carriage, just as we reached the trainer`s
house, that the immense significance of the
curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember
that I was distrait, and remained sitting after
you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own
mind how I could possibly have overlooked so
obvious a clue."
"I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now
I cannot see how it helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of
reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means
tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but
it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any
ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect
it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was
exactly the medium which would disguise this
taste. By no possible supposition could this
stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to
be served in the trainer`s family that night,
and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to
suppose that he happened to come along with
powdered opium upon the very night when a dish
happened to be served which would disguise the
flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson
becomes eliminated from the case, and our
attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the
only two people who could have chosen curried
mutton for supper that night. The opium was
added after the dish was set aside for the
stable-boy, for the others had the same for
supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then,
had access to that dish without the maid seeing
them?
"Before deciding that question I had grasped
the significance of the silence of the dog, for
one true inference invariably suggests others.
The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was
kept in the stables, and yet, though some one
had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had
not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the
loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was some
one whom the dog knew well.
"I was already convinced, or almost
convinced, that John Straker went down to the
stables in the dead of the night and took out
Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest
one, obviously, or why should he drug his own
stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why.
There have been cases before now where trainers
have made sure of great sums of money by laying
against their own horses, through agents, and
then preventing them from winning by fraud.
Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it
is some surer and subtler means. What was it
here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets
might help me to form a conclusion.
"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten
the singular knife which was found in the dead
man`s hand, a knife which certainly no sane man
would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson
told us, a form of knife which is used for the
most delicate operations known in surgery. And
it was to be used for a delicate operation that
night. You must know, with your wide experience
of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is
possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons
of a horse`s ham, and to do it subcutaneously,
so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so
treated would develop a slight lameness, which
would be put down to a strain in exercise or a
touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play."
"Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel.
"We have here the explanation of why John
Straker wished to take the horse out on to the
moor. So spirited a creature would have
certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when
it felt the prick of the knife. It was
absolutely necessary to do it in the open air."
"I have been blind!" cried the Colonel. "Of
course that was why he needed the candle, and
struck the match."
"Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings
I was fortunate enough to discover not only the
method of the crime, but even its motives. As a
man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do
not carry other people`s bills about in their
pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do
to settle our own. I at once concluded that
Straker was leading a double life, and keeping a
second establishment. The nature of the bill
showed that there was a lady in the case, and
one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are
with your servants, one can hardly expect that
they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for
their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to
the dress without her knowing it, and having
satisfied myself that it had never reached her,
I made a note of the milliner`s address, and
felt that by calling there with Straker`s
photograph I could easily dispose of the
mythical Derbyshire.
"From that time on all was plain. Straker had
led out the horse to a hollow where his light
would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had
dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it
up--with some idea, perhaps, that he might use
it in securing the horse`s leg. Once in the
hollow, he had got behind the horse and had
struck a light; but the creature frightened at
the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct
of animals feeling that some mischief was
intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had
struck Straker full on the forehead. He had
already, in spite of the rain, taken off his
overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and
so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I
make it clear?"
"Wonderful!" cried the Colonel. "Wonderful!
You might have been there!"
"My final shot was, I confess a very long
one. It struck me that so astute a man as
Straker would not undertake this delicate
tendon-nicking without a little practice. What
could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the
sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to
my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.
"When I returned to London I called upon the
milliner, who had recognized Straker as an
excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire,
who had a very dashing wife, with a strong
partiality for expensive dresses. I have no
doubt that this woman had plunged him over head
and ears in debt, and so led him into this
miserable plot."
"You have explained all but one thing," cried
the Colonel. "Where was the horse?"
"Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of
your neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that
direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if
I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria
in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a
cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to
give you any other details which might interest
you." |
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Adventure II
The Yellow Face
[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in
which my companion`s singular gifts have made us
the listeners to, and eventually the actors in,
some strange drama, it is only natural that I
should dwell rather upon his successes than upon
his failures. And this not so much for the sake
of his reputations--for, indeed, it was when he
was at his wits` end that his energy and his
versatility were most admirable--but because
where he failed it happened too often that no
one else succeeded, and that the tale was left
forever without a conclusion. Now and again,
however, it chanced that even when he erred, the
truth was still discovered. I have noted of some
half-dozen cases of the kind the Adventure of
the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to
recount are the two which present the strongest
features of interest.]
Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took
exercise for exercise`s sake. Few men were
capable of greater muscular effort, and he was
undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his
weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon
aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy,
and he seldom bestirred himself save when there
was some professional object to be served. Then
he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable.
That he should have kept himself in training
under such circumstances is remarkable, but his
diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits
were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for
the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices,
and he only turned to the drug as a protest
against the monotony of existence when cases
were scanty and the papers uninteresting.
One day in early spring he had so far relaxed
as to go for a walk with me in the Park, where
the first faint shoots of green were breaking
out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of
the chestnuts were just beginning to burst into
their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled
about together, in silence for the most part, as
befits two men who know each other intimately.
It was nearly five before we were back in Baker
Street once more.
"Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he
opened the door. "There`s been a gentleman here
asking for you, sir."
Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much
for afternoon walks!" said he. "Has this
gentleman gone, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Didn`t you ask him in?"
"Yes, sir; he came in."
"How long did he wait?"
"Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless
gentleman, sir, a-walkin` and a-stampin` all the
time he was here. I was waitin` outside the
door, sir, and I could hear him. At last he outs
into the passage, and he cries, `Is that man
never goin` to come?` Those were his very words,
sir. `You`ll only need to wait a little longer,`
says I. `Then I`ll wait in the open air, for I
feel half choked,` says he. `I`ll be back before
long.` And with that he ups and he outs, and all
I could say wouldn`t hold him back."
"Well, well, you did you best," said Holmes,
as we walked into our room. "It`s very annoying,
though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case,
and this looks, from the man`s impatience, as if
it were of importance. Hullo! That`s not your
pipe on the table. He must have left his behind
him. A nice old brier with a good long stem of
what the tobacconists call amber. I wonder how
many real amber mouthpieces there are in London?
Some people think that a fly in it is a sign.
Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind to
leave a pipe behind him which he evidently
values highly."
"How do you know that he values it highly?" I
asked.
"Well, I should put the original cost of the
pipe at seven and sixpence. Now it has, you see,
been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and
once in the amber. Each of these mends, done, as
you observe, with silver bands, must have cost
more than the pipe did originally. The man must
value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch
it up rather than buy a new one with the same
money."
"Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was
turning the pipe about in his hand, and staring
at it in his peculiar pensive way.
He held it up and tapped on it with his long,
thin fore-finger, as a professor might who was
lecturing on a bone.
"Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary
interest," said he. "Nothing has more
individuality, save perhaps watches and
bootlaces. The indications here, however, are
neither very marked nor very important. The
owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed,
with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his
habits, and with no need to practise economy."
My friend threw out the information in a very
offhand way, but I saw that he cocked his eye at
me to see if I had followed his reasoning.
"You think a man must be well-to-do if he
smokes a seven-shilling pipe," said I.
"This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an
ounce," Holmes answered, knocking a little out
on his palm. "As he might get an excellent smoke
for half the price, he has no need to practise
economy."
"And the other points?"
"He has been in the habit of lighting his
pipe at lamps and gas-jets. You can see that it
is quite charred all down one side. Of course a
match could not have done that. Why should a man
hold a match to the side of his pipe? But you
cannot light it at a lamp without getting the
bowl charred. And it is all on the right side of
the pipe. From that I gather that he is a
left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the
lamp, and see how naturally you, being
right-handed, hold the left side to the flame.
You might do it once the other way, but not as a
constancy. This has always been held so. Then he
has bitten through his amber. It takes a
muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good
set of teeth, to do that. But if I am not
mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall
have something more interesting than his pipe to
study."
An instant later our door opened, and a tall
young man entered the room. He was well but
quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, and carried
a brown wide-awake in his hand. I should have
put him at about thirty, though he was really
some years older.
"I beg your pardon," said he, with some
embarrassment; "I suppose I should have knocked.
Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact
is that I am a little upset, and you must put it
all down to that." He passed his hand over his
forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then
fell rather than sat down upon a chair.
"I can see that you have not slept for a
night or two," said Holmes, in his easy, genial
way. "That tries a man`s nerves more than work,
and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can
help you?"
"I wanted your advice, sir. I don`t know what
to do and my whole life seems to have gone to
pieces."
"You wish to employ me as a consulting
detective?"
"Not that only. I want your opinion as a
judicious man--as a man of the world. I want to
know what I ought to do next. I hope to God
you`ll be able to tell me."
He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts,
and it seemed to me that to speak at all was
very painful to him, and that his will all
through was overriding his inclinations.
"It`s a very delicate thing," said he. "One
does not like to speak of one`s domestic affairs
to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the
conduct of one`s wife with two men whom I have
never seen before. It`s horrible to have to do
it. But I`ve got to the end of my tether, and I
must have advice."
"My dear Mr. Grant Munro--" began Holmes.
Our visitor sprang from his char. "What!" he
cried, "you know my mane?"
"If you wish to preserve your incognito,`
said Holmes, smiling, "I would suggest that you
cease to write your name upon the lining of your
hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the
person whom you are addressing. I was about to
say that my friend and I have listened to a good
many strange secrets in this room, and that we
have had the good fortune to bring peace to many
troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much
for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove to
be of importance, to furnish me with the facts
of your case without further delay?"
Our visitor again passed his hand over his
forehead, as if he found it bitterly hard. From
every gesture and expression I could see that he
was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash
of pride in his nature, more likely to hide his
wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with
a fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one
who throws reserve to the winds, he began.
"The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he.
"I am a married man, and have been so for three
years. During that time my wife and I have loved
each other as fondly and lived as happily as any
two that ever were joined. We have not had a
difference, not one, in thought or word or deed.
And now, since last Monday, there has suddenly
sprung up a barrier between us, and I find that
there is something in her life and in her
thought of which I know as little as if she were
the woman who brushes by me in the street. We
are estranged, and I want to know why.
"Now there is one thing that I want to
impress upon you before I go any further, Mr.
Holmes. Effie loves me. Don`t let there be any
mistake about that. She loves me with her whole
heart and soul, and never more than now. I know
it. I feel it. I don`t want to argue about that.
A man can tell easily enough when a woman loves
him. But there`s this secret between us, and we
can never be the same until it is cleared."
"Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro,"
said Holmes, with some impatience.
"I`ll tell you what I know about Effie`s
history. She was a widow when I met her first,
though quite young--only twenty-five. Her name
then was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America
when she was young, and lived in the town of
Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was
a lawyer with a good practice. They had one
child, but the yellow fever broke out badly in
the place, and both husband and child died of
it. I have seen his death certificate. This
sickened her of America, and she came back to
live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex.
I may mention that her husband had left her
comfortably off, and that she had a capital of
about four thousand five hundred pounds, which
had been so well invested by him that it
returned an average of seven per cent. She had
only been six months at Pinner when I met her;
we fell in love with each other, and we married
a few weeks afterwards.
"I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an
income of seven or eight hundred, we found
ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice
eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little
place was very countrified, considering that it
is so close to town. We had an inn and two
houses a little above us, and a single cottage
at the other side of the field which faces us,
and except those there were no houses until you
got half way to the station. My business took me
into town at certain seasons, but in summer I
had less to do, and then in our country home my
wife and I were just as happy as could be
wished. I tell you that there never was a shadow
between us until this accursed affair began.
"There`s one thing I ought to tell you before
I go further. When we married, my wife made over
all her property to me--rather against my will,
for I saw how awkward it would be if my business
affairs went wrong. However, she would have it
so, and it was done. Well, about six weeks ago
she came to me.
"`Jack,` said she, `when you took my money
you said that if ever I wanted any I was to ask
you for it.`
"`Certainly,` said I. `It`s all your own.`
"`Well,` said she, `I want a hundred pounds.`
"I was a bit staggered at this, for I had
imagined it was simply a new dress or something
of the kind that she was after.
"`What on earth for?` I asked.
"`Oh,` said she, in her playful way, `you
said that you were only my banker, and bankers
never ask questions, you know.`
"`If you really mean it, of course you shall
have the money,` said I.
"`Oh, yes, I really mean it.`
"`And you won`t tell me what you want it
for?`
"`Some day, perhaps, but not just at present,
Jack.`
"So I had to be content with that, thought it
was the first time that there had ever been any
secret between us. I gave her a check, and I
never thought any more of the matter. It may
have nothing to do with what came afterwards,
but I thought it only right to mention it.
"Well, I told you just now that there is a
cottage not far from our house. There is just a
field between us, but to reach it you have to go
along the road and then turn down a lane. Just
beyond it is a nice little grove of Scotch firs,
and I used to be very fond of strolling down
there, for trees are always a neighborly kind of
things. The cottage had been standing empty this
eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a
pretty two storied place, with an old-fashioned
porch and honeysuckle about it. I have stood
many a time and thought what a neat little
homestead it would make.
"Well, last Monday evening I was taking a
stroll down that way, when I met an empty van
coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets
and things lying about on the grass-plot beside
the porch. It was clear that the cottage had at
last been let. I walked past it, and wondered
what sort of folk they were who had come to live
so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became
aware that a face was watching me out of one of
the upper windows.
"I don`t know what there was about that face,
Mr. Holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right
down my back. I was some little way off, so that
I could not make out the features, but there was
something unnatural and inhuman about the face.
That was the impression that I had, and I moved
quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the
person who was watching me. But as I did so the
face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it
seemed to have been plucked away into the
darkness of the room. I stood for five minutes
thinking the business over, and trying to
analyze my impressions. I could not tell if the
face were that of a man or a woman. It had been
too far from me for that. But its color was what
had impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky
white, and with something set and rigid about it
which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was
I that I determined to see a little more of the
new inmates of the cottage. I approached and
knocked at the door, which was instantly opened
by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding
face.
"`What may you be wantin`?` she asked, in a
Northern accent.
"`I am your neighbor over yonder,` said I,
nodding towards my house. `I see that you have
only just moved in, so I thought that if I could
be of any help to you in any--`
"`Ay, we`ll just ask ye when we want ye,`
said she, and shut the door in my face. Annoyed
at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and
walked home. All evening, though I tried to
think of other things, my mind would still turn
to the apparition at the window and the rudeness
of the woman. I determined to say nothing about
the former to my wife, for she is a nervous,
highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she
would share the unpleasant impression which had
been produced upon myself. I remarked to her,
however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage
was now occupied, to which she returned no
reply.
"I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It
has been a standing jest in the family that
nothing could ever wake me during the night. And
yet somehow on that particular night, whether it
may have been the slight excitement produced by
my little adventure or not I know not, but I
slept much more lightly than usual. Half in my
dreams I was dimly conscious that something was
going on in the room, and gradually became aware
that my wife had dressed herself and was
slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My lips
were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of
surprise or remonstrance at this untimely
preparation, when suddenly my half-opened eyes
fell upon her face, illuminated by the
candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. She
wore an expression such as I had never seen
before--such as I should have thought her
incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale and
breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the
bed as she fastened her mantle, to see if she
had disturbed me. Then, thinking that I was
still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the
room, and an instant later I heard a sharp
creaking which could only come from the hinges
of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped my
knuckles against the rail to make certain that I
was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under
the pillow. It was three in the morning. What on
this earth could my wife be doing out on the
country road at three in the morning?
"I had sat for about twenty minutes turning
the thing over in my mind and trying to find
some possible explanation. The more I thought,
the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it
appear. I was still puzzling over it when I
heard the door gently close again, and her
footsteps coming up the stairs.
"`Where in the world have you been, Effie?` I
asked as she entered.
"She gave a violent start and a kind of
gasping cry when I spoke, and that cry and start
troubled me more than all the rest, for there
was something indescribably guilty about them.
My wife had always been a woman of a frank, open
nature, and it gave me a chill to see her
slinking into her own room, and crying out and
wincing when her own husband spoke to her.
"`You awake, Jack!` she cried, with a nervous
laugh. `Why, I thought that nothing could awake
you.`
"`Where have you been?` I asked, more
sternly.
