
 Camden House 
THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES 
[ CONTENTS ] [ THE BEST OF ] 
The Sherlock Holmes stories are illustrated with artwork by Sidney Paget, Richard 
Gutschmidt, Frank Wiles, Frederic Dorr Steele and other artists. Explanatory notes will be 
added eventually, but as this will be a long-term project, your patience is requested. 
The page numbers (seen here as links; in the text in brackets) refer to the relevant pages 
in The Complete Sherlock Holmes published by Doubleday / Penguin Books. 
CONTENTS 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 
Part 1: Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D., Late of the Army 
Medical Department 
1. Mr. Sherlock Holmes 15 
2. The Science of Deduction 19 
3. The Lauriston Garden Mystery 25 
4. What John Rance Had to Tell 32 
5. Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor 36 
6. Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do 41 
7. Light in the Darkness 46 
Part 2: The Country of the Saints 
1. On the Great Alkali Plain 52 
2. The Flower of Utah 58 
3. John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet 62 
4. A Flight for Life 65 
5. The Avenging Angels 71 
6. A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D. 76 
7. The Conclusion 83 
THE SIGN OF FOUR 
1. The Science of Deduction 89 
2. The Statement of the Case 94 

3. In Quest of a Solution 97 
4. The Story of the Bald-headed Man 100 
5. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge 106 
6. Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstartion 110 
7. The Episode of the Barrel 115 
8. The Baker Street Irregulars 122 
9. A Break in the Chain 128 
10. The End of the Islander 134 
11. The Great Agra Treasure 139 
12. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small 143 
ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES 
A Scandal in Bohemia 161 
The Red-headed League 176 
A Case of Identity 190 
The Boscombe Valley Mystery 202 
The Five Orange Pips 217 
The Man with the Twisted Lip 229 
The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle 244 
The Adventure of the Speckled Band 257 
The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb 273 
The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor 287 
The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet 301 
The Adventure of the Copper Beeches 316 
MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES 
Silver Blaze 335 
The Yellow Face 350 
The Stock-brokers Clerk 362 
The Gloria Scott 373 
The Musgrave Ritual 386 
The Reigate Puzzle 398 
The Crooked Man 411 
The Resident Patient 422 
The Greek Interpreter 435 

The Naval Treaty 447 
The Final Problem 469 
THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES 
The Adventure of the Empty House 483 
The Adventure of the Norwood Builder 496 
The Adventure of the Dancing Men 511 
The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist 526 
The Adventure of the Priory School 538 
The Adventure of Black Peter 558 
The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton 572 
The Adventure of the Six Napoleons 582 
The Adventure of the Three Students 596 
The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez 607 
The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 622 
The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 635 
The Adventure of the Second Stain 650 
THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES 
1. Mr. Sherlock Holmes 669 
2. The Curse of the Baskervilles 673 
3. The Problem 679 
4. Sir Henry Baskerville 685 
5. Three Broken Threads 692 
6. Baskerville Hall 698 
7. The Stapletons of the Merripit House 704 
8. First Report of Dr. Watson 712 
9. Second Report of Dr. Watson 716 
10. Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson 726 
11. The Man on the Tor 732 
12. Death on the Moor 740 
13. Fixing the Nets 747 
14. The Hound of the Baskervilles 754 
15. A Retrospection 761 

THE VALLEY OF FEAR 
Part 1: The Tragedy of Birlstone 
1. The Warning 769 
2. Sherlock Holmes Discourses 774 
3. The Tragedy of Birlstone 779 
4. Darkness 784 
5. The People of the Drama 791 
6. A Dawning Light 798 
7. The Solution 806 
Part 2: The Scowres 
1. The Man 815 
2. The Bodymaster 820 
3. Lodge 341, Vermissa 830 
4. The Valley of Fear 839 
5. The Darkest Hour 846 
6. Danger 853 
7. The Trapping of Biry Edwards 859 
Epilogue 865 
HIS LAST BOW 
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge 
1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles 869 
2. The Tiger of San Pedro 877 
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 888 
The Adventure of the Red Circle 901 
The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans 913 
The Adventure of the Dying Detective 932 
The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 942 
The Adventure of the Devils Foot 954 
His Last Bow 970 
THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES 

The Adventure of the Illustrious Client 984 
The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier 1000 
The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone 1012 
The Adventure of the Three Gables 1023 
The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 1033 
The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 1044 
The Problem of Thor Bridge 1054 
The Adventure of the Creeping Man 1070 
The Adventure of the Lions Mane 1083 
The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger 1095 
The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 1102 
The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 1113 
THE BEST OF SHERLOCK HOLMES 
There are two famous lists of favourite storiesArthur Conan Doyles own list from 
March 1927, and the list published in 1959 in the Baker Street Journal: 
CONAN DOYLES LIST BAKER STREET JOURNAL 
The Speckled Band 1 The Speckled Band 
The Red-Headed League 2 The Red-Headed League 
The Dancing Men 3 The Blue Carbuncle 
The Final Problem 4 Silver Blaze 
A Scandal in Bohemia 5 A Scandal in Bohemia 
The Empty House 6 The Musgrave Ritual 
The Five Orange Pips 7 The Bruce-Partington Plans 
The Second Stain 8 The Six Napoleons 
The Devil's Foot 9 The Dancing Men 
The Priory School 10 The Empty House 
The Musgrave Ritual 11 
The Reigate Squires 12 
Nancy Blakestad & 
David Soucek, 1998 

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The Complete Sherlock Holmes 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 
First edition, 1887 
PART I: 
Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John Watson, M.D., Late of 
the Army Medical Department 
Chapter 1. Mr. Sherlock Holmes 
Chapter 2. The Science of Deduction 
Chapter 3. The Lauriston Garden Mystery 
Chapter 4. What John Rance Had to Tell 
Chapter 5. Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor 
Chapter 6. Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do 
Chapter 7. Light in the Darkness 
PART II: 
The Country of the Saints 
Chapter 1. On the Great Alkali Plain 
Chapter 2. The Flower of Utah 

Chapter 3. John Ferrier Talks with the Prophet 
Chapter 4. A Flight for Life 
Chapter 5. The Avenging Angels 
Chapter 6. A Continuation of the Reminiscences of John 
Watson, M.D. 
Chapter 7. The Conclusion 
First published in Nov. 1887 as the main part of Beetons Christmas Annual. First 
book edition by Ward, Lock & Co. in July 1888 with illustrations by Charles Doyle, 
father of ACD. The second edition (1889) was illustrated by George Hutchinson. C 
The first American edition published by J. B. Lippincott Co. in 1890. 
First book edition, 1888 
Second book edition, 1889 

A Study in Scarlet 
PART 1 
BEING A REPRINT FROM THE REMINISCENCES OF 
JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., 
LATE OF THE ARMY MEDICAL DEPARTMENT 
Chapter 1 

MR. SHERLOCK HOLMESIN THE YEAR 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of theUniversity of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the courseprescribed for surgeons in the Army. Having completed my studies there,I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as assistantsurgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before Icould join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing atBombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, andwas already deep in the enemys country. I followed, however, with manyother officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded inreaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at onceentered upon my new duties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me ithad nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigadeand attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle ofMaiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, whichshattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have falleninto the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotionand courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a packhorse,and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.
Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I hadundergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to thebase hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved so faras to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon theveranda, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indianpossessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I cameto myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that amedical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending meback to England. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes,and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievablyruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the nextnine months in attempting to improve it.
I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as airCoras free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit aman to be. Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to London,that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire areirresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in theStrand, leading a comfortless, [16] meaningless existence, and spendingsuch money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarmingdid the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must eitherleave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that Imust make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latteralternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and take upmy quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing atthe Criterion Bar, when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turninground I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me atBarts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is apleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had neverbeen a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm,and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberanceof my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we startedoff together in a hansom.
Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson? he asked inundisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets.
You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.
I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concludedit by the time that we reached our destination.
Poor devil! he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to mymisfortunes. What are you up to now?
Looking for lodgings, I answered. Trying to solve the problem as towhether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.
Thats a strange thing, remarked my companion; you are the secondman to-day that has used that expression to me.
And who was the first? I asked.
A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital.
He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not getsomeone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found,and which were too much for his purse.
By Jove! I cried; if he really wants someone to share the rooms andthe expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partnerto being alone.
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wineglass.
You dont know Sherlock Holmes yet, he said; perhaps you would notcare for him as a constant companion.
Why, what is there against him?
Oh, I didnt say there was anything against him. He is a little queer inhis ideasCan enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know heis a decent fellow enough.
A medical student, I suppose? said I.
NoCI have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well upin anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he hasnever taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are verydesultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-wayknowledge which would astonish his professors.
Did you never ask him what he was going in for? I asked.
No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can becommunicative enough when the fancy seizes him.
I should like to meet him, I said. If I am to lodge with anyone, Ishould [17] prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strongenough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both inAfghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. Howcould I meet this friend of yours?
He is sure to be at the laboratory, returned my companion. He eitheravoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning till night.
If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon.
Certainly, I answered, and the conversation drifted away into otherchannels.
As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn,Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom Iproposed to take as a fellow-lodger.
You mustnt blame me if you dont get on with him, he said; I knownothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionallyin the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not holdme responsible.
If we dont get on it will be easy to part company, I answered. Itseems to me, Stamford, I added, looking hard at my companion, thatyou have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is thisfellows temper so formidable, or what is it? Dont be mealymouthedabout it.
It is not easy to express the inexpressible, he answered with a laugh.
Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastesCit approaches to coldbloodedness.
I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latestvegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simplyout of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects.
To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the samereadiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge.
Very right too.
Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating thesubjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather abizarre shape.
Beating the subjects!
Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw himat it with my own eyes.
And yet you say he is not a medical student?
No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here weare, and you must form your own impressions about him. As he spoke,we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door,which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground tome, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase andmade our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed walland dun-coloured doors. Near the farther end a low arched passagebranched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.
This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles.
Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, testtubes,and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. Therewas only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant tableabsorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round andsprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. Ive found it! Ive found it, heshouted to my companion, running towards us with a test-tube in hishand. I have found a re-agent which is precipitated by haemoglobin, andby nothing else. Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight couldnot have shone upon his features.
Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said Stamford, introducing us.
How are you? he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength forwhich [18] I should hardly have given him credit. You have been inAfghanistan, I perceive.
How on earth did you know that? I asked in astonishment.
Never mind, said he, chuckling to himself. The question now isabout haemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discoveryof mine?
It is interesting, chemically, no doubt, I answered, but practicallyC C
Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years.
Dont you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains? Comeover here now! He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, anddrew me over to the table at which he had been working. Let us havesome fresh blood, he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, anddrawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. Now, I addthis small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that theresulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion ofblood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however,that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction. As he spoke, hethrew into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of atransparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahoganycolour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.
Ha! ha! he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as achild with a new toy. What do you think of that?
It seems to be a very delicate test, I remarked.
Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test was very clumsy anduncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. Thelatter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears toact as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented,there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long agohave paid the penalty of their crimes.
Indeed! I murmured.
Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man issuspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. Hislinen or clothes are examined and brownish stains discovered upon them.
Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or whatare they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why?
Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmesstest, and there will no longer be any difficulty.
His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heartand bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by hisimagination.
You are to be congratulated, I remarked, considerably surprised at hisenthusiasm.
There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He wouldcertainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there wasMason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier,and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which itwould have been decisive.
You seem to be a walking calendar of crime, said Stamford with alaugh. You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the Police News ofthe Past.
Very interesting reading it might be made, too, remarked SherlockHolmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. Ihave to be careful, he continued, turning to me with a smile, for Idabble with poisons a good deal. He held out his hand as he spoke, and Inoticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, anddiscoloured with strong acids.
We came here on business, said Stamford, sitting down on a highthree-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot.
My friend [19] here wants to take diggings; and as you were complainingthat you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had betterbring you together.
Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his roomswith me. I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street, he said, whichwould suit us down to the ground. You dont mind the smell of strongtobacco, I hope?
I always smoke ships myself, I answered.
Thats good enough. I generally have chemicals about, andoccasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?
By no means.
Let me seeCwhat are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps attimes, and dont open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I amsulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and Ill soon be right. What haveyou to confess now? Its just as well for two fellows to know the worst ofone another before they begin to live together.
I laughed at this cross-examination. I keep a bull pup, I said, and Iobject to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts ofungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices whenIm well, but those are the principal ones at present.
Do you include violin playing in your category of rows? he asked,anxiously.
It depends on the player, I answered. A well-played violin is a treatfor the godsCa badly played oneC C
Oh, thats all right, he cried, with a merry laugh. I think we mayconsider the thing as settledCthat is, if the rooms are agreeable to you.
When shall we see them?
Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and well go together and settleeverything, he answered.
All rightCnoon exactly, said I, shaking his hand. We left him workingamong his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel.
By the way, I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford,how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?
My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. Thats just his littlepeculiarity, he said. A good many people have wanted to know how hefinds things out.
Oh! a mystery is it? I cried, rubbing my hands. This is very piquant.
I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. The proper study ofmankind is man, you know.
You must study him, then, Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye.
Youll find him a knotty problem, though. Ill wager he learns moreabout you than you about him. Good-bye.
Good-bye, I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerablyinterested in my new acquaintance.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 2A Study in ScarletChapter 2THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTIONWE MET next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No.
221B, Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. Theyconsisted of a couple of [20] comfortable bedrooms and a single large airysitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broadwindows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and somoderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargainwas concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession.
That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on thefollowing morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes andportmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpackingand laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, wegradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our newsurroundings.
Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet inhis ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after tenat night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose inthe morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory,sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, whichappeared to take him into the lowest portions of the city. Nothing couldexceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and againa reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon thesofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle frommorning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy,vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of beingaddicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance andcleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.
As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to hisaims in life gradually deepened and increased. His very person andappearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casualobserver. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively leanthat he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp andpiercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertnessand decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness whichmark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted withink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinarydelicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watchedhim manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.
The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confesshow much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavouredto break through the reticence which he showed on all that concernedhimself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered howobjectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention.