"`I don`t wonder that you are surprised,`
said she, and I could see that her fingers were
trembling as she undid the fastenings of her
mantle. `Why, I never remember having done such
a thing in my life before. The fact is that I
felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect
longing for a breath of fresh air. I really
think that I should have fainted if I had not
gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes,
and now I am quite myself again.`
"All the time that she was telling me this
story she never once looked in my direction, and
her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It
was evident to me that she was saying what was
false. I said nothing in reply, but turned my
face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind
filled with a thousand venomous doubts and
suspicions. What was it that my wife was
concealing from me? Where had she been during
that strange expedition? I felt that I should
have no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank
from asking her again after once she had told me
what was false. All the rest of the night I
tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory,
each more unlikely than the last.
"I should have gone to the City that day, but
I was too disturbed in my mind to be able to pay
attention to business matters. My wife seemed to
be as upset as myself, and I could see from the
little questioning glances which she kept
shooting at me that she understood that I
disbelieved her statement, and that she was at
her wits` end what to do. We hardly exchanged a
word during breakfast, and immediately
afterwards I went out for a walk, that I might
think the matter out in the fresh morning air.
"I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent
an hour in the grounds, and was back in Norbury
by one o`clock. It happened that my way took me
past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant
to look at the windows, and to see if I could
catch a glimpse of the strange face which had
looked out at me on the day before. As I stood
there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the
door suddenly opened and my wife walked out.
"I was struck dumb with astonishment at the
sight of her; but my emotions were nothing to
those which showed themselves upon her face when
our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish
to shrink back inside the house again; and then,
seeing how useless all concealment must be, she
came forward, with a very white face and
frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her
lips.
"`Ah, Jack,` she said, `I have just been in
to see if I can be of any assistance to our new
neighbors. Why do you look at me like that,
Jack? You are not angry with me?`
"`So,` said I, `this is where you went during
the night.`
"`What do you mean?" she cried.
"`You came here. I am sure of it. Who are
these people, that you should visit them at such
an hour?`
"`I have not been here before.`
"`How can you tell me what you know is
false?` I cried. `Your very voice changes as you
speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I
shall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the
matter to the bottom.`
"`No, no, Jack, for God`s sake!` she gasped,
in uncontrollable emotion. Then, as I approached
the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me
back with convulsive strength.
"`I implore you not to do this, Jack,` she
cried. `I swear that I will tell you everything
some day, but nothing but misery can come of it
if you enter that cottage.` Then, as I tried to
shake her off, she clung to me in a frenzy of
entreaty.
"`Trust me, Jack!` she cried. `Trust me only
this once. You will never have cause to regret
it. You know that I would not have a secret from
you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole
lives are at stake in this. If you come home
with me, all will be well. If you force your way
into that cottage, all is over between us.`
"There was such earnestness, such despair, in
her manner that her words arrested me, and I
stood irresolute before the door.
"`I will trust you on one condition, and on
one condition only,` said I at last. `It is that
this mystery comes to an end from now. You are
at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must
promise me that there shall be no more nightly
visits, no more doings which are kept from my
knowledge. I am willing to forget those which
are passed if you will promise that there shall
be no more in the future.`
"`I was sure that you would trust me,` she
cried, with a great sigh of relief. `It shall be
just as you wish. Come away--oh, come away up to
the house.`
"Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away
from the cottage. As we went I glanced back, and
there was that yellow livid face watching us out
of the upper window. What link could there be
between that creature and my wife? Or how could
the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the day
before be connected with her? It was a strange
puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind could never
know ease again until I had solved it.
"For two days after this I stayed at home,
and my wife appeared to abide loyally by our
engagement, for, as far as I know, she never
stirred out of the house. On the third day,
however, I had ample evidence that her solemn
promise was not enough to hold her back from
this secret influence which drew her away from
her husband and her duty.
"I had gone into town on that day, but I
returned by the 2.40 instead of the 3.36, which
is my usual train. As I entered the house the
maid ran into the hall with a startled face.
"`Where is your mistress?` I asked.
"`I think that she has gone out for a walk,`
she answered.
"My mind was instantly filled with suspicion.
I rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not
in the house. As I did so I happened to glance
out of one of the upper windows, and saw the
maid with whom I had just been speaking running
across the field in the direction of the
cottage. Then of course I saw exactly what it
all meant. My wife had gone over there, and had
asked the servant to call her if I should
return. Tingling with anger, I rushed down and
hurried across, determined to end the matter
once and forever. I saw my wife and the maid
hurrying back along the lane, but I did not stop
to speak with them. In the cottage lay the
secret which was casting a shadow over my life.
I vowed that, come what might, it should be a
secret no longer. I did not even knock when I
reached it, but turned the handle and rushed
into the passage.
"It was all still and quiet upon the ground
floor. In the kitchen a kettle was singing on
the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in
the basket; but there was no sign of the woman
whom I had seen before. I ran into the other
room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed
up the stairs, only to find two other rooms
empty and deserted at the top. There was no one
at all in the whole house. The furniture and
pictures were of the most common and vulgar
description, save in the one chamber at the
window of which I had seen the strange face.
That was comfortable and elegant, and all my
suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when
I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a
fell-length photograph of my wife, which had
been taken at my request only three months ago.
"I stayed long enough to make certain that
the house was absolutely empty. Then I left it,
feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never
had before. My wife came out into the hall as I
entered my house; but I was too hurt and angry
to speak with her, and pushing past her, I made
my way into my study. She followed me, however,
before I could close the door.
"`I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,`
said she; `but if you knew all the circumstances
I am sure that you would forgive me.`
"`Tell me everything, then,` said I.
"`I cannot, Jack, I cannot,` she cried.
"`Until you tell me who it is that has been
living in that cottage, and who it is to whom
you have given that photograph, there can never
be any confidence between us,` said I, and
breaking away from her, I left the house. That
was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen
her since, nor do I know anything more about
this strange business. It is the first shadow
that has come between us, and it has so shaken
me that I do not know what I should do for the
best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to me
that you were the man to advise me, so I have
hurried to you now, and I place myself
unreservedly in your hands. If there is any
point which I have not made clear, pray question
me about it. But, above all, tell me quickly
what I am to do, for this misery is more than I
can bear."
Holmes and I had listened with the utmost
interest to this extraordinary statement, which
had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion
of a man who is under the influence of extreme
emotions. My companion sat silent for some time,
with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought.
"Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear
that this was a man`s face which you saw at the
window?"
"Each time that I saw it I was some distance
away from it, so that it is impossible for me to
say."
"You appear, however, to have been
disagreeably impressed by it."
"It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and
to have a strange rigidity about the features.
When I approached, it vanished with a jerk."
"How long is it since your wife asked you for
a hundred pounds?"
"Nearly two months."
"Have you ever seen a photograph of her first
husband?"
"No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very
shortly after his death, and all her papers were
destroyed."
"And yet she had a certificate of death. You
say that you saw it."
"Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire."
"Did you ever meet any one who knew her in
America?"
"No."
"Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?"
"No."
"Or get letters from it?"
"No."
"Thank you. I should like to think over the
matter a little now. If the cottage is now
permanently deserted we may have some
difficulty. If, on the other hand, as I fancy is
more likely, the inmates were warned of you
coming, and left before you entered yesterday,
then they may be back now, and we should clear
it all up easily. Let me advise you, then, to
return to Norbury, and to examine the windows of
the cottage again. If you have reason to believe
that is inhabited, do not force your way in, but
send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be
with you within an hour of receiving it, and we
shall then very soon get to the bottom of the
business."
"And if it is still empty?"
"In that case I shall come out to-morrow and
talk it over with you. Good-by; and, above all,
do not fret until you know that you really have
a cause for it."
"I am afraid that this is a bad business,
Watson," said my companion, as he returned after
accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. "What
do you make of it?"
"It had an ugly sound," I answered.
"Yes. There`s blackmail in it, or I am much
mistaken."
"And who is the blackmailer?"
"Well, it must be the creature who lives in
the only comfortable room in the place, and has
her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my
word, Watson, there is something very attractive
about that livid face at the window, and I would
not have missed the case for worlds."
"You have a theory?"
"Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be
surprised if it does not turn out to be correct.
This woman`s first husband is in that cottage."
"Why do you think so?"
"How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety
that her second one should not enter it? The
facts, as I read them, are something like this:
This woman was married in America. Her husband
developed some hateful qualities; or shall we
say that he contracted some loathsome disease,
and became a leper or an imbecile? She flies
from him at last, returns to England, changes
her name, and starts her life, as she thinks,
afresh. She has been married three years, and
believes that her position is quite secure,
having shown her husband the death certificate
of some man whose name she has assumed, when
suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her
first husband; or, we may suppose, by some
unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to
the invalid. They write to the wife, and
threaten to come and expose her. She asks for a
hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy them off.
They come in spite of it, and when the husband
mentions casually to the wife that there a
new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some way
that they are her pursuers. She waits until her
husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to
endeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace.
Having no success, she goes again next morning,
and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as
she comes out. She promises him then not to go
there again, but two days afterwards the hope of
getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was too
strong for her, and she made another attempt,
taking down with her the photograph which had
probably been demanded from her. In the midst of
this interview the maid rushed in to say that
the master had come home, on which the wife,
knowing that he would come straight down to the
cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back
door, into the grove of fir-trees, probably,
which was mentioned as standing near. In this
way he found the place deserted. I shall be very
much surprised, however, if it still so when he
reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think
of my theory?"
"It is all surmise."
"But at least it covers all the facts. When
new facts come to our knowledge which cannot be
covered by it, it will be time enough to
reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we
have a message from our friend at Norbury."
But we had not a very long time to wait for
that. It came just as we had finished our tea.
"The cottage is still tenanted," it said. "Have
seen the face again at the window. Will meet the
seven o`clock train, and will take no steps
until you arrive."
He was waiting on the platform when we
stepped out, and we could see in the light of
the station lamps that he was very pale, and
quivering with agitation.
"They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he,
laying his hand hard upon my friend`s sleeve. "I
saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We
shall settle it now once and for all."
"What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as
he walked down the dark tree-lined road.
"I am going to force my way in and see for
myself who is in the house. I wish you both to
be there as witnesses."
"You are quite determined to do this, in
spite of your wife`s warning that it is better
that you should not solve the mystery?"
"Yes, I am determined."
"Well, I think that you are in the right. Any
truth is better than indefinite doubt. We had
better go up at once. Of course, legally, we are
putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I
think that it is worth it."
It was a very dark night, and a thin rain
began to fall as we turned from the high road
into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges
on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed
impatiently forward, however, and we stumbled
after him as best we could.
"There are the lights of my house," he
murmured, pointing to a glimmer among the trees.
"And here is the cottage which I am going to
enter."
We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke,
and there was the building close beside us. A
yellow bar falling across the black foreground
showed that the door was not quite closed, and
one window in the upper story was brightly
illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur
moving across the blind.
"There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro.
"You can see for yourselves that some one is
there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know
all."
We approached the door; but suddenly a woman
appeared out of the shadow and stood in the
golden track of the lamp-light. I could not see
her face in the he darkness, but her arms were
thrown out in an attitude of entreaty.
"For God`s sake, don`t Jack!" she cried. "I
had a presentiment that you would come this
evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me
again, and you will never have cause to regret
it."
"I have trusted you tool long, Effie," he
cried, sternly. "Leave go of me! I must pass
you. My friends and I are going to settle this
matter once and forever!" He pushed her to one
side, and we followed closely after him. As he
threw the door open an old woman ran out in
front of him and tried to bar his passage, but
he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we
were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed
into the lighted room at the top, and we entered
at his heels.
It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment,
with two candles burning upon the table and two
upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping
over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a
little girl. Her face was turned away as we
entered, but we could see that she was dressed
in a red frock, and that she had long white
gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a
cry of surprise and horror. The face which she
turned towards us was of the strangest livid
tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of
any expression. An instant later the mystery was
explained. Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand
behind the child`s ear, a mask peeled off from
her countenance, an there was a little coal
black negress, with all her white teeth flashing
in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst out
laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment;
but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand
clutching his throat.
"My God!" he cried. "What can be the meaning
of this?"
"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried
the lady, sweeping into the room with a proud,
set face. "You have forced me, against my own
judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make
the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My
child survived."
"Your child?"
She drew a large silver locket from her
bosom. "You have never seen this open."
"I understood that it did not open."
She touched a spring, and the front hinged
back. There was a portrait within of a man
strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but
bearing unmistakable signs upon his features of
his African descent.
"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the
lady, "and a nobler man never walked the earth.
I cut myself off from my race in order to wed
him, but never once while he lived did I for an
instant regret it. It was our misfortune that
our only child took after his people rather than
mine. It is often so in such matches, and little
Lucy is darker far than ever her father was. But
dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie,
and her mother`s pet." The little creature ran
across at the words and nestled up against the
lady`s dress. "When I left her in America," she
continued, "it was only because her health was
weak, and the change might have done her harm.
She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch
woman who had once been our servant. Never for
an instant did I dream of disowning her as my
child. But when chance threw you in my way,
Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to
tell you about my child. God forgive me, I
feared that I should lose you, and I had not the
courage to tell you. I had to choose between
you, and in my weakness I turned away from my
own little girl. For three years I have kept her
existence a secret from you, but I heard from
the nurse, and I knew that all was well with
her. At last, however, there came an
overwhelming desire to see the child once more.
I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I
knew the danger, I determined to have the child
over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a
hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her
instructions about this cottage, so that she
might come as a neighbor, without my appearing
to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my
precautions so far as to order her to keep the
child in the house during the daytime, and to
cover up her little face and hands so that even
those who might see her at the window should not
gossip about there being a black child in the
neighborhood. If I had been less cautious I
might have been more wise, but I was half crazy
with fear that you should learn the truth.
"It was you who told me first that the
cottage was occupied. I should have waited for
the morning, but I could not sleep for
excitement, and so at last I slipped out,
knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But
you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my
troubles. Next day you had my secret at your
mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing
your advantage. Three days later, however, the
nurse and child only just escaped from the back
door as you rushed in at the front one. And now
to-night you at last know all, and I ask you
what is to become of us, my child and me?" She
clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro
broke the silence, and when his answer came it
was one of which I love to think. He lifted the
little child, kissed her, and then, still
carrying her, he held his other hand out to his
wife and turned towards the door.
"We can talk it over more comfortably at
home," said he. "I am not a very good man,
Effie, but I think that I am a better one than
you have given me credit for being."
Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and
my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out.
"I think," said he, "that we shall be of more
use in London than in Norbury."
Not another word did he say of the case until
late that night, when he was turning away, with
his lighted candle, for his bedroom.
"Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike
you that I am getting a little over-confident in
my powers, or giving less pains to a case than
it deserves, kindly whisper `Norbury` in my ear,
and I shall be infinitely obliged to you."
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Adventure III
The Stock-Broker`s Clerk
Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington
district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I
purchased it, had at one time an excellent
general practice; but his age, and an affliction
of the nature of St. Vitus`s dance from which he
suffered, had very much thinned it. The public
not unnaturally goes on the principle that he
who would heal others must himself be whole, and
looks askance at the curative powers of the man
whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs.
Thus as my predecessor weakened his practice
declined, until when I purchased it from him it
had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than
three hundred a year. I had confidence, however,
in my own youth and energy, and was convinced
that in a very few years the concern would be as
flourishing as ever.
For three months after taking over the
practice I was kept very closely at work, and
saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I
was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he
seldom went anywhere himself save upon
professional business. I was surprised,
therefore, when, one morning in June, as I sat
reading the British Medical Journal after
breakfast, I heard a ring at the bell, followed
by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old
companion`s voice.
"Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into
the room, "I am very delighted to see you! I
trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered
from all the little excitements connected with
our adventure of the Sign of Four."
"Thank you, we are both very well," said I,
shaking him warmly by the hand.