My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather wasexceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me andbreak the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, Ieagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, andspent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it.
He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question,confirmed Stamfords opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear tohave pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree inscience or any other recognized portal which would give him an entranceinto the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable,and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ampleand minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no manwould work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had somedefinite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom [21] remarkable for theexactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small mattersunless he has some very good reason for doing so.
His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporaryliterature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing.
Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who hemight be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however,when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theoryand of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized humanbeing in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earthtravelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary factthat I could hardly realize it.
You appear to be astonished, he said, smiling at my expression ofsurprise. Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.
To forget it!
You see, he explained, I consider that a mans brain originally islike a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as youchoose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across,so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, orat best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficultyin laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very carefulindeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing butthe tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has alarge assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to thinkthat that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent.
Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledgeyou forget something that you knew before. It is of the highestimportance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the usefulones.
But the Solar System! I protested.
What the deuce is it to me? he interrupted impatiently: you say thatwe go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make apennyworth of difference to me or to my work.
I was on the point of asking him what that work might be, butsomething in his manner showed me that the question would be anunwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation, however, andendeavoured to draw my deductions from it. He said that he wouldacquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. Therefore allthe knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. Ienumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he hadshown me that he was exceptionally well informed. I even took a penciland jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when Ihad completed it. It ran in this way:
Sherlock HolmesChis limits1. Knowledge of Literature.CNil.
2.   Philosophy.CNil.
3.   Astronomy.CNil.
4.   Politics.CFeeble.
5.   Botany.CVariable. Well up in belladonna, opium,and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening.
6. Knowledge of Geology.CPractical, but limited. Tells at a glancedifferent soils from each other. After walks has [22] shown mesplashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour andconsistence in what part of London he had received them.
7. Knowledge of Chemistry.CProfound.
8.   Anatomy.CAccurate, but unsystematic.
9.   Sensational Literature.CImmense. He appears toknow every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century.
10. Plays the violin well.
11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman.
12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law.
When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair. If Ican only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all theseaccomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all, I saidto myself, I may as well give up the attempt at once.
I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. Thesewere very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments.
That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because atmy request he has played me some of Mendelssohns Lieder, and otherfavourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce anymusic or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his armchair of anevening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle whichwas thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous andmelancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly theyreflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aidedthose thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim orfancy, was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled againstthese exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated themby playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as aslight compensation for the trial upon my patience.
During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to thinkthat my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently,however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the mostdifferent classes of society. There was one little sallow, rat-faced, darkeyedfellow, who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who camethree or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called,fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The sameafternoon brought a gray-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jewpeddler, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closelyfollowed by a slipshod elderly woman. On another occasion an old whitehairedgentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another, arailway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these nondescriptindividuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the useof the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bedroom. He alwaysapologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. I have to use thisroom as a place of business, he said, and these people are my clients.
Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point-blank question, andagain my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to confide inme. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alludingto it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of hisown accord.
It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that Irose [23] somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmeshad not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become soaccustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor mycoffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang thebell and gave a curt intimation that I was ready. Then I picked up amagazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it,while my companion munched silently at his toast. One of the articles hada pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye throughit.
Its somewhat ambitious title was The Book of Life, and it attemptedto show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate andsystematic examination of all that came in his way. It struck me as being aremarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning wasclose and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far fetched andexaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of amuscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a mans inmost thoughts. Deceit,according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one trained toobservation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so manypropositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to theuninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had arrived atthem they might well consider him as a necromancer.
From a drop of water, said the writer, a logician could infer thepossibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of oneor the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is knownwhenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Scienceof Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long andpatient study, nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain thehighest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mentalaspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let theinquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, onmeeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of theman, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such anexercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teachesone where to look and what to look for. By a mans finger-nails, by hiscoat-sleeve, by his boots, by his trouser-knees, by the callosities of hisforefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt-cuffsCby each ofthese things a mans calling is plainly revealed. That all united should failto enlighten the competent inquirer in any case is almost inconceivable.
What ineffable twaddle! I cried, slapping the magazine down on thetable; I never read such rubbish in my life.
What is it? asked Sherlock Holmes.
Why, this article, I said, pointing at it with my eggspoon as I satdown to my breakfast. I see that you have read it since you have markedit. I dont deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me, though. It isevidently the theory of some armchair lounger who evolves all these neatlittle paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not practical. Ishould like to see him clapped down in a third-class carriage on theUnderground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. Iwould lay a thousand to one against him.
You would lose your money, Holmes remarked calmly. As for thearticle, I wrote it myself.
You!
Yes; I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. The theorieswhich I have expressed there, and which appear to you to be sochimerical, are really [24] extremely practicalCso practical that I dependupon them for my bread and cheese.
And how? I asked involuntarily.
Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in theworld. Im a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Herein London we have lots of government detectives and lots of private ones.
When these fellows are at fault, they come to me, and I manage to putthem on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I amgenerally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to setthem straight. There is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, andif you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd ifyou cant unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-knowndetective. He got himself into a fog recently over a forgery case, and thatwas what brought him here.
And these other people?
They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are allpeople who are in trouble about something and want a little enlightening.
I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket myfee.
But do you mean to say, I said, that without leaving your room youcan unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, althoughthey have seen every detail for themselves?
Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a caseturns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about andsee things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledgewhich I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully.
Those rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused yourscorn are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation with me issecond nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our firstmeeting, that you had come from Afghanistan.
You were told, no doubt.
Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan. From longhabit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind that I arrived atthe conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There weresuch steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, Here is a gentleman of amedical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor,then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that isnot the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergonehardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm hasbeen injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in thetropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and gothis arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan. The whole train of thoughtdid not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came fromAfghanistan, and you were astonished.
It is simple enough as you explain it, I said, smiling. You remind meof Edgar Allan Poes Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did existoutside of stories.
Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. No doubt you think that you arecomplimenting me in comparing me to Dupin, he observed. Now, inmy opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his ofbreaking in on his friends thoughts with an apropos remark after aquarter of an hours silence is really very showy and superficial. He hadsome analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such aphenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine.
[25] Have you read Gaboriaus works? I asked. Does Lecoq come upto your idea of a detective?
Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. Lecoq was a miserablebungler, he said, in an angry voice; he had only one thing torecommend him, and that was his energy. That book made me positivelyill. The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could havedone it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might bemade a textbook for detectives to teach them what to avoid.
I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admiredtreated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window and stoodlooking out into the busy street. This fellow may be very clever, I saidto myself, but he is certainly very conceited.
There are no crimes and no criminals in these days, he said,querulously. What is the use of having brains in our profession? I knowwell that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or hasever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talentto the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? Thereis no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy with a motive sotransparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it.
I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought itbest to change the topic.
I wonder what that fellow is looking for? I asked, pointing to astalwart, plainly dressed individual who was walking slowly down theother side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a largeblue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message.
You mean the retired sergeant of Marines, said Sherlock Holmes.
Brag and bounce! thought I to myself. He knows that I cannot verifyhis guess.
The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whomwe were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidlyacross the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, andheavy steps ascending the stair.
For Mr. Sherlock Holmes, he said, stepping into the room andhanding my friend the letter.
Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He littlethought of this when he made that random shot. May I ask, my lad, Isaid, in the blandest voice, what your trade may be?
Commissionaire, sir, he said, gruffly. Uniform away for repairs.
And you were? I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at mycompanion.
A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. No answer? Right,sir.
He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in salute, and was gone.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 3A Study in ScarletChapter 3THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERYI CONFESS that I was considerably startled by this fresh proof of thepractical nature of my companions theories. My respect for his powers ofanalysis increased [26] wondrously. There still remained some lurkingsuspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was a prearrangedepisode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could havein taking me in was past my comprehension. When I looked at him, hehad finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lacklustreexpression which showed mental abstraction.
How in the world did you deduce that? I asked.
Deduce what? said he, petulantly.
Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Marines.
I have no time for trifles, he answered, brusquely; then with a smile,Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts; but perhapsit is as well. So you actually were not able to see that that man was asergeant of Marines?
No, indeed.
It was easier to know it than to explain why I know it. If you wereasked to prove that two and two made four, you might find somedifficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the street Icould see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellows hand.
That smacked of the sea. He had a military carriage, however, andregulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was a man withsome amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. You musthave observed the way in which he held his head and swung his cane. Asteady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of himCall factswhich led me to believe that he had been a sergeant.
Wonderful! I ejaculated.
Commonplace, said Holmes, though I thought from his expressionthat he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. I said justnow that there were no criminals. It appears that I am wrongClook atthis! He threw me over the note which the commissionaire had brought.
Why, I cried, as I cast my eye over it, this is terrible!
It does seem to be a little out of the common, he remarked, calmly.
Would you mind reading it to me aloud?
This is the letter which I read to him,CMY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
There has been a bad business during the night at 3, LauristonGardens, off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a lightthere about two in the morning, and as the house was an emptyone, suspected that something was amiss. He found the door open,and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered thebody of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in his pocketbearing the name of Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A.
There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how theman met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but thereis no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how he cameinto the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. If youcan come round to the house any time before twelve, you will findme there. I have left everything in statu quo until I hear from you.
If you are unable to come, I shall give you fuller details, andwould esteem it a great kindness if you would favour me with youropinions.
Yours faithfully,TOBIAS GREGSON.
Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders, my friend remarked;he [27] and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick andenergetic, but conventionalCshockingly so. They have their knives intoone another, too. They are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties.
There will be some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent.
I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. Surely there isnot a moment to be lost, I cried; shall I go and order you a cab?
Im not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazydevil that ever stood in shoe leatherCthat is, when the fit is on me, for Ican be spry enough at times.
Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for.
My dear fellow, what does it matter to me? Supposing I unravel thewhole matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. willpocket all the credit. That comes of being an unofficial personage.
But he begs you to help him.
Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; buthe would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person.
However, we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on myown hook. I may have a laugh at them, if I have nothing else. Come on!
He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed thatan energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.
Get your hat, he said.
You wish me to come?
Yes, if you have nothing better to do. A minute later we were both ina hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.
It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over thehousetops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath.
My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away aboutCremona fiddles and the difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati.
As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholybusiness upon which we were engaged depressed my spirits.
You dont seem to give much thought to the matter in hand, I said atlast, interrupting Holmess musical disquisition.
No data yet, he answered. It is a capital mistake to theorize beforeyou have all the evidence. It biases the judgment.
You will have your data soon, I remarked, pointing with my finger;this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house, if I am not very muchmistaken.
So it is. Stop, driver, stop! We were still a hundred yards or so fromit, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our journey uponfoot.
Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. Itwas one of four which stood back some little way from the street, twobeing occupied and two empty. The latter looked out with three tiers ofvacant melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that hereand there a To Let card had developed like a cataract upon the blearedpanes. A small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sicklyplants separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversedby a narrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of amixture of clay and of gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from therain which had fallen through the night. The garden was bounded by athree-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and againstthis wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a smallknot of loafers, [28] who craned their necks and strained their eyes in thevain hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within.
I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried intothe house and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared tobe further from his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under thecircumstances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged upand down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, theopposite houses and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, heproceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass whichflanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice hestopped, and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation ofsatisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayeysoil; but since the police had been coming and going over it, I was unableto see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it. Still I hadhad such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptivefaculties, that I had no doubt that he could see a great deal which washidden from me.
At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced, flaxenhairedman, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and wrungmy companions hand with effusion. It is indeed kind of you to come,
he said, I have had everything left untouched.
Except that! my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. If a herdof buffaloes had passed along, there could not be a greater mess. Nodoubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, beforeyou permitted this.
I have had so much to do inside the house, the detective saidevasively. My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him tolook after this.
Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. With twosuch men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not bemuch for a third party to find out, he said.
Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. I think we have doneall that can be done, he answered; its a queer case, though, and I knewyour taste for such things.
You did not come here in a cab? asked Sherlock Holmes.
No, sir.
Nor Lestrade?
No, sir.
Then let us go and look at the room. With which inconsequentremark he strode on into the house followed by Gregson, whose featuresexpressed his astonishment.
A short passage, bare-planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices.
Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of these hadobviously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the diningroom,which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair hadoccurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subduedfeeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires.
It was a large square room, looking all the larger from the absence ofall furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blotchedin places with mildew, and here and there great strips had becomedetached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Oppositethe door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitationwhite marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red waxcandle. The solitary window was so dirty that the [29] light was hazy anduncertain, giving a dull gray tinge to everything, which was intensified bythe thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment.
All these details I observed afterwards. At present my attention wascentred upon the single, grim, motionless figure which lay stretched uponthe boards, with vacant, sightless eyes staring up at the discolouredceiling. It was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age,middle-sized, broad-shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a short,stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat andwaistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs.
A top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him.
His hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lowerlimbs were interlocked, as though his death struggle had been a grievousone. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and, as itseemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon human features.
This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead,blunt nose, and prognathous jaw, gave the dead man a singularly simiousand ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnaturalposture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to mein a more fearsome aspect than in that dark, grimy apartment, whichlooked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban London.
Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the doorway, andgreeted my companion and myself.
This case will make a stir, sir, he remarked. It beats anything I haveseen, and I am no chicken.
There is no clue? said Gregson.
None at all, chimed in Lestrade.
Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down, examinedit intently. You are sure that there is no wound? he asked, pointing tonumerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round.
Positive! cried both detectives.
Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individualCpresumablythe murderer, if murder has been committed. It reminds me of thecircumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in theyear 34. Do you remember the case, Gregson?
No, sir.
Read it upCyou really should. There is nothing new under the sun. Ithas all been done before.
As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, andeverywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyeswore the same far-away expression which I have already remarked upon.
So swiftly was the examination made, that one would hardly haveguessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally, he sniffedthe dead mans lips, and then glanced at the soles of his patent leatherboots.
He has not been moved at all? he asked.
No more than was necessary for the purpose of our examination.
You can take him to the mortuary now, he said. There is nothingmore to be learned.
Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call they enteredthe room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. As they raised him,a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up andstared at it with mystified eyes.
[30] Theres been a woman here, he cried. Its a womans weddingring.
He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all gatheredround him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet ofplain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride.