"And I hope, also," he continued, sitting
down in the rocking-chair, "that the cares of
medical practice have not entirely obliterated
the interest which you used to take in our
little deductive problems."
"On the contrary," I answered, "it was only
last night that I was looking over my old notes,
and classifying some of our past results."
"I trust that you don`t consider your
collection closed."
"Not at all. I should wish nothing better
than to have some more of such experiences."
"To-day, for example?"
"Yes, to-day, if you like."
"And as far off as Birmingham?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
"And the practice?"
"I do my neighbor`s when he goes. He is
always ready to work off the debt."
"Ha! Nothing could be better," said Holmes,
leaning back in his chair and looking keenly at
me from under his half closed lids. "I perceive
that you have been unwell lately. Summer colds
are always a little trying."
"I was confined to the house by a sever chill
for three days last week. I thought, however,
that I had cast off every trace of it."
"So you have. You look remarkably robust."
"How, then, did you know of it?"
"My dear fellow, you know my methods."
"You deduced it, then?"
"Certainly."
"And from what?"
"From your slippers."
I glanced down at the new patent leathers
which I was wearing. "How on earth--" I began,
but Holmes answered my question before it was
asked.
"Your slippers are new," he said. "You could
not have had them more than a few weeks. The
soles which you are at this moment presenting to
me are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought
they might have got wet and been burned in the
drying. But near the instep there is a small
circular wafer of paper with the shopman`s
hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of course have
removed this. You had, then, been sitting with
our feet outstretched to the fire, which a man
would hardly do even in so wet a June as this if
he were in his full health."
Like all Holmes`s reasoning the thing seemed
simplicity itself when it was once explained. He
read the thought upon my features, and his smile
had a tinge of bitterness.
"I am afraid that I rather give myself away
when I explain," said he. "Results without
causes are much more impressive. You are ready
to come to Birmingham, then?"
"Certainly. What is the case?"
"You shall hear it all in the train. My
client is outside in a four-wheeler. Can you
come at once?"
"In an instant." I scribbled a note to my
neighbor, rushed upstairs to explain the matter
to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the
door-step.
"Your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding
at the brass plate.
"Yes; he bought a practice as I did."
"An old-established one?"
"Just the same as mine. Both have been ever
since the houses were built."
"Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the
two."
"I think I did. But how do you know?"
"By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three
inches deeper than his. But this gentleman in
the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow me
to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up,
cabby, for we have only just time to catch our
train."
The man whom I found myself facing was a well
built, fresh- complexioned young fellow, with a
frank, honest face and a slight, crisp, yellow
mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a
neat suit of sober black, which made him look
what he was--a smart young City man, of the
class who have been labeled cockneys, but who
give us our crack volunteer regiments, and who
turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than
any body of men in these islands. His round,
ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but
the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be
pulled down in a half-comical distress. It was
not, however, until we were all in a first-class
carriage and well started upon our journey to
Birmingham that I was able to learn what the
trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock
Holmes.
"We have a clear run here of seventy
minutes," Holmes remarked. "I want you, Mr. Hall
Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting
experience exactly as you have told it to me, or
with more detail if possible. It will be of use
to me to hear the succession of events again. It
is a case, Watson, which may prove to have
something in it, or may prove to have nothing,
but which, at least, presents those unusual and
outréŠfeatures which are as dear to you as they
are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, I shall not
interrupt you again."
Our young companion looked at me with a
twinkle in his eye.
The worst of the story is, said he, that I
show myself up as such a confounded fool. Of
course it may work out all right, and I don`t
see that I could have done otherwise; but if I
have lost my crib and get nothing in exchange I
shall feel what a soft Johnnie I have been. I`m
not very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson,
but it is like this with me"
I used to have a billet at Coxon &
Woodhouse`s, of Draper`s Gardens, but they were
let in early in the spring through the
Venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and
came a nasty cropper. I had been with them five
years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good
testimonial when the smash came, but of course
we clerks were all turned adrift, the
twenty-seven of us. I tried here and tried
there, but there were lots of other chaps on the
same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost
for a long time. I had been taking three pounds
a week at Coxon`s, and I had saved about seventy
of them, but I soon worked my way through that
and out at the other end. I was fairly at the
end of my tether at last, and could hardly find
the stamps to answer the advertisements or the
envelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my
boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed
just as far from getting a billet as ever.
At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson &
Williams`s, the great stock-broking firm in
Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. Is not much in
your line, but I can tell you that this is about
the richest house in London. The advertisement
was to be answered by letter only. I sent in my
testimonial and application, but without the
least hope of getting it. Back came an answer by
return, saying that if I would appear next
Monday I might take over my new duties at once,
provided that my appearance was satisfactory. No
one knows how these things are worked. Some
people say that the manager just plunges his
hand into the heap and takes the first that
comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I
don`t ever wish to feel better pleased. The
screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties
just about the same as at Coxon`s.
And now I come to the queer part of the
business. I was in diggings out Hampstead way,
17 Potter`s Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a
smoke that very evening after I had been
promised the appointment, when up came my
landlady with a card which had "Arthur Pinner,
Financial Agent," printed upon it. I had never
heard the name before and could not imagine what
he wanted with me; but, of course, I asked her
to show him up. In he walked, a middle-sized,
dark- haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with
a touch of the Sheeny about his nose. He had a
brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply,
like a man who knew the value of time.
"Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?" said he.
"Yes, sir," I answered, pushing a chair
towards him.
"Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse`s?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now on the staff of Mawson`s."
"Quite so."
"Well," said he, "the fact is that I have
heard some really extraordinary stories about
your financial ability. You remember Parker, who
used to be Coxon`s manager? He can never say
enough about it."
Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had
always been pretty sharp in the office, but I
had never dreamed that I was talked about in the
City in this fashion.
"You have a good memory?" said he.
"Pretty fair," I answered, modestly.
"Have you kept in touch with the market while
you have been out of work?" he asked.
"Yes. I read the stock exchange list every
morning."
"Now that shows real application!" he cried.
"That is the way to prosper! You won`t mind my
testing you, will you? Let me see. How are
Ayrshires?"
"A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred
and five and seven-eighths."
"And New Zealand consolidated?"
"A hundred and four."
"And British Broken Hills?"
"Seven to seven-and-six."
"Wonderful!" he cried, with his hands up.
"This quite fits in with all that I had heard.
My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be
a clerk at Mawson`s!"
This outburst rather astonished me, as you
can think. "Well," said I, "other people don`t
think quite so much of me as you seem to do, Mr.
Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this
berth, and I am very glad to have it."
"Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are
not in your true sphere. Now, I`ll tell you how
it stands with me. What I have to offer is
little enough when measured by your ability, but
when compared with Mawson`s, it`s light to dark.
Let me see. When do you go to Mawson`s?"
"On Monday."
"Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little
sporting flutter that you don`t go there at
all."
"Not go to Mawson`s?"
"No, sir. By that day you will be the
business manager of the Franco-Midland Hardware
Company, Limited, with a hundred and thirty-four
branches in the towns and villages of France,
not counting one in Brussels and one in San
Remo."
This took my breath away. "I never heard of
it," said I.
"Very likely not. It has been kept very
quiet, for the capital was all privately
subscribed, and it`s too good a thing to let the
public into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is
promoter, and joins the board after allotment as
managing director. He knew I was in the swim
down here, and asked me to pick up a good man
cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty of snap
about him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought
me here tonight. We can only offer you a
beggarly five hundred to start with."
"Five hundred a year!" I shouted.
"Only that at the beginning; but you are to
have an overriding commission of one per cent on
all business done by your agents, and you may
take my word for it that this will come to more
than your salary."
"But I know nothing about hardware."
"Tut, my boy; you know about figures."
My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still
in my chair. But suddenly a little chill of
doubt came upon me.
"I must be frank with you," said I. "Mawson
only gives me two hundred, but Mawson is safe.
Now, really, I know so little about your company
that--"
"Ah, smart, smart!" he cried, in a kind of
ecstasy of delight. "You are the very man for
us. You are not to be talked over, and quite
right, too. Now, here`s a note for a hundred
pounds, and if you think that we can do business
you may just slip it into your pocket as an
advance upon your salary."
"That is very handsome," said I. "When should
I take over my new duties?"
"Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one," said he.
"I have a note in my pocket here which you will
take to my brother. You will find him at 126b
Corporation Street, where the temporary offices
of the company are situated. Of course he must
confirm your engagement, but between ourselves
it will be all right."
"Really, I hardly know how to express my
gratitude, Mr. Pinner," said I.
"Not at all, my boy. You have only got your
desserts. There are one or two small
things--mere formalities--which I must arrange
with you. You have a bit of paper beside you
there. Kindly write upon it `I am perfectly
willing to act as business manager to the
Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, at a
minimum salary of L500."
I did as he asked, and he put the paper in
his pocket.
"There is one other detail," said he. "What
do you intend to do about Mawson`s?"
I had forgotten all about Mawson`s in my joy.
"I`ll write and resign," said I.
"Precisely what I don`t want you to do. I had
a row over you with Mawson`s manager. I had gone
up to ask him about you, and he was very
offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from
the service of the firm, and that sort of thing.
At last I fairly lost my temper. `If you want
good men you should pay them a good price,` said
I.
"`He would rather have our small price than
your big one,` said he.
"`I`ll lay you a fiver,` said I, `that when
he has my offer you`ll never so much as hear
from him again.`
"`Done!` said he. `We picked him out of the
gutter, and he won`t leave us so easily.` Those
were his very words."
"The impudent scoundrel!" I cried. "I`ve
never so much as seen him in my life. Why should
I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not
write if you would rather I didn`t."
"Good! That`s a promise," said he, rising
from his chair. "Well, I`m delighted to have got
so good a man for my brother. Here`s your
advance of a hundred pounds, and here is the
letter. Make a note of the address, 126b
Corporation Street, and remember that one
o`clock to-morrow is your appointment.
Good-night; and may you have all the fortune
that you deserve!"
That`s just about all that passed between us,
as near as I can remember. You can imagine, Dr.
Watson, how pleased I was at such an
extraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half
the night hugging myself over it, and next day I
was off to Birmingham in a train that would take
me in plenty time for my appointment. I took my
things to a hotel in New Street, and then I made
my way to the address which had been given me.
It was a quarter of an hour before my time,
but I thought that would make no difference.
126b was a passage between two large shops,
which led to a winding stone stair, from which
there were many flats, let as offices to
companies or professional men. The names of the
occupants were painted at the bottom on the
wall, but there was no such name as the
Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited. I
stood for a few minutes with my heart in my
boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an
elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and
addressed me. He was very like the chap I had
seen the night before, the same figure and
voice, but he was clean shaven and his hair was
lighter.
"Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?" he asked.
"Yes," said I.
"Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a
trifle before your time. I had a note from my
brother this morning in which he sang your
praises very loudly."
"I was just looking for the offices when you
came."
"We have not got our name up yet, for we only
secured these temporary premises last week. Come
up with me, and we will talk the matter over."
I followed him to the top of a very lofty
stair, and there, right under the slates, were a
couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted
and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had
thought of a great office with shining tables
and rows of clerks, such as I was used to, and I
dare say I stared rather straight at the two
deal chairs and one little table, which, with a
ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the
whole furniture.
"Don`t be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft," said my
new acquaintance, seeing the length of my face.
"Rome was not built in a day, and we have lots
of money at our backs, though we don`t cut much
dash yet in offices. Pray sit down, and let me
have your letter."
I gave it to him, and her read it over very
carefully.
"You seem to have made a vast impression upon
my brother Arthur," said he; "and I know that he
is a pretty shrewd judge. Hew swears by London,
you know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I
shall follow his advice. Pray consider yourself
definitely engaged."
"What are my duties?" I asked.
"You will eventually manage the great depot
in Paris, which will pour a flood of English
crockery into the shops of a hundred and
thirty-four agents in France. The purchase will
be completed in a week, and meanwhile you will
remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful."
"How?"
For answer, he took a big red book out of a
drawer.
"This is a directory of Paris," said he,
"with the trades after the names of the people.
I want you to take it home with you, and to mark
off all the hardware sellers, with their
addresses. It would be of the greatest use to me
to have them."
"Surely there are classified lists?" I
suggested.
"Not reliable ones. Their system is different
from ours. Stick at it, and let me have the
lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr.
Pycroft. If you continue to show zeal and
intelligence you will find the company a good
master."
I went back to the hotel with the big book
under my arm, and with very conflicting feelings
in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitely
engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket;
on the other, the look of the offices, the
absence of name on the wall, and other of the
points which would strike a business man had
left a bad impression as to the position of my
employers. However, come what might, I had my
money, so I settled down to my task. All Sunday
I was kept hard at work, and yet by Monday I had
only got as far as H. I went round to my
employer, found him in the same dismantled kind
of room, and was told to keep at it until
Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it
was still unfinished, so I hammered away until
Friday--that is, yesterday. Then I brought it
round to Mr. Harry Pinner.
"Thank you very much," said he; "I fear that
I underrated the difficulty of the task. This
list will be of very material assistance to me."
"It took some time," said I.
"And now," said he, "I want you to make a
list of the furniture shops, for they all sell
crockery."
"Very good."
"And you can come up to-morrow evening, at
seven, and let me know how you are getting on.
Don`t overwork yourself. A couple of hours at
Day`s Music Hall in the evening would do you no
harm after your labors." He laughed as he spoke,
and I saw with a thrill that his second tooth
upon the left-hand side had been very badly
stuffed with gold.
Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with
delight, and I stared with astonishment at our
client.
"You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson; but
it is this way," said he: "When I was speaking
to the other chap in London, at the time that he
laughed at my not going to Mawson`s, I happened
to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this
very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in
each case caught my eye, you see. When I put
that with the voice and figure being the same,
and only those things altered which might be
changed by a razor or a wig, I could not doubt
that it was the same man. Of course you expect
two brothers to be alike, but not that they
should have the same tooth stuffed in the same
way. He bowed me out, and I found myself in the
street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head
or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my
head in a basin of cold water, and tried to
think it out. Why had he sent me from London to
Birmingham? Why had he got there before me? And
why had he written a letter from himself to
himself? It was altogether too much for me, and
I could make no sense of it. And then suddenly
it struck me that what was dark to me might be
very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just
time to get up to town by the night train to see
him this morning, and to bring you both back
with me to Birmingham."
There was a pause after the stock-broker`s
clerk had concluded his surprising experience.
Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me,
leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and
yet critical face, like a connoisseur who has
just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.
"Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he.
"There are points in it which please me. I think
that you will agree with me that an interview
with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary
offices of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company,
Limited, would be a rather interesting
experience for both of us."
"But how can we do it?" I asked.
"Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft,
cheerily. "You are two friends of mine who are
in want of a billet, and what could be more
natural than that I should bring you both round
to the managing director?"
"Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should
like to have a look at the gentleman, and see if
I can make anything of his little game. What
qualities have you, my friend, which would make
your services so valuable? or is it possible
that--" He began biting his nails and staring
blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew
another word from him until we were in New
Street.
At seven o`clock that evening we were
walking, the three of us, down Corporation
Street to the company`s offices.
"It is no use our being at all before our
time," said our client. "He only comes there to
see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up
to the very hour he names."
"That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.
"By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk.
"That`s he walking ahead of us there."
He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed
man who was bustling along the other side of the
road. As we watched him he looked across at a
boy who was bawling out the latest edition of
the evening paper, and running over among the
cabs and busses, he bought one from him. Then,
clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a
door-way.
"There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These
are the company`s offices into which he has
gone. Come with me, and I`ll fix it up as easily
as possible."
Following his lead, we ascended five stories,
until we found ourselves outside a half-opened
door, at which our client tapped. A voice within
bade us enter, and we entered a bare,
unfurnished room such as Hall Pycroft had
described. At the single table sat the man whom
we had seen in the street, with his evening
paper spread out in front of him, and as he
looked up at us it seemed to me that I had never
looked upon a face which bore such marks of
grief, and of something beyond grief--of a
horror such as comes to few men in a lifetime.