This complicates matters, said Gregson. Heaven knows, they werecomplicated enough before.
Youre sure it doesnt simplify them? observed Holmes. Theresnothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?
We have it all here, said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects uponone of the bottom steps of the stairs. A gold watch, No. 97163, byBarraud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring,with masonic device. Gold pinCbull-dogs head, with rubies as eyes.
Russian leather cardcase, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland,corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose moneyto the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket edition of BoccacciosDecameron, with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the flyleaf. TwolettersCone addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson.
At what address?
American Exchange, StrandCto be left till called for. They are bothfrom the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to the sailing of their boatsfrom Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man was about to return toNew York.
Have you made any inquiries as to this man Stangerson?
I did it at once, sir, said Gregson. I have had advertisements sent toall the newspapers, and one of my men has gone to the AmericanExchange, but he has not returned yet.
Have you sent to Cleveland?
We telegraphed this morning.
How did you word your inquiries?
We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we should be gladof any information which could help us.
You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you tobe crucial?
I asked about Stangerson.
Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which this whole caseappears to hinge? Will you not telegraph again?
I have said all I have to say, said Gregson, in an offended voice.
Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about tomake some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room whilewe were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene,rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner.
Mr. Gregson, he said, I have just made a discovery of the highestimportance, and one which would have been overlooked had I not made acareful examination of the walls.
The little mans eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in astate of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against hiscolleague.
Come here, he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere ofwhich felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. Now, standthere!
He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall.
Look at that! he said, triumphantly.
I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In thisparticular corner [31] of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving ayellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there wasscrawled in blood-red letters a single wordCRACHEWhat do you think of that? cried the detective, with the air of ashowman exhibiting his show. This was overlooked because it was in thedarkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. Themurderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear where ithas trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow.
Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See that candleon the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this cornerwould be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of the wall.
And what does it mean now that you have found it? asked Gregson ina depreciatory voice.
Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the femalename Rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. Youmark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up, you will find thata woman named Rachel has something to do with it. Its all very well foryou to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever,but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done.
I really beg your pardon! said my companion, who had ruffled thelittle mans temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. Youcertainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out and, as yousay, it bears every mark of having been written by the other participant inlast nights mystery. I have not had time to examine this room yet, butwith your permission I shall do so now.
As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifyingglass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselesslyabout the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and oncelying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation that heappeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himselfunder his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire ofexclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive ofencouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly remindedof a pure-blooded, well-trained foxhound, as it dashes backward andforward through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes acrossthe lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his researches,measuring with the most exact care the distance between marks whichwere entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape to thewalls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered upvery carefully a little pile of gray dust from the floor, and packed it awayin an envelope. Finally he examined with his glass the word upon thewall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. Thisdone, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass inhis pocket.
They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains, heremarked with a smile. Its a very bad definition, but it does apply todetective work.
Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres of their amateurcompanion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. Theyevidently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun to realize, thatSherlock Holmess smallest actions were all directed towards somedefinite and practical end.
What do you think of it, sir? they both asked.
It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I were to presumeto help [32] you, remarked my friend. You are doing so well now that itwould be a pity for anyone to interfere. There was a world of sarcasm inhis voice as he spoke. If you will let me know how your investigationsgo, he continued, I shall be happy to give you any help I can. In themeantime I should like to speak to the constable who found the body. Canyou give me his name and address?
Lestrade glanced at his notebook. John Rance, he said. He is offduty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate.
Holmes took a note of the address.
Come along, Doctor, he said: we shall go and look him up. Ill tellyou one thing which may help you in the case, he continued, turning tothe two detectives. There has been murder done, and the murderer was aman. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had smallfeet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked aTrichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab,which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on hisoff fore-leg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and thefinger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a fewindications, but they may assist you.
Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile.
If this man was murdered, how was it done? asked the former.
Poison, said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. One otherthing, Lestrade, he added, turning round at the door: Rache, is theGerman for revenge; so dont lose your time looking for Miss Rachel.
With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals openmouthed behind him.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 4A Study in ScarletChapter 4WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELLIT WAS one oclock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. SherlockHolmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched along telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us tothe address given us by Lestrade.
There is nothing like first-hand evidence, he remarked; as a matterof fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may aswell learn all that is to be learned.
You amaze me, Holmes, said I. Surely you are not as sure as youpretend to be of all those particulars which you gave.
Theres no room for a mistake, he answered. The very first thingwhich I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts withits wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain fora week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must havebeen there during the night. There were the marks of the horses hoofs,too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of theother three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab was thereafter the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morningCIhave Gregsons word for thatCit follows that it must have been thereduring the night, and therefore, that it brought those two individuals to thehouse.
[33] That seems simple enough, said I; but how about the othermans height?
Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told fromthe length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, though there isno use my boring you with figures. I had this fellows stride both on theclay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking mycalculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to writeabove the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just over six feetfrom the ground. It was childs play.
And his age? I asked.
Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet without the smallesteffort, he cant be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of apuddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patentleatherboots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There isno mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few ofthose precepts of observation and deduction which I advocated in thatarticle. Is there anything else that puzzles you?
The finger-nails and the Trichinopoly, I suggested.
The writing on the wall was done with a mans forefinger dipped inblood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightlyscratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the mansnail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. Itwas dark in colour and flaky Csuch an ash is only made by aTrichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashesCin fact, I havewritten a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I candistinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand either of cigar or oftobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from theGregson and Lestrade type.
And the florid face? I asked.
Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I wasright. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair.
I passed my hand over my brow. My head is in a whirl, I remarked;the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came thesetwo menC if there were two menCinto an empty house? What has becomeof the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another totake poison? Where did the blood come from? What was the object of themurderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the womans ringthere? Above all, why should the second man write up the German wordRACHE before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible way ofreconciling all these facts.
My companion smiled approvingly.
You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well, hesaid. There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up mymind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrades discovery, it was simply ablind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggestingSocialism and secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, ifyou noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a realGerman invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may safely saythat this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid hispart. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. Im notgoing to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurergets no credit when once he has explained his trick; and if I show you toomuch of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that Iam a very ordinary individual after all.
I shall never do that, I answered; you have brought detection as nearan exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.
[34] My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and theearnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was assensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of herbeauty.
Ill tell you one other thing, he said. Patent-leathers and Square-toescame in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together asfriendly as possibleCarm-in-arm, in all probability. When they got inside,they walked up and down the roomCor rather, Patent-leathers stood stillwhile Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust;and I could read that as he walked he grew more and more excited. Thatis shown by the increased length of his strides. He was talking all thewhile, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedyoccurred. Ive told you all I know myself now, for the rest is meresurmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however, onwhich to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halles concert tohear Norman Neruda this afternoon.
This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading itsway through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary byways. In thedingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand.
Thats Audley Court in there, he said, pointing to a narrow slit in theline of dead-coloured brick. Youll find me here when you come back.
Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led usinto a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. Wepicked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines ofdiscoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which wasdecorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance wasengraved. On inquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and wewere shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.
He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in hisslumbers. I made my report at the office, he said.
Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with itpensively. We thought that we should like to hear it all from your ownlips, he said.