His brow glistened with perspiration, his cheeks
were of the dull, dead white of a fish`s belly,
and his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at
his clerk as though he failed to recognize him,
and I could see by the astonishment depicted
upon our conductor`s face that this was by no
means the usual appearance of his employer.
"You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I am not very well," answered the
other, making obvious efforts to pull himself
together, and licking his dry lips before he
spoke. "Who are these gentlemen whom you have
brought with you?"
"One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the
other is Mr. Price, of this town," said our
clerk, glibly. "They are friends of mine and
gentlemen of experience, but they have been out
of a place for some little time, and they hoped
that perhaps you might find an opening for them
in the company`s employment."
"Very possibly! Very possibly!" cried Mr.
Pinner with a ghastly smile. "Yes, I have no
doubt that we shall be able to do something for
you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris?"
"I am an accountant," said Holmes.
"Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort.
And you, Mr. Price?"
"A clerk," said I.
"I have every hope that the company may
accommodate you. I will let you know about it as
soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg
that you will go. For God`s sake leave me to
myself!"
These last words were shot out of him, as
though the constraint which he was evidently
setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly
burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each
other, and Hall Pycroft took a step towards the
table.
"You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by
appointment to receive some directions from
you," said he.
"Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the
other resumed in a calmer tone. "You may wait
here a moment; and there is no reason why your
friends should not wait with you. I will be
entirely at your service in three minutes, if I
might trespass upon your patience so far." He
rose with a very courteous air, and, bowing to
us, he passed out through a door at the farther
end of the room, which he closed behind him.
"What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving
us the slip?"
"Impossible," answered Pycroft.
"Why so?"
"That door leads into an inner room."
"There is no exit?"
"None."
"Is it furnished?"
"It was empty yesterday."
"Then what on earth can he be doing? There is
something which I don`t understand in his
manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with
terror, that man`s name is Pinner. What can have
put the shivers on him?"
"He suspects that we are detectives," I
suggested.
"That`s it," cried Pycroft.
Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale.
He was pale when we entered the room," said he.
"It is just possible that--"
His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat
from the direction of the inner door.
"What the deuce is he knocking at his own
door for?" cried the clerk.
Again and much louder cam the rat-tat-tat. We
all gazed expectantly at the closed door.
Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid,
and he leaned forward in intense excitement.
Then suddenly came a low guggling, gargling
sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork.
Holmes sprang frantically across the room and
pushed at the door. It was fastened on the inner
side. Following his example, we threw ourselves
upon it with all our weight. One hinge snapped,
then the other, and down came the door with a
crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves in
the inner room. It was empty.
But it was only for a moment that we were at
fault. At one corner, the corner nearest the
room which we had left, there was a second door.
Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat
and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from
a hook behind the door, with his own braces
round his neck, was hanging the managing
director of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company.
His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a
dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of
his heels against the door made the noise which
had broken in upon our conversation. In an
instant I had caught him round the waist, and
held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untied the
elastic bands which had disappeared between the
livid creases of skin. Then we carried him into
the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored
face, puffing his purple lips in and out with
every breath--a dreadful wreck of all that he
had been but five minutes before.
"What do you think of him, Watson?" asked
Holmes.
I stooped over him and examined him. His
pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his
breathing grew longer, and there was a little
shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin
white slit of ball beneath.
"It has been touch and go with him," said I,
"but he`ll live now. Just open that window, and
hand me the water carafe." I undid his collar,
poured the cold water over his face, and raised
and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural
breath. "It`s only a question of time now," said
I, as I turned away from him.
Holmes stood by the table, with his hands
deep in his trouser`s pockets and his chin upon
his breast.
"I suppose we ought to call the police in
now," said he. "And yet I confess that I`d like
to give them a complete case when they come."
"It`s a blessed mystery to me," cried
Pycroft, scratching his head. "Whatever they
wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and
then--"
"Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes
impatiently. "It is this last sudden move."
"You understand the rest, then?"
"I think that it is fairly obvious. What do
you say, Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that
I am out of my depths," said I.
"Oh surely if you consider the events at
first they can only point to one conclusion."
"What do you make of them?"
"Well, the whole thing hinges upon two
points. The first is the making of Pycroft write
a declaration by which he entered the service of
this preposterous company. Do you not see how
very suggestive that is?"
"I am afraid I miss the point."
"Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as
a business matter, for these arrangements are
usually verbal, and there was no earthly
business reason why this should be an exception.
Don`t you see, my young friend, that they were
very anxious to obtain a specimen of your
handwriting, and had no other way of doing it?"
"And why?"
"Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have
made some progress with our little problem. Why?
There can be only one adequate reason. Some one
wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had
to procure a specimen of it first. And now if we
pass on to the second point we find that each
throws light upon the other. That point is the
request made by Pinner that you should not
resign your place, but should leave the manager
of this important business in the full
expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom he had
never seen, was about to enter the office upon
the Monday morning."
"My God!" cried our client, "what a blind
beetle I have been!"
"Now you see the point about the handwriting.
Suppose that some one turned up in your place
who wrote a completely different hand from that
in which you had applied for the vacancy, of
course the game would have been up. But in the
interval the rogue had learned to imitate you,
and his position was therefore secure, as I
presume that nobody in the office had ever set
eyes upon you."
"Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft.
"Very good. Of course it was of the utmost
importance to prevent you from thinking better
of it, and also to keep you from coming into
contact with any one who might tell you that
your double was at work in Mawson`s office.
Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on
your salary, and ran you off to the Midlands,
where they gave you enough work to do to prevent
your going to London, where you might have burst
their little game up. That is all plain enough."
"But why should this man pretend to be his
own brother?"
"Well, that is pretty clear also. There are
evidently only two of them in it. The other is
impersonating you at the office. This one acted
as your engager, and then found that he could
not find you an employer without admitting a
third person into his plot. That he was most
unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as
far as he could, and trusted that the likeness,
which you could not fail to observe, would be
put down to a family resemblance. But for the
happy chance of the gold stuffing, your
suspicions would probably never have been
aroused."
Hall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the
air. "Good Lord!" he cried, "while I have been
fooled in this way, what has this other Hall
Pycroft been doing at Mawson`s? What should we
do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to do."
"We must wire to Mawson`s."
"They shut at twelve on Saturdays."
"Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or
attendant--"
"Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on
account of the value of the securities that they
hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the
City."
"Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if
all is well, and if a clerk of your name is
working there. That is clear enough; but what is
not so clear is why at sight of us one of the
rogues should instantly walk out of the room and
hang himself."
"The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The
man was sitting up, blanched and ghastly, with
returning reason in his eyes, and hands which
rubbed nervously at the broad red band which
still encircled his throat.
"The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes, in a
paroxysm of excitement. "Idiot that I was! I
thought so must of our visit that the paper
never entered my head for an instant. To be
sure, the secret must be there." He flattened it
out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst
from his lips. "Look at this, Watson," he cried.
"It is a London paper, an early edition of the
Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at
the headlines: `Crime in the City. Murder at
Mawson & Williams`s. Gigantic attempted Robbery.
Capture of the Criminal.` Here, Watson, we are
all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read
it aloud to us."
It appeared from its position in the paper to
have been the one event of importance in town,
and the account of it ran in this way:
"A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating
in the death of one man and the capture of the
criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City.
For some time back Mawson & Williams, the famous
financial house, have been the guardians of
securities which amount in the aggregate to a
sum of considerably over a million sterling. So
conscious was the manager of the responsibility
which devolved upon him in consequence of the
great interests at stake that safes of the very
latest construction have been employed, and an
armed watchman has been left day and night in
the building. It appears that last week a new
clerk named Hall Pycroft was engaged by the
firm. This person appears to have been none
other that Beddington, the famous forger and
cracksman, who, with his brother, had only
recently emerged from a five years` spell of
penal servitude. By some mean, which are not yet
clear, he succeeded in wining, under a false
name, this official position in the office,
which he utilized in order to obtain moulding of
various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the
position of the strong room and the safes.
"It is customary at Mawson`s for the clerks
to leave at midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tuson,
of the City Police, was somewhat surprised,
therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag
come down the steps at twenty minutes past one.
His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant
followed the man, and with the aid of Constable
Pollack succeeded, after a most desperate
resistance, in arresting him. It was at once
clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had
been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand
pounds` worth of American railway bonds, with a
large amount of scrip in mines and other
companies, was discovered in the bag. On
examining the premises the body of the
unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and
thrust into the largest of the safes, where it
would not have been discovered until Monday
morning had it not been for the prompt action of
Sergeant Tuson. The man`s skull had been
shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from
behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington
had obtained entrance by pretending that he had
left something behind him, and having murdered
the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and
then made off with his booty. His brother, who
usually works with him, has not appeared in this
job as far as can at present be ascertained,
although the police are making energetic
inquiries as to his whereabouts."
"Well, we may save the police some little
trouble in that direction," said Holmes,
glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the
window. "Human nature is a strange mixture,
Watson. You see that even a villain and murderer
can inspire such affection that his brother
turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is
forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our
action. The doctor and I will remain on guard,
Mr. Pycroft, if you will have the kindness to
step out for the police."
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Adventure IV
The "Gloria Scott"
I have some papers here," said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as we sat one
winter`s night on either side of the fire,
"which I really think, Watson, that it would be
worth your while to glance over. These are the
documents in the extraordinary case of the
Gloria Scott, and this is the message which
struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with
horror when he read it."
He had picked from a drawer a little
tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he
handed me a short note scrawled upon a
half-sheet of slate gray-paper.
"The supply of game for London is going
steadily up," it ran. "Head-keeper Hudson, we
believe, had been now told to receive all orders
for fly-paper and for preservation of your
hen-pheasant`s life."
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical
message, I saw Holmes chuckling at the
expression upon my face.
"You look a little bewildered," said he.
"I cannot see how such a message as this
could inspire horror. It seems to me to be
rather grotesque than otherwise."
"Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the
reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was
knocked clean down by it as if it had been the
butt end of a pistol."
"You arouse my curiosity," said I. "But why
did you say just now that there were very
particular reasons why I should study this
case?"
"Because it was the first in which I was ever
engaged."
I had often endeavored to elicit from my
companion what had first turned is mind in the
direction of criminal research, but had never
caught him before in a communicative humor. Now
he sat forward in this arm chair and spread out
the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his
pipe and sat for some time smoking and turning
them over.
"You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?"
he asked. "He was the only friend I made during
the two years I was at college. I was never a
very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond
of moping in my rooms and working out my own
little methods of thought, so that I never mixed
much with the men of my year. Bar fencing and
boxing I had few athletic tastes, and then my
line of study was quite distinct from that of
the other fellows, so that we had no points of
contact at all. Trevor was the only man I knew,
and that only through the accident of his bull
terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I
went down to chapel.
"It was a prosaic way of forming a
friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by
the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come
in to inquire after me. At first it was only a
minute`s chat, but soon his visits lengthened,
and before the end of the term we were close
friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow,
full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to
me in most respects, but we had some subjects in
common, and it was a bond of union when I found
that he was as friendless as I. Finally, he
invited me down to his father`s place at
Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I accepted his
hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
"Old Trevor was evidently a man of some
wealth and consideration, a J.P., and a landed
proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just
to the north of Langmere, in the country of the
Broads. The house was and old-fashioned,
wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a
fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it. There
was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens,
remarkably good fishing, a small but select
library, taken over, as I understood, from a
former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that
he would be a fastidious man who could not put
in a pleasant month there.
"Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend
his only son.
"There had been a daughter, I heard, but she
had died of diphtheria while on a visit to
Birmingham. The father interested me extremely.
He was a man of little culture, but with a
considerable amount of rude strength, both
physically and mentally. He knew hardly any
books, but he had traveled far, had seen much of
the world. And had remembered all that he had
learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man
with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown,
weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were
keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a
reputation for kindness and charity on the
country-side, and was noted for the leniency of
his sentences from the bench.
"One evening, shortly after my arrival, we
were sitting over a glass of port after dinner,
when young Trevor began to talk about those
habits of observation and inference which I had
already formed into a system, although I had not
yet appreciated the part which they were to play
in my life. The old man evidently thought that
his son was exaggerating in his description of
one or two trivial feats which I had performed.
"`Come, now, Mr. Holmes,` said he, laughing
good-humoredly. `I`m an excellent subject, if
you can deduce anything from me.`
"`I fear there is not very much,` I answered;
`I might suggest that you have gone about in
fear of some personal attack with the last
twelvemonth.`
"The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared
at me in great surprise.
"`Well, that`s true enough,` said he. `You
know, Victor,` turning to his son, `when we
broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife
us, and Sir Edward Holly has actually been
attacked. I`ve always been on my guard since
then, though I have no idea how you know it.`
"`You have a very handsome stick,` I
answered. `By the inscription I observed that
you had not had it more than a year. But you
have taken some pains to bore the head of it and
pour melted lead into the hole so as to make it
a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not
take such precautions unless you had some danger
to fear.`
"`Anything else?` he asked, smiling.
"`You have boxed a good deal in your youth.`
"`Right again. How did you know it? Is my
nose knocked a little out of the straight?`
"`No,` said I. `It is your ears. They have
the peculiar flattening and thickening which
marks the boxing man.`
"`Anything else?`
"`You have done a good deal of digging by
your callosities.`
"`Made all my money at the gold fields.`
"`You have been in New Zealand.`
"`Right again.`
"`You have visited Japan.`
"`Quite true.`
"`And you have been most intimately
associated with some one whose initials were J.
A., and whom you afterwards were eager to
entirely forget.`
"Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large
blue eyes upon me with a strange wild stare, and
then pitched forward, with his face among the
nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead
faint.
"You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both
his son and I were. His attack did not last
long, however, for when we undid his collar, and
sprinkled the water from one of the
finger-glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or
two and sat up.
"`Ah, boys,` said he, forcing a smile, `I
hope I haven`t frightened you. Strong as I look,
there is a weak place in my heart, and it does
not take much to knock me over. I don`t know how
you manage this, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to me
that all the detectives of fact and of fancy
would be children in your hands. That`s your
line of life, sir, and you may take the word of
a man who has seen something of the world.`
"And that recommendation, with the
exaggerated estimate of my ability with which he
prefaced it, was, if you will believe me,
Watson, the very first thing which ever made me
feel that a profession might be made out of what
had up to that time been the merest hobby. At
the moment, however, I was too much concerned at
the sudden illness of my host to think of
anything else.
"`I hope that I have said nothing to pain
you?` said I.
"`Well, you certainly touched upon rather a
tender point. Might I ask how you know, and how
much you know?` He spoke now in a half-jesting
fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at
the back of his eyes.
"`It is simplicity itself,` said I. `When you
bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat I
saw that J. A. Had been tattooed in the bend of
the elbow. The letters were still legible, but
it was perfectly clear from their blurred
appearance, and from the staining of the skin
round them, that efforts had been made to
obliterate them. It was obvious, then, that
those initials had once been very familiar to
you, and that you had afterwards wished to
forget them.`
"What an eye you have!" he cried, with a sigh
of relief. `It is just as you say. But we won`t
talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old
lovers are the worst. Come into the
billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.`
"From that day, amid all his cordiality,
there was always a touch of suspicion in Mr.
Trevor`s manner towards me. Even his son
remarked it. `You`ve given the governor such a
turn,` said he, `that he`ll never be sure again
of what you know and what you don`t know.` He
did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it was
so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at
every action. At last I became so convinced that
I was causing him uneasiness that I drew my
visit to a close. On the very day, however,
before I left, and incident occurred which
proved in the sequel to be of importance.
"We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden
chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and
admiring the view across the Broads, when a maid
came out to say that there was a man at the door
who wanted to see Mr. Trevor.
"`What is his name?` asked my host.
"`He would not give any.`
"`What does he want, then?`
"`He says that you know him, and that he only
wants a moment`s conversation.`
"`Show him round here.` An instant afterwards
there appeared a little wizened fellow with a
cringing manner and a shambling style of
walking. He wore an open jacket, with a splotch
of tar on the sleeve, a red-and-black check
shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly
worn. His face was thin and brown and crafty,
with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an
irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled
hands were half closed in a way that is
distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching
across the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort
of hiccoughing noise in his throat, and jumping
out of his chair, he ran into the house. He was
back in a moment, and I smelt a strong reek of
brandy as he passed me.
"`Well, my man,` said he. `What can I do for
you?`
"The sailor stood looking at him with
puckered eyes, and with the same loose-lipped
smile upon his face.
"`You don`t know me?` he asked.
"`Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,` said
Mr. Trevor in a tone of surprise.
"`Hudson it is, sir,` said the seaman. `Why,
it`s thirty year and more since I saw you last.
Here you are in your house, and me still picking
my salt meat out of the harness cask.`
"`Tut, you will find that I have not
forgotten old times,` cried Mr. Trevor, and,
walking towards the sailor, he said something in
a low voice. `Go into the kitchen,` he continued
out loud, `and you will get food and drink. I
have no doubt that I shall find you a
situation.`
"`Thank you, sir,` said the seaman, touching
his fore-lock. `I`m just off a two-yearer in an
eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I
wants a rest. I thought I`d get it either with
Mr. Beddoes or with you.`
"`Ah!` cried Trevor. `You know where Mr.
Beddoes is?`
"`Bless you, sir, I know where all my old
friends are,` said the fellow with a sinister
smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the
kitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us
about having been shipmate with the man when he
was going back to the diggings, and then,
leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour
later, when we entered the house, we found him
stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa.
The whole incident left a most ugly impression
upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to
leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my
presence must be a source of embarrassment to my
friend.
"All this occurred during the first month of
the long vacation. I went up to my London rooms,
where I spent seven weeks working out a few
experiments in organic chemistry. On day,
however, when the autumn was far advanced and
the vacation drawing to a close, I received a
telegram from my friend imploring me to return
to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great
need of my advice and assistance. Of course I
dropped everything and set out for the North
once more.
"He met me with the dog-cart at the station,
and I saw at a glance that the last two months
had been very trying ones for him. He had grown
thin and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery
manner for which he had been remarkable.
"`The governor is dying,` were the first
words he said.
"`Impossible!` I cried. `What is the matter?`
"`Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He`s been on the
verge all day. I doubt if we shall find him
alive.`
"I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified
at this unexpected news.
"`What has caused it?` I asked.
"`Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can
talk it over while we drive. You remember that
fellow who came upon the evening before you left
us?`
"`Perfectly.`
"`Do you know who it was that we let into the
house that day?`
"`I have no idea.`
"`It was the devil, Holmes,` he cried.
"I stared at him in astonishment.
"`Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not
had a peaceful hour since--not one. The governor
has never held up his head from that evening,
and now the life has been crushed out of him and
his heart broken, all through this accursed
Hudson.`
"`What power had he, then?`
"`Ah, that is what I would give so much to
know. The kindly, charitable, good old
governor--how could he have fallen into the
clutches of such a ruffian! But I am so glad
that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much to
your judgment and discretion, and I know that
you will advise me for the best.`
"We were dashing along the smooth white
country road, with the long stretch of the
Broads in front of us glimmering in the red
light of the setting sun. From a grove upon our
left I could already see the high chimneys and
the flag-staff which marked the squire`s
dwelling.
"`My father made the fellow gardener,` said
my companion, `and then, as that did not satisfy
him, he was promoted to be butler. The house
seemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about
and did what he chose in it. The maids
complained of his drunken habits and his vile
language. The dad raised their wages all round
to recompense them for the annoyance. The fellow
would take the boat and my father`s best gun and
treat himself to little shooting trips. And all
this with such a sneering, leering, insolent
face that I would have knocked him down twenty
times over if he had been a man of my own age. I
tell you, Holmes, I have had to keep a tight
hold upon myself all this time; and now I am
asking myself whether, if I had let myself go a
little more, I might not have been a wiser man.
"`Well, matters went from bad to worse with
us, and this animal Hudson became more and more
intrusive, until at last, on making some
insolent reply to my father in my presence one
day, I took him by the shoulders and turned him
out of the room. He slunk away with a livid face
and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats
than his tongue could do. I don`t know what
passed between the poor dad and him after that,
but the dad came to me next day and asked me
whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I
refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father
how he could allow such a wretch to take such
liberties with himself and his household.
"`"Ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well
to talk, but you don`t know how I am placed. But
you shall know, Victor. I`ll see that you shall
know, come what may. You wouldn`t believe harm
of your poor old father, would you, lad?" He was
very much moved, and shut himself up in the
study all day, where I could see through the
window that he was writing busily.
"`That evening there came what seemed to me
to be a grand release, for Hudson told us that
he was going to leave us. He walked into the
dining-room as we sat after dinner, and
announced his intention in the thick voice of a
half-drunken man.
"`"I`ve had enough of Norfolk," said he.
"I`ll run down to Mr. Beddoes in Hampshire.
He`ll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare
say."
"`"You`re not going away in any kind of
spirit, Hudson, I hope," said my father, with a
tameness which mad my blood boil.
"`"I`ve not had my `pology," said he sulkily,
glancing in my direction.
"`"Victor, you will acknowledge that you have
used this worthy fellow rather roughly," said
the dad, turning to me.
"`"On the contrary, I think that we have both
shown extraordinary patience towards him," I
answered.
"`"Oh, you do, do you?" he snarls. "Very
good, mate. We`ll see about that!"
"`He slouched out of the room, and half an
hour afterwards left the house, leaving my
father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Night
after night I heard him pacing his room, and it
was just as he was recovering his confidence
that the blow did at last fall.`
"`And how?` I asked eagerly.
"`In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter
arrived for my father yesterday evening, bearing
the Fordingbridge post-mark. My father read it,
clapped both his hands to his head, and began
running round the room in little circles like a
man who has been driven out of his senses. When
I at last drew him down on to the sofa, his
mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side,
and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came
over at once. We put him to bed; but the
paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign of
returning consciousness, and I think that we
shall hardly find him alive.`
"`You horrify me, Trevor!` I cried. `What
then could have been in this letter to cause so
dreadful a result?`
"`Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part
of it. The message was absurd and trivial. Ah,
my God, it is as I feared!`
"As he spoke we came round the curve of the
avenue, and saw in the fading light that every
blind in the house had been drawn down. As we
dashed up to the door, my friend`s face
convulsed with grief, a gentleman in black
emerged from it.
"`When did it happen, doctor?` asked Trevor.
"`Almost immediately after you left.`
"`Did he recover consciousness?`
"`For an instant before the end.`
"`Any message for me.`
"`Only that the papers were in the back
drawer of the Japanese cabinet.`
"My friend ascended with the doctor to the
chamber of death, while I remained in the study,
turning the whole matter over and over in my
head, and feeling as sombre as ever I had done
in my life. What was the past of this Trevor,
pugilist, traveler, and gold-digger, and how had
he placed himself in the power of this
acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faint at
an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon
his arm, and die of fright when he had a letter
from Fordingham? Then I remembered that
Fordingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr.
Beddoes, whom the seaman had gone to visit and
presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned
as living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might
either come from Hudson, the seaman, saying that
he had betrayed the guilty secret which appeared
to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning
an old confederate that such a betrayal was
imminent. So far it seemed clear enough. But
then how could this letter be trivial and
grotesque, as describe by the son? He must have
misread it. If so, it must have been one of
those ingenious secret codes which mean one
thing while they seem to mean another. I must
see this letter. If there were a hidden meaning
in it, I was confident that I could pluck it
forth. For an hour I sat pondering over it in
the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought
in a lamp, and close at her heels came my friend
Trevor, pale but composed, with these very
papers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp.
He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the
edge of the table, and handed me a short note
scribbled, as you see, upon a single sheet of
gray paper. "The supply of game for London is
going steadily up,` it ran. `Head-keeper Hudson,
we believe, has been now told to receive all
orders for fly-paper and for preservation of
your hen-pheasant`s life.`
"I dare say my face looked as bewildered as
your did just now when first I read this
message. Then I reread it very carefully. It was
evidently as I had thought, and some secret
meaning must lie buried in this strange
combination of words. Or could it be that there
was a prearranged significance to such phrases
as `fly-paper` and hen-pheasant`? Such a meaning
would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in
any way. And yet I was loath to believe that
this was the case, and the presence of the word
Hudson seemed to show that the subject of the
message was as I had guessed, and that it was
from Beddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it
backwards, but the combination `life pheasant`s
hen` was not encouraging. Then I tried alternate
words, but neither `the of for` nor `supply game
London` promised to throw any light upon it.
"And then in an instant the key of the riddle
was in my hands, and I saw that every third
word, beginning with the first, would give a
message which might well drive old Trevor to
despair.
"It was short and terse, the warning, as I
now read it to my companion:
"`The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly
for your life.`
"Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking
hands, `It must be that, I suppose,` said he.
"This is worse than death, for it means disgrace
as well. But what is the meaning of these
"head-keepers" and "hen-pheasants"?
"`It means nothing to the message, but it
might mean a good deal to us if we had no other
means of discovering the sender. You see that he
has begun by writing "The...game...is," and so
on. Afterwards he had, to fulfill the
prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in
each space. He would naturally use the first
words which came to his mind, and if there were
so many which referred to sport among them, you
may be tolerably sure that he is either an
ardent shot or interested in breeding. Do you
know anything of this Beddoes?`
"`Why, now that you mention it,` said he, `I
remember that my poor father used to have an
invitation from him to shoot over his preserves
every autumn.`
"`Then it is undoubtedly from him that the
note comes,` said I. `It only remains for us to
find out what this secret was which the sailor
Hudson seems to have held over the heads of
these two wealthy and respected men.`
"`Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin
and shame!` cried my friend. `But from you I
shall have no secrets. Here is the statement
which was drawn up by my father when he knew
that the danger from Hudson had become imminent.
I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told
the doctor. Take it and read it to me, for I
have neither the strength nor the courage to do
it myself.`
"These are the very papers, Watson, which he
handed to me, and I will read them to you, as I
read them in the old study that night to him.
They are endorsed outside, as you see, `Some
particulars of the voyage of the bark Gloria
Scott, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th
October, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat. 15
degrees 20`, W. Long. 25 degrees 14` on Nov.
6th.` It is in the form of a letter, and runs in
this way:
"`My dear, dear son, now that approaching
disgrace begins to darken the closing years of
my life, I can write with all truth and honesty
that it is not the terror of the law, it is not
the loss of my position in the county, nor is it
my fall in the eyes of all who have known me,
which cuts me to the heart; but it is the
thought that you should come to blush for
me--you who love me and who have seldom, I hope,
had reason to do other than respect me. But if
the blow falls which is forever hanging over me,
then I should wish you to read this, that you
may know straight from me how far I have been to
blame. On the other hand, if all should go well
(which may kind God Almighty grant!), then if by
any chance this paper should be still
undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I
conjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the
memory of your dear mother, and by the love
which had been between us, to hurl it into the
fire and to never give one thought to it again.
"`If then your eye goes onto read this line,
I know that I shall already have been exposed
and dragged from my home, or as is more likely,
for you know that my heart is weak, by lying
with my tongue sealed forever in death. In
either case the time for suppression is past,
and every word which I tell you is the naked
truth, and this I swear as I hope for mercy.
"`My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was
James Armitage in my younger days, and you can
understand now the shock that it was to me a few
weeks ago when your college friend addressed me
in words which seemed to imply that he had
surprised my secret. As Armitage it was that I
entered a London banking-house, and as Armitage
I was convicted of breaking my country`s laws,
and was sentenced to transportation. Do not
think very harshly of me, laddie. It was a debt
of honor, so called, which I had to pay, and I
used money which was not my own to do it, in the
certainty that I could replace it before there
could be any possibility of its being missed.
But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The
money which I had reckoned upon never came to
hand, and a premature examination of accounts
exposed my deficit. The case might have been
dealt leniently with, but the laws were more
harshly administered thirty years ago than now,
and on my twenty-third birthday I found myself
chained as a felon with thirty-seven other
convicts in `tween-decks of the bark Gloria
Scott, bound for Australia.
"`It was the year `55 when the Crimean war
was at its height, and the old convict ships had
been largely used as transports in the Black
Sea. The government was compelled, therefore, to
use smaller and less suitable vessels for
sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott
had been in the Chinese tea-trade, but she was
an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed
craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. She
was a five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her
thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six
of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three
mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders.
Nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told,
when we set said from Falmouth.
"`The partitions between the cells of the
convicts, instead of being of thick oak, as is
usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and
frail. The man next to me, upon the aft side,
was one whom I had particularly noticed when we
were led down the quay. He was a young man with
a clear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, and
rather nut-cracker jaws. He carried his head
very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style
of walking, and was, above all else, remarkable
for his extraordinary height. I don`t think any
of our heads would have come up to his shoulder,
and I am sure that he could not have measured
less than six and a half feet. It was strange
among so many sad and weary faces to see one
which was full of energy and resolution. The
sight of it was to me like a fire in a
snow-storm. I was glad, then, to find that he
was my neighbor, and gladder still when, in the
dead of the night, I heard a whisper close to my
ear, and found that he had managed to cut an
opening in the board which separated us.
"`"Hullo, chummy!" said he, "what`s your
name, and what are you here for?"
"`I answered him, and asked in turn who I was
talking with.
"`"I`m Jack Prendergast," said he, "and by
God! You`ll learn to bless my name before you`ve
done with me."
"`I remembered hearing of his case, for it
was one which had made an immense sensation
throughout the country some time before my own
arrest. He was a man of good family and of great
ability, but on incurably vicious habits, who
had be an ingenious system of fraud obtained
huge sums of money from the leading London
merchants.
"`"Ha, ha! You remember my case!" said he
proudly.
"`"Very well, indeed."
"`"Then maybe you remember something queer
about it?"
"`"What was that, then?"
"`"I`d had nearly a quarter of a million,
hadn`t I?"
"`"So it was said."
"`"But none was recovered, eh?"
"`"No."
"`"Well, where d`ye suppose the balance is?"
he asked.
"`"I have no idea," said I.
"`"Right between my finger and thumb," he
cried. "By God! I`ve go more pounds to my name
than you`ve hairs on your head. And if you`ve
money, my son, and know how to handle it and
spread it, you can do anything. Now, you don`t
think it likely that a man who could do anything
is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the
stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden,
mouldy old coffin of a Chin China coaster. No,
sir, such a man will look after himself and will
look after his chums. You may lay to that! You
hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that
he`ll haul you through."
"`That was his style of talk, and at first I
thought it meant nothing; but after a while,
when he had tested me and sworn me in with all
possible solemnity, he let me understand that
there really was a plot to gain command of the
vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it
before they came aboard, Prendergast was the
leader, and his money was the motive power.
"`"I`d a partner," said he, "a rare good man,
as true as a stock to a barrel. He`s got the
dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at
this moment? Why, he`s the chaplain of this
ship--the chaplain, no less! He came aboard with
a black coat, and his papers right, and money
enough in his box to buy the thing right up from
keel to main-truck. The crew are his, body and
soul. He could buy `em at so much a gross with a
cash discount, and he did it before ever they
signed on. He`s got two of the warders and
Mereer, the second mate, and he`d get the
captain himself, if he thought him worth it."
"`"What are we to do, then?" I asked.
"`"What do you think?" said he. "We`ll make
the coats of some of these soldiers redder than
ever the tailor did."
"`"But they are armed," said I.
"`"And so shall we be, my boy. There`s a
brace of pistols for every mother`s son of us,
and if we can`t carry this ship, with the crew
at our back, it`s time we were all sent to a
young misses` boarding-school. You speak to your
mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to
be trusted."
"`I did so, and found my other neighbor to be
a young fellow in much the same position as
myself, whose crime had been forgery. His name
was Evans, but he afterwards changed it, like
myself, and his is now a rich and prosperous man
in the south of England. He was ready enough to
join the conspiracy, as the only means of saving
ourselves, and before we had crossed the Bay
there were only two of the prisoners who were
not in the secret. One of these was of weak
mind, and we did not dare to trust him, and the
other was suffering from jaundice, and could not
be of any use to us.