I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can, the constableanswered, with his eyes upon the little golden disc.
Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred.
Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows, as thoughdetermined not to omit anything in his narrative.
Ill tell it ye from the beginning, he said. My time is from ten atnight to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the White Hart;but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one oclock it began torain, and I met Harry MurcherChim who has the Holland Grove beatCandwe stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin.
PresentlyCmaybe about two or a little afterCI thought I would take a lookround and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was preciousdirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab ortwo went past me. I was a-strollin down, thinkin between ourselves howuncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of alight caught my eye in the window of that same house. Now, I knew thatthem two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him thatowns them who wont have the drains seed to, though the very last tenantwhat lived in one of them died o typhoid fever. I was knocked all in aheap, therefore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected assomething was wrong. When I got to the doorC C
[35] You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate, mycompanion interrupted. What did you do that for?
Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with theutmost amazement upon his features.
Why, thats true, sir, he said; though how you come to know it,Heaven only knows. Ye see when I got up to the door, it was so still andso lonesome, that I thought Id be none the worse for someone with me. Iaint afeared of anything on this side o the grave; but I thought thatmaybe it was him that died o the typhoid inspecting the drains whatkilled him. The thought gave me a kind o turn, and I walked back to thegate to see if I could see Murchers lantern, but there wasnt no sign ofhim nor of anyone else.
There was no one in the street?
Not a livin soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myselftogether and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, soI went into the room where the light was a-burnin. There was a candleflickerin on the mantelpieceCa red wax oneCand by its light I sawC C
Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room severaltimes, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through andtried the kitchen door, and thenC C
John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion inhis eyes. Where was you hid to see all that? he cried. It seems to methat you knows a deal more than you should.
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable.
Dont go arresting me for the murder, he said. I am one of the houndsand not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Goon, though. What did you do next?
Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his mystifiedexpression. I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. Thatbrought Murcher and two more to the spot.
Was the street empty then?
Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.
What do you mean?
The constables features broadened into a grin. Ive seen many adrunk chap in my time, he said, but never anyone so cryin drunk asthat cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin up agin therailings, and a-singin at the pitch o his lungs about Columbines NewfangledBanner, or some such stuff. He couldnt stand, far less help.
What sort of a man was he? asked Sherlock Holmes.
John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. Hewas an uncommon drunk sort o man, he said. Hed ha found hisself inthe station if we hadnt been so took up.
His faceChis dressCdidnt you notice them? Holmes broke inimpatiently.
I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him upCmeand Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lowerpart muffled roundC C
That will do, cried Holmes. What became of him?
Wed enough to do without lookin after him, the policeman said, inan aggrieved voice. Ill wager he found his way home all right.
How was he dressed?
[36] A brown overcoat.
Had he a whip in his hand?
A whipCno.
He must have left it behind, muttered my companion. You didnthappen to see or hear a cab after that?
No.
Theres a half-sovereign for you, my companion said, standing upand taking his hat. I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in theforce. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. Youmight have gained your sergeants stripes last night. The man whom youheld in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, andwhom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell youthat it is so. Come along, Doctor.
We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous,but obviously uncomfortable.
The blundering fool! Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to ourlodgings. Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of goodluck, and not taking advantage of it.
I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of this mantallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why shouldhe come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way ofcriminals.
The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have noother way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. Ishall have him, DoctorCIll lay you two to one that I have him. I mustthank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missedthe finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldntwe use a little art jargon. Theres the scarlet thread of murder runningthrough the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, andisolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then forNorman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. Whats thatlittle thing of Chopins she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay.
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like alark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 5A Study in ScarletChapter 5OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VISITOROUR mornings exertions had been too much for my weak health, and Iwas tired out in the afternoon. After Holmess departure for the concert, Ilay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours sleep.
It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all thathad occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it.
Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboonlikecountenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impressionwhich that face had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feelanything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from theworld. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type,they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still Irecognized that justice must be [37] done, and that the depravity of thevictim was no condonement in the eyes of the law.
The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companionshypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered howhe had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected somethingwhich had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what hadcaused this mans death, since there was neither wound nor marks ofstrangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay sothickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had thevictim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. Aslong as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be noeasy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self-confident mannerconvinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all thefacts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture.
He was very late in returningCso late that I knew that the concert couldnot have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before heappeared.
It was magnificent, he said, as he took his seat. Do you rememberwhat Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producingand appreciating it existed among the human race long before the powerof speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influencedby it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centurieswhen the world was in its childhood.
Thats rather a broad idea, I remarked.
Ones ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret Nature, he answered. Whats the matter? Youre not looking quite yourself.
This Brixton Road affair has upset you.
To tell the truth, it has, I said. I ought to be more case-hardenedafter my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces atMaiwand without losing my nerve.
I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates theimagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have youseen the evening paper?
No.
It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the factthat when the man was raised up a womans wedding ring fell upon thefloor. It is just as well it does not.
Why?
Look at this advertisement, he answered. I had one sent to everypaper this morning immediately after the affair.
He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. Itwas the first announcement in the Found column. In Brixton Road,this morning, it ran, a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadwaybetween the White Hart Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson,221B, Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening.
Excuse my using your name, he said. If I used my own, some ofthese dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair.
That is all right, I answered. But supposing anyone applies, I haveno ring.
Oh, yes, you have, said he, handing me one. This will do very well.
It is almost a facsimile.
And who do you expect will answer this advertisement?
[38] Why, the man in the brown coatCour florid friend with the squaretoes. If he does not come himself, he will send an accomplice.
Would he not consider it as too dangerous?
Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason tobelieve that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring.
According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebbersbody, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house hediscovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already inpossession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He hadto pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might havebeen aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in thatmans place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to himthat it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving thehouse. What would he do then? He would eagerly look out for theevening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye,of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should hefear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of thering should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come.
You shall see him within an hour.
And then? I asked.
Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?
I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.
You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man; andthough I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything.
I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned withthe pistol, the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in hisfavourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.
The plot thickens, he said, as I entered; I have just had an answer tomy American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one.
And that isC C? I asked eagerly.
My fiddle would be the better for new strings, he remarked. Putyour pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes, speak to him in anordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Dont frighten him by looking at himtoo hard.
It is eight oclock now, I said, glancing at my watch.
Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the doorslightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is aqueer old book I picked up at a stall yesterdayCDe Jure interGentesCpublished in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charlesshead was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volumewas struck off.
Who is the printer?
Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the flyleaf, in veryfaded ink, is written Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte. I wonder who WilliamWhyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I suppose. Hiswriting has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think.
As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rosesoftly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard theservant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she openedit.
Does Dr. Watson live here? asked a clear but rather harsh voice. Wecould not hear the servants reply, but the door closed, and someonebegan to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shufflingone. A look of surprise passed [39] over the face of my companion as helistened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tapat the door.
Come in, I cried.
At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, avery old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appearedto be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey,she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocketwith nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face hadassumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keepmy countenance.
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at ouradvertisement. Its this as has brought me, good gentlemen, she said,dropping another curtsey; a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. Itbelongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth,which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what hed say ifhe comes ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, hebeing short enough at the best o times, but more especially when he hasthe drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along withC C
Is that her ring? I asked.