"`From the beginning there was really nothing
to prevent us from taking possession of the
ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, specially
picked for the job. The sham chaplain came into
our cells to exhort us, carrying a black bag,
supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did
he come that by the third day we had each stowed
away at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of
pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs.
Two of the warders were agents of Prendergast,
and the second mate was his right-hand man. The
captain, the two mates, two warders Lieutenant
Martin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor
were all that we had against us. Yet, safe as it
was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and
to make our attack suddenly by night. It came,
however, more quickly than we expected, and in
this way.
"`One evening, about the third week after our
start, the doctor had come down to see one of
the prisoners who was ill, and putting his hand
down on the bottom of his bunk he felt the
outline of the pistols. If he had been silent he
might have blown the whole thing, but he was a
nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of
surprise and turned so pale that the man knew
what was up in an instant and seized him. He was
gagged before he could give the alarm, and tied
down upon the bed. He had unlocked the door that
led to the deck, and we were through it in a
rush. The two sentries were shot down, and so
was a corporal who came running to see what was
the matter. There were two more soldiers at the
door of the state-room, and their muskets seemed
not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us,
and they were shot while trying to fix their
bayonets. Then we rushed on into the captain`s
cabin, but as we pushed open the door there was
an explosion from within, and there he lay wit
his brains smeared over the chart of the
Atlantic which was pinned upon the table, while
the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his
hand at his elbow. The two mates had both been
seized by the crew, and the whole business
seemed to be settled.
"`The state-room was next the cabin, and we
flocked in there and flopped down on the
settees, all speaking together, for we were just
mad with the feeling that we were free once
more. There were lockers all round, and Wilson,
the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, and
pulled out a dozen of brown sherry. We cracked
off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff
out into tumblers, and were just tossing them
off, when in an instant without warning there
came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the
saloon was so full of smoke that we could not
see across the table. When it cleared again the
place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others
were wriggling on the top of each other on the
floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on
that table turn me sick now when I think of it.
We were so cowed by the sight that I think we
should have given the job up if had not been for
Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushed
for the door with all that were left alive at
his heels. Out we ran, and there on the poop
were the lieutenent and ten of his men. The
swing skylights above the saloon table had been
a bit open, and they had fired on us through the
slit. We got on them before they could load, and
they stood to it like men; but we had the upper
hand of them, and in five minutes it was all
over. My God! Was there ever a slaughter-house
like that ship! Predergast was like a raging
deveil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they
had been children and threw them overboard alive
or dead. There was one sergeant that was
horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming for a
surprising time, until some one in mercy blew
out his brains. When the fighting was over there
was no one left of our enemies except just the
warders the mates, and the doctor.
"`It was over them that the great quarrel
arose. There were many of us who were glad
enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had
no wish to have murder on our souls. It was one
thing to knock the soldiers over with their
muskets in their hands, and it was another to
stand by while men were being killed in cold
blood. Eight of us, five convicts and three
sailors, said that we would not see it done. But
there was no moving Predergast and those who
were with him. Our only chance of safety lay in
making a clean job of it, said he, and he would
not leave a tongue with power to wag in a
witness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the
fate of the prisoners, but at last he said that
if we wished we might take a boat and go. We
jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of
these blookthirsty doings, and we saw that there
would be worse before it was done. We were given
a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel of water,
two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and
a compass. Prendergast threw us over a chart,
told us that we were shipwrecked mariners whose
ship had foundered in Lat. 15 degrees and Long
25 degrees west, and then cut the painter and
let us go.
"`And now I come to the most surprising part
of my story, my dear son. The seamen had hauled
the fore-yard aback during the rising, but now
as we left them they brought it square again,
and as there was a light wind from the north and
east the bark began to draw slowly away from us.
Our boat lay, rising and falling, upon the long,
smooth rollers, and Evans and I, who were the
most educated of the party, were sitting in the
sheets working out our position and planning
what coast we should make for. It was a nice
question, for the Cape de Verds were about five
hundred miles to the north of us, and the
African coast about seven hundred to the east.
On the whole, as the wind was coming round to
the north, we thought that Sierra Leone might be
best, and turned our head in that direction, the
bark being at that time nearly hull down on our
starboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her
we saw a dense black cloud of smoke shoot up
from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon
the sky line. A few seconds later a roar like
thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke
thinned away there was no sign left of the
Gloria Scott. In an instant we swept the boat`s
head round again and pulled with all our
strength for the place where the haze still
trailing over the water marked the scene of this
catastrophe.
"`It was a long hour before we reached it,
and at first we feared that we had come too late
to save any one. A splintered boat and a number
of crates and fragments of spars rising and
falling on the waves showed us where the vessel
had foundered; but there was no sign of life,
and we had turned away in despair when we heard
a cry for help, and saw at some distance a piece
of wreckage with a man lying stretched across
it. When we pulled him aboard the boat he proved
to be a young seaman of the name of Hudson, who
was so burned and exhausted that he could give
us no account of what had happened until the
following morning.
"`It seemed that after we had left,
Prendergast and his gang had proceeded to put to
death the five remaining prisoners. The two
warders had been shot and thrown overboard, and
so also had the third mate. Prendergast then
descended into the `tween-decks and with his own
hands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon.
There only remained the first mate, who was a
bold and active man. When he saw the convict
approaching him with the bloody knife in his
hand he kicked off his bonds, which he had
somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down
the deck he plunged into the after-hold. A dozen
convicts, who descended with their pistols in
search of him, found him with a match-box in his
hand seated beside an open powder-barrel, which
was one of a hundred carried on board, and
swearing that he would blow all hands up if he
were in any way molested. An instant later the
explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was
caused by the misdirected bullet of one of the
convicts rather than the mate`s match. Be the
cause what I may, it was the end of the Gloria
Scott and of the rabble who held command of her.
"`Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the
history of this terrible business in which I was
involved. Next day we were picked up by the brig
Hotspur, bound for Australia, whose captain
found no difficulty in believing that we were
the survivors of a passenger ship which had
foundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was
set down by the Admiralty as being lost at sea,
and no word has ever leaked out as to her true
fate. After an excellent voyage the Hotspur
landed us at Sydney, where Evans and I changed
our names and made our way to the diggings,
where, among the crowds who were gathered from
all nations, we had no difficulty in losing our
former identities. The rest I need not relate.
We prospered, we traveled, we came back as rich
colonials to England, and we bought country
estates. For more than twenty years we have led
peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our
past was forever buried. Imagine, then, my
feelings when in the seaman who came to us I
recognized instantly the man who had been picked
off the wreck. He had tracked us down somehow,
and had set himself to live upon our fears. You
will understand now how it was that I strove to
keep the peace with him, and you will in some
measure sympathize with me in the fears which
fill me, now that he has gone from me to his
other victim with threats upon his tongue.`
"Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as
to be hardly legible, `Beddoes writes in cipher
to say H. Has told all. Sweet Lord, have mercy
on our souls!`
"That was the narrative which I read that
night to young Trevor, and I think, Watson, that
under the circumstances it was a dramatic one.
The good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went
out to the Terai tea planting, where I hear that
he is doing well. As to the sailor and Beddoes,
neither of them was ever heard of again after
that day on which the letter of warning was
written. They both disappeared utterly and
completely. No complaint had been lodged with he
police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threat
for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about,
and it was believed by the police that he had
done away with Beddoes and had fled. For myself
I believe that the truth was exactly the
opposite. I think that it is most probable that
Beddoes, pushed to desperation and believing
himself to have been already betrayed, had
revenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from
the country with as much money as he could lay
his hands on. Those are the facts of the case,
Doctor, and if they are of any use to your
collection, I am sure that they are very
heartily at your service."
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Adventure V
The Musgrave Ritual
An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock
Holmes was that, although in his methods of
thought he was the neatest and most methodical
of mankind, and although also he affected a
certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the
less in his personal habits one of the most
untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to
distraction. Not that I am in the least
conventional in that respect myself. The
rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on
the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition,
has made me rather more lax than befits a
medical man. But with me there is a limit, and
when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the
coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a
Persian slipper, and his unanswered
correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into
the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then
I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have
always held, too, that pistol practice should be
distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes,
in one of his queer humors, would sit in an
arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred
Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the
opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in
bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the
atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was
improved by it.
Our chambers were always full of chemicals
and of criminal relics which had a way of
wandering into unlikely positions, and of
turning up in the butter-dish or in even less
desirable places. But his papers were my great
crux. He had a horror of destroying documents,
especially those which were connected with his
past cases, and yet it was only once in every
year or two that he would muster energy to
docket and arrange them; for, as I have
mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs,
the outbursts of passionate energy when he
performed the remarkable feats with which his
name is associated were followed by reactions of
lethargy during which he would lie about with
his violin and his books, hardly moving save
from the sofa to the table. Thus month after
month his papers accumulated, until every corner
of the room was stacked with bundles of
manuscript which were on no account to be
burned, and which could not be put away save by
their owner. One winter`s night, as we sat
together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to
him that, as he had finished pasting extracts
into his common-place book, he might employ the
next two hours in making our room a little more
habitable. He could not deny the justice of my
request, so with a rather rueful face he went
off to his bedroom, from which he returned
presently pulling a large tin box behind him.
This he placed in the middle of the floor and,
squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he
threw back the lid. I could see that it was
already a third full of bundles of paper tied up
with red tape into separate packages.
"There are cases enough here, Watson," said
he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. "I
think that if you knew all that I had in this
box you would ask me to pull some out instead of
putting others in."
"These are the records of your early work,
then?" I asked. "I have often wished that I had
notes of those cases."
"Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely
before my biographer had come to glorify me." He
lifted bundle after bundle in a tender,
caressing sort of way. "They are not all
successes, Watson," said he. "But there are some
pretty little problems among them. Here`s the
record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of
Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure
of the old Russian woman, and the singular
affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a
full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and
his abominable wife. And here--ah, now, this
really is something a little recherch鮢
He dived his arm down to the bottom of the
chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a
sliding lid, such as children`s toys are kept
in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of
paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of
wood with a ball of string attached to it, and
three rusty old disks of metal.
"Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?"
he asked, smiling at my expression.
"It is a curious collection."
"Very curious, and the story that hangs round
it will strike you as being more curious still."
"These relics have a history then?"
"So much so that they are history."
"What do you mean by that?"
Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one,
and laid them along the edge of the table. Then
he reseated himself in his chair and looked them
over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
"These," said he, "are all that I have left
to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave
Ritual."
I had heard him mention the case more than
once, though I had never been able to gather the
details. "I should be so glad," said I, "if you
would give me an account of it."
"And leave the litter as it is?" he cried,
mischievously. "Your tidiness won`t bear much
strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad
that you should add this case to your annals,
for there are points in it which make it quite
unique in the criminal records of this or, I
believe, of any other country. A collection of
my trifling achievements would certainly be
incomplete which contained no account of this
very singular business.
"You may remember how the affair of the
Gloria Scott, and my conversation with the
unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first
turned my attention in the direction of the
profession which has become my life`s work. You
see me now when my name has become known far and
wide, and when I am generally recognized both by
the public and by the official force as being a
final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even
when you knew me first, at the time of the
affair which you have commemorated in `A Study
in Scarlet,` I had already established a
considerable, though not a very lucrative,
connection. You can hardly realize, then, how
difficult I found it at first, and how long I
had to wait before I succeeded in making any
headway.
"When I first came up to London I had rooms
in Montague Street, just round the corner from
the British Museum, and there I waited, filling
in my too abundant leisure time by studying all
those branches of science which might make me
more efficient. Now and again cases came in my
way, principally through the introduction of old
fellow-students, for during my last years at the
University there was a good deal of talk there
about myself and my methods. The third of these
cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is
to the interest which was aroused by that
singular chain of events, and the large issues
which proved to be at stake, that I trace my
first stride towards to position which I now
hold.
"Reginald Musgrave had been in the same
college as myself, and I had some slight
acquaintance with him. He was not generally
popular among the undergraduates, though it
always seemed to me that what was set down as
pride was really an attempt to cover extreme
natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man
of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin,
high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet
courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one of
the very oldest families in the kingdom, though
his branch was a cadet one which had separated
from the northern Musgraves some time in the
sixteenth century, and had established itself in
western Sussex, where the Manor House of
Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited
building in the county. Something of his birth
place seemed to cling to the man, and I never
looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of
his head without associating him with gray
archways and mullioned windows and all the
venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or
twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember
that more than once he expressed a keen interest
in my methods of observation and inference.
"For four years I had seen nothing of him
until one morning he walked into my room in
Montague Street. He had changed little, was
dressed like a young man of fashion--he was
always a bit of a dandy--and preserved the same
quiet, suave manner which had formerly
distinguished him.
"`How has all gone with you Musgrave?" I
asked, after we had cordially shaken hands.
"`You probably heard of my poor father`s
death,` said he; `he was carried off about two
years ago. Since then I have of course had the
Hurlstone estates to manage, and as I am member
for my district as well, my life has been a busy
one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are
turning to practical ends those powers with
which you used to amaze us?"
"`Yes,` said I, `I have taken to living by my
wits.`
"`I am delighted to hear it, for your advice
at present would be exceedingly valuable to me.
We have had some very strange doings at
Hurlstone, and the police have been able to
throw no light upon the matter. It is really the
most extraordinary and inexplicable business.`
"You can imagine with what eagerness I
listened to him, Watson, for the very chance for
which I had been panting during all those months
of inaction seemed to have come within my reach.
In my inmost heart I believed that I could
succeed where others failed, and now I had the
opportunity to test myself.
"`Pray, let me have the details,` I cried.
"Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me,
and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards
him.
"`You must know,` said he, `that though I am
a bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable
staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a
rambling old place, and takes a good deal of
looking after. I preserve, too, and in the
pheasant months I usually have a house-party, so
that it would not do to be short-handed.
Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the
butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and
the stables of course have a separate staff.
"`Of these servants the one who had been
longest in our service was Brunton the butler.
He was a young school-master out of place when
he was first taken up by my father, but he was a
man of great energy and character, and he soon
became quite invaluable in the household. He was
a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid
forehead, and though he has been with us for
twenty years he cannot be more than forty now.
With his personal advantages and his
extraordinary gifts--for he can speak several
languages and play nearly every musical
instrument--it is wonderful that he should have
been satisfied so long in such a position, but I
suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked
energy to make any change. The butler of
Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered
by all who visit us.
"`But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit
of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a
man like him it is not a very difficult part to
play in a quiet country district. When he was
married it was all right, but since he has been
a widower we have had no end of trouble with
him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he
was about to settle down again for he became
engaged to Rachel Howells, our second
house-maid; but he has thrown her over since
then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the
daughter of the head game-keeper. Rachel--who is
a very good girl, but of an excitable Welsh
temperament--had a sharp touch of brain-fever,
and goes about the house now--or did until
yesterday--like a black-eyed shadow of her
former self. That was our first drama at
Hurlstone; but a second one came to drive it
from our minds, and it was prefaced by the
disgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton.
"`This was how it came about. I have said
that the man was intelligent, and this very
intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems
to have led to an insatiable curiosity about
things which did not in the least concern him. I
had no idea of the lengths to which this would
carry him, until the merest accident opened my
eyes to it.
"`I have said that the house is a rambling
one. One day last week--on Thursday night, to be
more exact--I found that I could not sleep,
having foolishly taken a cup of strong café ®oir
after my dinner. After struggling against it
until two in the morning, I felt that it was
quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle
with the intention of continuing a novel which I
was reading. The book, however, had been left in
the billiard-room, so I pulled on my
dressing-gown and started off to get it.
"`In order to reach the billiard-room I had
to descend a flight of stairs and then to cross
the head of a passage which led to the library
and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise
when, as I looked down this corridor, I saw a
glimmer of light coming from the open door of
the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp
and closed the door before coming to bed.
Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The
corridors at Hurlstone have their walls largely
decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one
of these I picked a battle-axe, and then,
leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe
down the passage and peeped in at the open door.
"`Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He
was sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair,
with a slip of paper which looked like a map
upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward
upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with
astonishment, watching him from the darkness. A
small taper on the edge of the table shed a
feeble light which sufficed to show me that he
was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he
rose from his chair, and walking over to a
bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out
one of the drawers. From this he took a paper,
and returning to his seat he flattened it out
beside the taper on the edge of the table, and
began to study it with minute attention. My
indignation at this calm examination of our
family documents overcame me so far that I took
a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me
standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet,
his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust
into his breast the chart-like paper which he
had been originally studying.
"`"So!" said I. "This is how you repay the
trust which we have reposed in you. You will
leave my service to-morrow."
"`He bowed with the look of a man who is
utterly crushed, and slunk past me without a
word. The taper was still on the table, and by
its light I glanced to see what the paper was
which Brunton had taken from the bureau. To my
surprise it was nothing of any importance at
all, but simply a copy of the questions and
answers in the singular old observance called
the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony
peculiar to our family, which each Musgrave for
centuries past has gone through on his coming of
age--a thing of private interest, and perhaps of
some little importance to the archaeologist,
like our own blazonings and charges, but of no
practical use whatever.`
"`We had better come back to the paper
afterwards,` said I.
"`If you think it really necessary,` he
answered, with some hesitation. `To continue my
statement, however: I relocked the bureau, using
the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned
to go when I was surprised to find that the
butler had returned, and was standing before me.
"`"Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice
which was hoarse with emotion, "I can`t bear
disgrace, sir. I`ve always been proud above my
station in life, and disgrace would kill me. My
blood will be on your head, sir--it will,
indeed--if you drive me to despair. If you
cannot keep me after what has passed, then for
God`s sake let me give you notice and leave in a
month, as if of my own free will. I could stand
that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out
before all the folk that I know so well."
"`"You don`t deserve much consideration,
Brunton," I answered. "Your conduct has been
most infamous. However, as you have been a long
time in the family, I have no wish to bring
public disgrace upon you. A month, however is
too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give
what reason you like for going."
"`"Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a
despairing voice. "A fortnight--say at least a
fortnight!"
"`"A week," I repeated, "and you may consider
yourself to have been very leniently dealt
with."
"`He crept away, his face sunk upon his
breast, like a broken man, while I put out the
light and returned to my room.
""For two days after this Brunton was most
assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made
no allusion to what had passed, and waited with
some curiosity to see how he would cover his
disgrace. On the third morning, however he did
not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast
to receive my instructions for the day. As I
left the dining-room I happened to meet Rachel
Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had
only recently recovered from an illness, and was
looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I
remonstrated with her for being at work.
"`"You should be in bed," I said. "Come back
to your duties when you are stronger."
"`She looked at me with so strange an
expression that I began to suspect that her
brain was affected.
"`"I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave," said
she.
"`"We will see what the doctor says," I
answered. "You must stop work now, and when you
go downstairs just say that I wish to see
Brunton."
"`"The butler is gone," said she.
"`"Gone! Gone where?"
"`"He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not
in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!"
She fell back against the wall with shriek after
shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this
sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to
summon help. The girl was taken to her room,
still screaming and sobbing, while I made
inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt
about it that he had disappeared. His bed had
not been slept in, he had been seen by no one
since he had retired to his room the night
before, and yet it was difficult to see how he
could have left the house, as both windows and
doors were found to be fastened in the morning.
His clothes, his watch, and even his money were
in his room, but the black suit which he usually
wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone,
but his boots were left behind. Where then could
butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what
could have become of him now?
"`Of course we searched the house from cellar
to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is,
as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house,
especially the original wing, which is now
practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every
room and cellar without discovering the least
sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me
that he could have gone away leaving all his
property behind him, and yet where could he be?
I called in the local police, but without
success. Rain had fallen on the night before and
we examined the lawn and the paths all round the
house, but in vain. Matters were in this state,
when a new development quite drew our attention
away from the original mystery.
"`For two days Rachel Howells had been so
ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical,
that a nurse had been employed to sit up with
her at night. On the third night after Brunton`s
disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient
sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the
arm-chair, when shoe woke in the early morning
to find the bed empty, the window open, and no
signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused,
and, with the two footmen, started off at once
in search of the missing girl. It was not
difficult to tell the direction which she had
taken, for, starting from under her window, we
could follow her footmarks easily across the
lawn to the edge of the mere, where they
vanished close to the gravel path which leads
out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet
deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we
saw that the trail of the poor demented girl
came to an end at the edge of it.
"`Of course, we had the drags at once, and
set to work to recover the remains, but no trace
of the body could we find. On the other hand, we
brought to the surface an object of a most
unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which
contained within it a mass of old rusted and
discolored metal and several dull-colored pieces
of pebble or glass. This strange find was all
that we could get from the mere, and, although
we made every possible search and inquiry
yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of
Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county
police are at their wits` end, and I have come
up to you as a last resource.`
"You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness
I listened to this extraordinary sequence of
events, and endeavored to piece them together,
and to devise some common thread upon which they
might all hang. The butler was gone. The maid
was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had
afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of
Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been
terribly excited immediately after his
disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag
containing some curious contents. These were all
factors which had to be taken into
consideration, and yet none of them got quite to
the heart of the matter. What was the
starting-point of this chain of events? There
lay the end of this tangled line.
"`I must see that paper, Musgrave,` said I,
`which this butler of your thought it worth his
while to consult, even at the risk of the loss
of his place.`
"`It is rather an absurd business, this
ritual of ours,` he answered. `But it has at
least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse
it. I have a copy of the questions and answers
here if you care to run your eye over them.`
"He handed me the very paper which I have
here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism
to which each Musgrave had to submit when he
came to man`s estate. I will read you the
questions and answers as they stand.
"`Whose was it?`
"`His who is gone.`
"`Who shall have it?`
"`He who will come.`
"`Where was the sun?`
"`Over the oak.`
"`Where was the shadow?`
"`Under the elm.`
"How was it stepped?`
"`North by ten and by ten, east by five and
by five, south by two and by two, west by one
and by one, and so under.`
"`What shall we give for it?`
"`All that is ours.`
"`Why should we give it?`
"`For the sake of the trust.`
"`The original has no date, but is in the
spelling of the middle of the seventeenth
century,` remarked Musgrave. `I am afraid,
however, that it can be of little help to you in
solving this mystery.`
"`At least,` said I, `it gives us another
mystery, and one which is even more interesting
than the first. It may be that the solution of
the one may prove to be the solution of the
other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say
that your butler appears to me to have been a
very clever man, and to have had a clearer
insight that ten generations of his masters.`
"`I hardly follow you,` said Musgrave. `The
paper seems to me to be of no practical
importance.`
"`But to me it seems immensely practical, and
I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had
probably seen it before that night on which you
caught him.`
"`It is very possible. We took no pains to
hide it.`
"`He simply wished, I should imagine, to
refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He
had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart
which he was comparing with the manuscript, and
which he thrust into his pocket when you
appeared.`
"`That is true. But what could he have to do
with this old family custom of ours, and what
does this rigmarole mean?`
"`I don`t think that we should have much
difficulty in determining that,` said I; `with
your permission we will take the first train
down to Sussex, and go a little more deeply into
the matter upon the spot.`
"The same afternoon saw us both at
Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen pictures and
read descriptions of the famous old building, so
I will confine my account of it to saying that
it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm
being the more modern portion, and the shorter
the ancient nucleus, from which the other had
developed. Over the low, heavily-lintelled door,
in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the
date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the
beams and stone-work are really much older than
this. The enormously thick walls and tiny
windows of this part had in the last century
driven the family into building the new wing,
and the old one was used now as a store-house
and a cellar, when it was used at all. A
splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the
house, and the lake, to which my client had
referred, lay close to the avenue, about two
hundred yards from the building.
"I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that
there were not three separate mysteries here,
but one only, and that if I could read the
Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand
the clue which would lead me to the truth
concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid
Howells. To that then I turned all my energies.
Why should this servant be so anxious to master
this old formula? Evidently because he saw
something in it which had escaped all those
generations of country squires, and from which
he expected some personal advantage. What was it
then, and how had it affected his fate?
"It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading
the ritual, that the measurements must refer to
some spot to which the rest of the document
alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we
should be in a fair way towards finding what the
secret was which the old Musgraves had thought
it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion.
There were two guides given us to start with, an
oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be no
question at all. Right in front of the house,
upon the left-hand side of the drive, there
stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most
magnificent trees that I have ever seen.
"`That was there when you ritual was drawn
up,` said I, as we drove past it.
"`It was there at the Norman Conquest in all
probability,` he answered. `It has a girth of
twenty-three feet.`
"`Have you any old elms?` I asked.
"`There used to be a very old one over yonder
but it was struck by lightning ten years ago,
and we cut down the stump,`
"`You can see where it used to be?`
"`Oh, yes.`
"`There are no other elms?`
"`No old ones, but plenty of beeches.`
"`I should like to see where it grew.`
"We had driven up in a dogcart, and my client
led me away at once, without our entering the
house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had
stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and
the house. My investigation seemed to be
progressing.
"`I suppose it is impossible to find out how
high the elm was?` I asked.
"`I can give you it at once. It was
sixty-four feet.`
"`How do you come to know it?` I asked, in
surprise.
"`When my old tutor used to give me an
exercise in trigonometry, it always took the
shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad I
worked out every tree and building in the
estate.`
"This was an unexpected piece of luck. My
data were coming more quickly than I could have
reasonably hoped.
"`Tell me,` I asked, `did your butler ever
ask you such a question?`
"Reginald Musgrave looked at me in
astonishment. `Now that you call it to my mind,`
he answered, `Brunton did ask me about the
height of the tree some months ago, in
connection with some little argument with the
groom,`
"This was excellent news, Watson, for it
showed me that I was on the right road. I looked
up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I
calculated that in less than an hour it would
lie just above the topmost branches of the old
oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual would
then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm
must mean the farther end of the shadow,
otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as
the guide. I had, then, to find where the far
end of the shadow would fall when the sun was
just clear of the oak."
"That must have been difficult, Holmes, when
the elm was no longer there."
"Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could
do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real
difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study
and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied
this long string with a knot at each yard. Then
I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came
to just six feet, and I went back with my client
to where the elm had been. The sun was just
grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod
on end, marked out the direction of the shadow,
and measured it. It was nine feet in length.
"Of course the calculation now was a simple
one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of
nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one
of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of
course the line of the other. I measured out the
distance, which brought me almost to the wall of
the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You
can imagine my exultation, Watson, when within
two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression
in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made
by Brunton in his measurements, and that I was
still upon his trail.
"From this starting-point I proceeded to
step, having first taken the cardinal points by
my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took
me along parallel with the wall of the house,
and again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I
carefully paced off five to the east and two to
the south. It brought me to the very threshold
of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now
that I was to go two paces down the
stone-flagged passage, and this was the place
indicated by the Ritual.
"Never have I felt such a cold chill of
disappointment, Watson. For a moment is seemed
to me that there must be some radical mistake in
my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon
the passage floor, and I could see that the old,
foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved
were firmly cemented together, and had certainly
not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had
not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor,
but it sounded the same all over, and there was
no sign of any crack or crevice. But,
Fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to
appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and
who was now as excited as myself, took out his
manuscript to check my calculation.
"`And under,` he cried. `You have omitted the
"and under."`
"I had thought that it meant that we were to
dig, but now, of course, I saw at once that I
was wrong. `There is a cellar under this then?`
I cried.
"`Yes, and as old as the house. Down here,
through this door.`
"We went down a winding stone stair, and my
companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern
which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an
instant it was obvious that we had at last come
upon the true place, and that we had not been
the only people to visit the spot recently.
"It had been used for the storage of wood,
but the billets, which had evidently been
littered over the floor, were now piled at the
sides, so as to leave a clear space in the
middle. In this space lay a large and heavy
flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre
to which a thick shepherd`s-check muffler was
attached.
"`By Jove!` cried my client. `That`s
Brunton`s muffler. I have seen it on him, and
could swear to it. What has the villain been
doing here?`
"At my suggestion a couple of the county
police were summoned to be present, and I then
endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the
cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it
was with the aid of one of the constables that I
succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A
black hole yawned beneath into which we all
peered, while Musgrave, kneeling at the side,
pushed down the lantern.
"A small chamber about seven feet deep and
four feet square lay open to us. At one side of
this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the
lid of which was hinged upwards, with this
curious old-fashioned key projecting from the
lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of
dust, and damp and worms had eaten through the
wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing
on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old
coins apparently, such as I hold here, were
scattered over the bottom of the box, but it
contained nothing else.
"At the moment, however, we had no thought
for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted
upon that which crouched beside it. It was the
figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who
squatted down upon him hams with his forehead
sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms
thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had
drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no
man could have recognized that distorted
liver-colored countenance; but his height, his
dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show
my client, when we had drawn the body up, that
it was indeed his missing butler. He had been
dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise
upon his person to show how he had met his
dreadful end. When his body had been carried
from the cellar we found ourselves still
confronted with a problem which was almost as
formidable as that with which we had started.
"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been
disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned
upon solving the matter when once I had found
the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I
was there, and was apparently as far as ever
from knowing what it was which the family had
concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is
true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of
Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that
fate had come upon him, and what part had been
played in the matter by the woman who had
disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner
and thought the whole matter carefully over.
"You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I
put myself in the man`s place and, having first
gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I
should myself have proceeded under the same
circumstances. In this case the matter was
simplified by Brunton`s intelligence being quite
first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make
any allowance for the personal equation, as the
astronomers have dubbed it. He know that
something valuable was concealed. He had spotted
the place. He found that the stone which covered
it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided.
What would he do next? He could not get help
from outside, even if he had some one whom he
could trust, without the unbarring of doors and
considerable risk of detection. It was better,
if he could, to have his helpmate inside the
house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been
devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to
realize that he may have finally lost a woman`s
love, however badly he may have treated her. He
would try by a few attentions to make his peace
with the girl Howells, and then would engage her
as his accomplice. Together they would come at
night to the cellar, and their united force
would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could
follow their actions as if I had actually seen
them.
"But for two of them, and one a woman, it
must have been heavy work the raising of that
stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found
it no light job. What would they do to assist
them? Probably what I should have done myself. I
rose and examined carefully the different
billets of wood which were scattered round the
floor. Almost at once I came upon what I
expected. One piece, about three feet in length,
had a very marked indentation at one end, while
several were flattened at the sides as if they
had been compressed by some considerable weight.
Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they
had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink,
until at last, when the opening was large enough
to crawl through, they would hold it open by a
billet placed lengthwise, which might very well
become indented at the lower end, since the
whole weight of the stone would press it down on
to the edge of this other slab. So far I was
still on safe ground.
"And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct
this midnight drama? Clearly, only one could fit
into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The
girl must have waited above. Brunton then
unlocked the box, handed up the contents
presumably--since they were not to be found--and
then--and then what happened?
"What smouldering fire of vengeance had
suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate
Celtic woman`s soul when she saw the man who had
wronged her--wronged her, perhaps, far more than
we suspected--in her power? Was it a chance that
the wood had slipped, and that the stone had
shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre?
Had she only been guilty of silence as to his
fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand
dashed the support away and sent the slab
crashing down into its place? Be that as it
might, I seemed to see that woman`s figure still
clutching at her treasure trove and flying
wildly up the winding stair, with her ears
ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from
behind her and with the drumming of frenzied
hands against the slab of stone which was
choking her faithless lover`s life out.
"Here was the secret of her blanched face,
her shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical
laughter on the next morning. But what had been
in the box? What had she done with that? Of
course, it must have been the old metal and
pebbles which my client had dragged from the
mere. She had thrown them in there at the first
opportunity to remove the last trace of her
crime.
"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless,
thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood
with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and
peering down into the hole.
"`These are coins of Charles the First,` said
he, holding out the few which had been in the
box; `you see we were right in fixing our date
for the Ritual.`
"`We may find something else of Charles the
First,` I cried, as the probable meaning of the
first two question of the Ritual broke suddenly
upon me. `Let me see the contents of the bag
which you fished from the mere.`
"We ascended to his study, and he laid the
debris before me. I could understand his
regarding it as of small importance when I
looked at it, for the metal was almost black and
the stones lustreless and dull. I rubbed one of
them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed
afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my
hand. The metal work was in the form of a double
ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of
its original shape.
"`You must bear in mind,` said I, `that the
royal party made head in England even after the
death of the king, and that when they at last
fled they probably left many of their most
precious possessions buried behind them, with
the intention of returning for them in more
peaceful times.`
"`My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, as a
prominent Cavalier and the right-hand man of
Charles the Second in his wanderings,` said my
friend.
"`Ah, indeed!` I answered. `Well now, I think
that really should give us the last link that we
wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into
the possession, though in rather a tragic manner
of a relic which is of great intrinsic value,
but of even greater importance as an historical
curiosity.`
"`What is it, then?` he gasped in
astonishment.
"`It is nothing less than the ancient crown
of the kings of England.`
"`The crown!`
"`Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says:
How does it run? "Whose was it?" "His who is
gone." That was after the execution of Charles.
Then, "Who shall have it?" "He who will come."
That was Charles the Second, whose advent was
already foreseen. There can, I think, be no
doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem
once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.`
"`And how came it in the pond?`
"`Ah, that is a question that will take some
time to answer.` And with that I sketched out to
him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof
which I had constructed. The twilight had closed
in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky
before my narrative was finished.
"`And how was it then that Charles did not
get his crown when he returned?` asked Musgrave,
pushing back the relic into its linen bag.
"`Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one
point which we shall probably never be able to
clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who
held the secret died in the interval, and by
some oversight left this guide to his descendant
without explaining the meaning of it. From that
day to this it has been handed down from father
to son, until at last it came within reach of a
man who tore its secret out of it and lost his
life in the venture.`
"And that`s the story of the Musgrave
Ritual, Watson. They have the crown down at
Hurlstone--though they had some legal bother and
a considerable sum to pay before they were
allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you
mentioned my name they would be happy to show it
to you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and
the probability is that she got away out of
England and carried herself and the memory of
her crime to some land beyond the seas." |
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Adventure VI
The Reigate Puzzle
It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes
recovered from the strain caused by his immense
exertions in the spring of `87. The whole
question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and
of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are
too recent in the minds of the public, and are
too intimately concerned with politics and
finance to be fitting subjects for this series
of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect
fashion to a singular and complex problem which
gave my friend an opportunity of demonstrating
the value of a fresh weapon among the many with
which he waged his life-long battle against
crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was
upon the 14th of April that I received a
telegram from Lyons which informed me that
Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within
twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and
was relieved to find that there was nothing
formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron
constitution, however, had broken down under the
strain of an investigation which had extended
over two months, during which period he had
never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and
had more than once, as he assured me, kept to
his task for five days at a stretch. Even the
triumphant issue of his labors could not save
him from reaction after so terrible an exertion,
and at a time when Europe was ringing with his
name and when his room was literally ankle-deep
with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey
to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge
that he had succeeded where the police of three
countries had failed, and that he had
outmanoeuvred at every point the most
accomplished swindler in Europe, was
insufficient to rouse him from his nervous
prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street
together; but it was evident that my friend
would be much the better for a change, and the
thought of a week of spring time in the country
was full of attractions to me also. My old
friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my
professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken
a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had
frequently asked me to come down to him upon a
visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that
if my friend would only come with me he would be
glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A
little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes
understood that the establishment was a bachelor
one, and that he would be allowed the fullest
freedom, he fell in with my plans and a week
after our return from Lyons we were under the
Colonel`s roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier
who had seen much of the world, and he soon
found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he had
much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting
in the Colonel`s gun-room after dinner, Holmes
stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I
looked over his little armory of Eastern
weapons.
"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I`ll
take one of these pistols upstairs with me in
case we have an alarm."
"An alarm!" said I.
"Yes, we`ve had a scare in this part lately.
Old Acton, who is one of our county magnates,
had his house broken into last Monday. No great
damage done, but the fellows are still at
large."
"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at
the Colonel.
"None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one,
one of our little country crimes, which must
seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes,
after this great international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his
smile showed that it had pleased him.
"Was there any feature of interest?"
"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the
library and got very little for their pains. The
whole place was turned upside down, drawers
burst open, and presses ransacked, with the
result that an odd volume of Pope`s `Homer,` two
plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a
small oak barometer, and a ball of twine are all
that have vanished."
"What an extraordinary assortment!" I
exclaimed.
"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of
everything they could get."
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
"The county police ought to make something of
that," said he; "why, it is surely obvious
that--"
But I held up a warning finger.
"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For
Heaven`s sake don`t get started on a new problem
when your nerves are all in shreds."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance
of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and
the talk drifted away into less dangerous
channels.
It was destined, however, that all my
professional caution should be wasted, for next
morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in
such a way that it was impossible to ignore it,
and our country visit took a turn which neither
of us could have anticipated. We were at
breakfast when the Colonel`s butler rushed in
with all his propriety shaken out of him.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped.
"At the Cunningham`s sir!"
"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his
coffee-cup in mid-air.
"Murder!"
The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he.
"Who`s killed, then? The J.P. or his son?"
"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman.
Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke
again."
"Who shot him, then?"
"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and
got clean away. He`d just broke in at the pantry
window when William came on him and met his end
in saving his master`s property."
"What time?"
"It was last night, sir, somewhere about
twelve."
"Ah, then, we`ll step over afterwards," said
the Colonel, coolly settling down to his
breakfast again. "It`s a baddish business," he
added when the butler had gone; "he`s our
leading man about here, is old Cunningham, and a
very decent fellow too. He`ll be cut up over
this, for the man has been in his service for
years and was a good servant. It`s evidently the
same villains who broke into Acton`s."
"And stole that very singular collection,"
said Holmes, thoughtfully.
"Precisely."
"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the
world, but all the same at first glance this is
just a little curious, is it not? A gang of
burglars acting in the country might be expected
to vary the scene of their operations, and not
to crack two cribs in the same district within a
few days. When you spoke last night of taking
precautions I remember that it passed through my
mind that this was probably the last parish in
England to which the thief or thieves would be
likely to turn their attention--which shows that
I have still much to learn."
"I fancy it`s some local practitioner," said
the Colonel. "In that case, of course, Acton`s
and Cunningham`s are just the places he would go
for, since they are far the largest about here."
"And richest?"
"Well, they ought to be, but they`ve had a
lawsuit for some years which has sucked the
blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton
has some claim on half Cunningham`s estate, and
the lawyers have been at it with both hands."
"If it`s a local villain there should not be
much difficulty in running him down," said
Holmes with a yawn. "All right, Watson, I don`t
intend to meddle."
"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler,
throwing open the door.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young
fellow, stepped into the room. "Good-morning,
Colonel," said he; "I hope I don`t intrude, but
we hear that Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is
here."
The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend,
and the Inspector bowed.
"We thought that perhaps you would care to
step across, Mr. Holmes."
"The fates are against you, Watson," said he,
laughing. "We were chatting about the matter
when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can let
us have a few details." As he leaned back in his
chair in the familiar attitude I knew that the
case was hopeless.
"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here
we have plenty to go on, and there`s no doubt it
is the same party in each case. The man was
seen."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after
the shot that killed poor William Kirwan was
fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom
window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the
back passage. It was quarter to twelve when the
alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got
into bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his
dressing-gown. They both heard William the
coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran down
to see what was the matter. The back door was
open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs
he saw two men wrestling together outside. One
of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the
murderer rushed across the garden and over the
hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his
bedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the road,
but lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped
to see if he could help the dying man, and so
the villain got clean away. Beyond the fact that
he was a middle-sized man and dressed in some
dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are
making energetic inquiries, and if he is a
stranger we shall soon find him out."
"What was this William doing there? Did he
say anything before he died?"
"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his
mother, and as he was a very faithful fellow we
imagine that he walked up to the house with the
intention of seeing that all was right there. Of
course this Acton business has put every one on
their guard. The robber must have just burst
open the door--the lock has been forced--when
William came upon him."
"Did William say anything to his mother
before going out?"
"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no
information from her. The shock has made her
half-witted, but I understand that she was never
very bright. There is one very important
circumstance, however. Look at this!"
He took a small piece of torn paper from a
note-book and spread it out upon his knee.
"This was found between the finger and thumb
of the dead man. It appears to be a fragment
torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that
the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at
which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that
his murderer might have torn the rest of the
sheet from him or he might have taken this
fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as
though it were an appointment."
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a
fac-simile of which is here reproduced.
d at quarter to twelve learn what maybe
"Presuming that it is an appointment,"
continued the Inspector, "it is of course a
conceivable theory that this William
Kirwan--though he had the reputation of being an
honest man, may have been in league with the
thief. He may have met him there, may even have
helped him to break in the door, and then they
may have fallen out between themselves."
"This writing is of extraordinary interest,"
said Holmes, who had been examining it with
intense concentration. "These are much deeper
waters than I had though." He sank his head upon
his hands, while the Inspector smiled at the
effect which his case had had upon the famous
London specialist.
"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently,
"as to the possibility of there being an
understanding between the burglar and the
servant, and this being a note of appointment
from one to the other, is an ingenious and not
entirely impossible supposition. But this
writing opens up--" He sank his head into his
hands again and remained for some minutes in the
deepest thought. When he raised his face again,
I was surprised to see that his cheek was tinged
with color, and his eyes as bright as before his
illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old
energy.
"I`ll tell you what," said he, "I should like
to have a quiet little glance into the details
of this case. There is something in it which
fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me,
Colonel, I will leave my friend Watson and you,
and I will step round with the Inspector to test
the truth of one or two little fancies of mine.
I will be with you again in half an hour."
An hour and half had elapsed before the
Inspector returned alone.
"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the
field outside," said he. "He wants us all four
to go up to the house together."
"To Mr. Cunningham`s?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I
don`t quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I
think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over his
illness yet. He`s been behaving very queerly,
and he is very much excited."
"I don`t think you need alarm yourself," said
I. "I have usually found that there was method
in his madness."
"Some folks might say there was madness in
his method," muttered the Inspector. "But he`s
all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go
out if you are ready."
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the
field, his chin sunk upon his breast, and his
hands thrust into his trousers pockets.
"The matter grows in interest," said he.
"Watson, your country-trip has been a distinct
success. I have had a charming morning."
"You have been up to the scene of the crime,
I understand," said the Colonel.
"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a
little reconnaissance together."
"Any success?"
"Well, we have seen some very interesting
things. I`ll tell you what we did as we walk.
First of all, we saw the body of this
unfortunate man. He certainly died from a
revolved wound as reported."
"Had you doubted it, then?"
"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our
inspection was not wasted. We then had an
interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who
were able to point out the exact spot where the
murderer had broken through the garden-hedge in
his flight. That was of great interest."
"Naturally."
"Then we had a look at this poor fellow`s
mother. We could get no information from her,
however, as she is very old and feeble."
"And what is the result of your
investigations?"
"The conviction that the crime is a very
peculiar one. Perhaps our visit now may do
something to make it less obscure. I think that
we are both agreed, Inspector that the fragment
of paper in the dead man`s hand, bearing, as it
does, the very hour of his death written upon
it, is of extreme importance."
"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note
was the man who brought William Kirwan out of
his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of
that sheet of paper?"
"I examined the ground carefully in the hope
of finding it," said the Inspector.
"It was torn out of the dead man`s hand. Why
was some one so anxious to get possession of it?
Because it incriminated him. And what would he
do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most
likely, never noticing that a corner of it had
been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could
get the rest of that sheet it is obvious that we
should have gone a long way towards solving the
mystery."
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal`s
pocket before we catch the criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then
there is another obvious point. The note was
sent to William. The man who wrote it could not
have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might
have delivered his own message by word of mouth.
Who brought the note, then? Or did it come
through the post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector.
"William received a letter by the afternoon post
yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the
Inspector on the back. "You`ve seen the postman.
It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is
the lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I
will show you the scene of the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the
murdered man had lived, and walked up an
oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne
house, which bears the date of Malplaquet upon
the lintel of the door. Holmes and the Inspector
led us round it until we came to the side gate,
which is separated by a stretch of garden from
the hedge which lines the road. A constable was
standing at the kitchen door.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes.
"Now, it was on those stairs that young Mr.
Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling
just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at
that window--the second on the left--and he saw
the fellow get away just to the left of that
bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside the
wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see,
and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke
two men came down the garden path, from round
the angle of the house. The one was an elderly
man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face;
the other a dashing young fellow, whose bright,
smiling expression and showy dress were in
strange contract with the business which had
brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I
thought you Londoners were never at fault. You
don`t seem to be so very quick, after all."
"Ah, you must give us a little time," said
Holmes good-humoredly.
"You`ll want it," said young Alec Cunningham.
"Why, I don`t see that we have any clue at all."
"There`s only one," answered the Inspector.
"We thought that if we could only find--Good
heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is the matter?"
My poor friend`s face had suddenly assumed
the most dreadful expression. His eyes rolled
upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with
a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon
the ground. Horrified at the suddenness and
severity of the attack, we carried him into the
kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair, and
breathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with
a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose
once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just
recovered from a severe illness," he explained.
"I am liable to these sudden nervous attacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old
Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on
which I should like to feel sure. We can very
easily verify it."
"What was it?"
"Well, it seems to me that it is just
possible that the arrival of this poor fellow
William was not before, but after, the entrance
of the burglary into the house. You appear to
take it for granted that, although the door was
forced, the robber never got in."
"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr.
Cunningham, gravely. "Why, my son Alec had not
yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have
heard any one moving about."
"Where was he sitting?"
"I was smoking in my dressing-room."
"Which window is that?"
"The last on the left next my father`s."
"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"
"Undoubtedly."
"There are some very singular points here,"
said Holmes, smiling. "Is it not extraordinary
that a burglary--and a burglar who had had some
previous experience--should deliberately break
into a house at a time when he could see from
the lights that two of the family were still
afoot?"
"He must have been a cool hand."
"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd
one we should not have been driven to ask you
for an explanation," said young Mr. Alec. "But
as to your ideas that the man had robbed the
house before William tackled him, I think it a
most absurd notion. Wouldn`t we have found the
place disarranged, and missed the things which
he had taken?"
"It depends on what the things were," said
Holmes. "You must remember that we are dealing
with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow,
and who appears to work on lines of his own.
Look, for example, at the queer lot of things
which he took from Acton`s--what was it?--a ball
of string, a letter-weight, and I don`t know
what other odds and ends."
"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr.
Holmes," said old Cunningham. "Anything which
you or the Inspector may suggest will most
certainly be done."
"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should
like you to offer a reward--coming from
yourself, for the officials may take a little
time before they would agree upon the sum, and
these things cannot be done too promptly. I have
jotted down the form here, if you would not mind
signing it. Fifty pound was quite enough, I
thought."
"I would willingly give five hundred," said
the J.P., taking the slip of paper and the
pencil which Holmes handed to him. "This is not
quite correct, however," he added, glancing over
the document.
"I wrote it rather hurriedly."
"You see you begin, `Whereas, at about a
quarter to one on Tuesday morning an attempt was
made,` and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve,
as a matter of fact."
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how
keenly Holmes would feel any slip of the kind.
It was his specialty to be accurate as to fact,
but his recent illness had shaken him, and this
one little incident was enough to show me that
he was still far from being himself. He was
obviously embarrassed for an instant, while the
Inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec
Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman
corrected the mistake, however, and handed the
paper back to Holmes.
"Get it printed as soon as possible," he
said; "I think your idea is an excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of | | | |