The Lord be thanked! cried the old woman; Sally will be a gladwoman this night. Thats the ring.
And what may your address be? I inquired, taking up a pencil.
13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.
The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,
said Sherlock Holmes sharply.
The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her littlered-rimmed eyes. The gentleman asked me for my address, she said.
Sally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham.
And your name isC C?
My name is SawyerChers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis marriedherCand a smart, clean lad, too, as long as hes at sea, and no steward inthe company more thought of; but when on shore, what with the womenand what with liquor shopsC C
Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer, I interrupted, in obedience to a signfrom my companion; it clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am gladto be able to restore it to the rightful owner.
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the oldcrone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs.
Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone andrushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulsterand a cravat. Ill follow her, he said, hurriedly; she must be anaccomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me. The hall door hadhardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had descended the stair.
Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along theother side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind.
Either his whole theory is incorrect, I thought to myself, or else he willbe led now to the heart of the mystery. There was no need for him to askme to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard theresult of his adventure.
It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long hemight be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pagesof Henri Murgers [40] Vie de Boheme. Ten oclock passed, and I heardthe footsteps of the maid as she pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the morestately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the samedestination. It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of hislatchkey. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not beensuccessful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for themastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into ahearty laugh.
I wouldnt have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world, he cried,dropping into his chair; I have chaffed them so much that they wouldnever have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I knowthat I will be even with them in the long run.
What is it then? I asked.
Oh, I dont mind telling a story against myself. That creature had gonea little way when she began to limp and show every sign of beingfootsore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler whichwas passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but Ineed not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to beheard at the other side of the street, Drive to 13, Duncan Street,Houndsditch, she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, andhaving seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind. Thats an artwhich every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, andnever drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped offbefore we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy,lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I sawhim open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though.
When I reached him, he was groping about frantically in the empty cab,and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever Ilistened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it willbe some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Number 13 wefound that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, namedKeswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis hadever been heard of there.
You dont mean to say, I cried, in amazement, that that tottering,feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion,without either you or the driver seeing her?
Old woman be damned! said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. We werethe old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and anactive one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up wasinimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means ofgiving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as Iimagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him.
Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice and turn in.
I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I leftHolmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watchesof the night I heard the low melancholy wailings of his violin, and knewthat he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had sethimself to unravel.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 6A Study in ScarletChapter 6TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWSWHAT HE CAN DOTHE papers next day were full of the Brixton Mystery, as they termedit. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it inaddition. There was some information in them which was new to me. Istill retain in my scrapbook numerous clippings and extracts bearing uponthe case. Here is a condensation of a few of them:
The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the history of crime there hadseldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The Germanname of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinisterinscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugeesand revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America, and thedeceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been trackeddown by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana,Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, theprinciples of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the articleconcluded by admonishing the government and advocating a closer watchover foreigners in England.
The Standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sortusually occurred under a Liberal administration. They arose from theunsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening ofall authority. The deceased was an American gentleman who had beenresiding for some weeks in the metropolis. He had stayed at the boardinghouseof Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He wasaccompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. JosephStangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4thinst., and departed to Euston Station with the avowed intention ofcatching the Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together uponthe platform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebbers bodywas, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road,many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, arequestions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of thewhereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade andMr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it isconfidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily throwlight upon the matter.
The Daily News observed that there was no doubt as to the crime beinga political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animatedthe Continental governments had had the effect of driving to our shores anumber of men who might have made excellent citizens were they notsoured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among thesemen there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which waspunished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary,Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of thedeceased. A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address ofthe house at which he had boardedCa result which was entirely due to theacuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.
[42] Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together atbreakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement.
I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson would besure to score.
That depends on how it turns out.
Oh, bless you, it doesnt matter in the least. If the man is caught, itwill be on account of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite oftheir exertions. Its heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, theywill have followers. Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui ladmire.
What on earth is this? I cried, for at this moment there came thepattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied byaudible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady.
Its the Baker Street division of the detective police force, said mycompanion gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half adozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyeson.
Tention! cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty littlescoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. In futureyou shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must waitin the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?
No, sir, we haint, said one of the youths.
I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here areyour wages. He handed each of them a shilling. Now, off you go, andcome back with a better report next time.
He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so manyrats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street.
Theres more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than outof a dozen of the force, Holmes remarked. The mere sight of an officiallookingperson seals mens lips. These youngsters, however, goeverywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; allthey want is organization.
Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them? I asked.
Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It is merely a matter oftime. Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance! Hereis Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon everyfeature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There heis!
There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haireddetective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into oursitting-room.
My dear fellow, he cried, wringing Holmess unresponsive hand,congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day.
A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companions expressiveface.
Do you mean that you are on the right track? he asked.
The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key.
And his name is?
Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majestys navy, criedGregson pompously rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest.
Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief and relaxed into a smile.
Take a seat, and try one of these cigars, he said. We are anxious toknow how you managed it. Will you have some whisky and water?
I dont mind if I do, the detective answered. The tremendousexertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have wornme out. Not so much [43] bodily exertion, you understand, as the strainupon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we areboth brain-workers.
You do me too much honour, said Holmes, gravely. Let us hear howyou arrived at this most gratifying result.
The detective seated himself in the armchair, and puffed complacentlyat his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm ofamusement.
The fun of it is, he cried, that that fool Lestrade, who thinks himselfso smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. He is after thesecretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babeunborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him by this time.
The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked.
And how did you get your clue?
Ah, Ill tell you all about it. Of course, Dr. Watson, this is strictlybetween ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend with wasthe finding of this Americans antecedents. Some people would havewaited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties cameforward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias Gregsons wayof going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man?
Yes, said Holmes; by John Underwood and Sons, 129, CamberwellRoad.
Gregson looked quite crestfallen.
I had no idea that you noticed that, he said. Have you been there?
No.
Ha! cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; you should never neglect achance, however small it may seem.
To a great mind, nothing is little, remarked Holmes, sententiously.
Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had sold a hat of thatsize and description. He looked over his books, and came on it at once.
He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentiers BoardingEstablishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address.
SmartCvery smart! murmured Sherlock Holmes.
I next called upon Madame Charpentier, continued the detective. Ifound her very pale and distressed. Her daughter was in the room, tooCanuncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes andher lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didnt escape my notice. I beganto smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when youcome upon the right scentCa kind of thrill in your nerves. Have you heardof the mysterious death of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, ofCleveland? I asked.
The mother nodded. She didnt seem able to get out a word. Thedaughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knewsomething of the matter.
At what oclock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train? Iasked.
At eight oclock, she said, gulping in her throat to keep down heragitation. His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two trainsCone at 9:15 and one at 11. He was to catch the first.
And was that the last which you saw of him?
A terrible change came over the womans face as I asked the question.
Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she couldget out the single word YesCand when it did come it was in a husky,unnatural tone.
[44] There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in acalm, clear voice.
No good can ever come of falsehood, mother, she said. Let us befrank with this gentleman. We did see Mr. Drebber again.
God forgive you! cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her handsand sinking back in her chair. You have murdered your brother.
Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth, the girl answered firmly.
You had best tell me all about it now, I said. Half-confidences areworse than none. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it.
On your head be it, Alice! cried her mother; and then, turning to me,I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of myson arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terribleaffair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in your eyesand in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. That,however, is surely impossible. His high character, his profession, hisantecedents would all forbid it.
Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts, I answered.
Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.
Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together, she said, and herdaughter withdrew. Now, sir, she continued, I had no intention oftelling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it I have noalternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all withoutomitting any particular.
It is your wisest course, said I.
Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and hissecretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticeda Copenhagen label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had beentheir last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet, reserved man, but hisemployer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in hishabits and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he becamevery much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve oclock in theday he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards themaid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, hespeedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, andspoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is tooinnocent to understand. On one occasion he actually seized her in hisarms and embraced herCan outrage which caused his own secretary toreproach him for his unmanly conduct.
But why did you stand all this? I asked. I suppose that you can getrid of your boarders when you wish.
Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. Would to Godthat I had given him notice on the very day that he came, she said. But itwas a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day eachCfourteenpounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy inthe Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for thebest. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave onaccount of it. That was the reason of his going.
Well?
My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leavejust now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper isviolent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the doorbehind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less thanan hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr. Drebber hadreturned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. Heforced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my [45] daughter,and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train. He thenturned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her that she shouldfly with him. You are of age, he said, and there is no law to stop you. Ihave money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but comealong with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess. PoorAlice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, but he caught herby the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. I screamed,and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What happenedthen I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. Iwas too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up I saw Arthurstanding in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. I dont thinkthat fine fellow will trouble us again, he said. I will just go after himand see what he does with himself. With those words he took his hat andstarted off down the street. The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebbersmysterious death.
This statement came from Mrs. Charpentiers lips with many gaspsand pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words.
I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there shouldbe no possibility of a mistake.
Its quite exciting, said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. Whathappened next?
When Mrs. Charpentier paused, the detective continued, I saw thatthe whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a waywhich I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour herson returned.
I do not know, she answered.
Not know?
No; he has a latchkey, and he let himself in.
After you went to bed?
Yes.
When did you go to bed?
About eleven.
So your son was gone at least two hours?
Yes.
Possibly four or five?
Yes.
What was he doing during that time?
I do not know, she answered, turning white to her very lips.
Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I found outwhere Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, andarrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him tocome quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, I suppose you arearresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber,
he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it hada most suspicious aspect.
Very, said Holmes.
He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him ashaving with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.
What is your theory, then?
Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the BrixtonRoad. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the courseof which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomachperhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was sowet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victiminto the empty house. As to the candle, [46] and the blood, and the writingon the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw thepolice on to the wrong scent.
Well done! said Holmes in an encouraging voice. Really, Gregson,you are getting along. We shall make something of you yet.
I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly, the detectiveanswered, proudly. The young man volunteered a statement, in which hesaid that after following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him, andtook a cab in order to get away from him. On his way home he met an oldshipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this oldshipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. I think thewhole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is to think ofLestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he wontmake much of it. Why, by Jove, heres the very man himself!
It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we weretalking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntinesswhich generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however,wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes weredisarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention ofconsulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague heappeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of theroom, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. This isa most extraordinary case, he said at lastCa most incomprehensibleaffair.
Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade! cried Gregson, triumphantly. Ithought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to findthe secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?
The secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson, said Lestrade, gravely, wasmurdered at Hallidays Private Hotel about six oclock this morning.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 7A Study in ScarletChapter 7LIGHT IN THE DARKNESSTHE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous andso unexpected that we were all three fairly dumfounded. Gregson sprangout of his chair and upset the remainder of his whisky and water. I staredin silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his browsdrawn down over his eyes.
Stangerson too! he muttered. The plot thickens.
It was quite thick enough before, grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair.
I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war.
Are youCare you sure of this piece of intelligence? stammeredGregson.
I have just come from his room, said Lestrade. I was the first todiscover what had occurred.
We have been hearing Gregsons view of the matter, Holmesobserved. Would you mind letting us know what you have seen anddone?
I have no objection, Lestrade answered, seating himself. I freelyconfess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in thedeath of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I wascompletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out whathad become of the secretary. They had been [47] seen together at EustonStation about half-past eight on the evening of the 3rd. At two in themorning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The questionwhich confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employedbetween 8:30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of himafterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man,and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set towork calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity ofEuston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had becomeseparated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewherein the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again nextmorning.
They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,
remarked Holmes.
So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in makinginquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and ateight oclock I reached Hallidays Private Hotel, in Little George Street.
On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, they atonce answered me in the affirmative.
No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting, they said.
He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.
Where is he now? I asked.
He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.
I will go up and see him at once, I said.
It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nervesand lead him to say something unguarded. The boots volunteered to showme the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridorleading up to it. The boots pointed out the door to me, and was about togo downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, inspite of my twenty years experience. From under the door there curled alittle red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage andformed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, whichbrought the boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door waslocked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it in. Thewindow of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddled up,lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and had beenfor some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned himover, the boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman whohad engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause ofdeath was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated theheart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do yousuppose was above the murdered man?
I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror, evenbefore Sherlock Holmes answered.
The word RACHE, written in letters of blood, he said.
That was it, said Lestrade, in an awestruck voice; and we were allsilent for a while.
There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about thedeeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to hiscrimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle,tingled as I thought of it.
The man was seen, continued Lestrade. A milk boy, passing on hisway to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from themews at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually laythere, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, whichwas wide open. After passing, he [48] looked back and saw a man descendthe ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imaginedhim to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took noparticular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it wasearly for him to be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall,had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He musthave stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we foundblood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands, andmarks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife.
I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer whichtallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace ofexultation or satisfaction upon his face.
Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to themurderer? he asked.
Nothing. Stangerson had Drebbers purse in his pocket, but it seemsthat this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty-odd poundsin it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of theseextraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were nopapers or memoranda in the murdered mans pocket, except a singletelegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing thewords, J. H. is in Europe. There was no name appended to this message.
And there was nothing else? Holmes asked.
Nothing of any importance. The mans novel, with which he had readhimself to sleep, was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chairbeside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on the windowsilla small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills.
Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight.
The last link, he cried, exultantly. My case is complete.
The two detectives stared at him in amazement.
I have now in my hands, my companion said, confidently, all thethreads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, details tobe filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from the time thatDrebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of thebody of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give youa proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?
I have them, said Lestrade, producing a small white box; I tookthem and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in aplace of safety at the police station. It was the merest chance my takingthese pills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance tothem.
Give them here, said Holmes. Now, Doctor, turning to me, arethose ordinary pills?
They certainly were not. They were of a pearly gray colour, small,round, and almost transparent against the light. From their lightness andtransparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water, I remarked.
Precisely so, answered Holmes. Now would you mind going downand fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long,and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday?
I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my arms. Its labouredbreathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. Indeed,its snow-white [49] muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded theusual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug.
I will now cut one of these pills in two, said Holmes, and drawing hispenknife he suited the action to the word. One half we return into thebox for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wineglass, inwhich is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, the doctor,is right, and that it readily dissolves.
This may be very interesting, said Lestrade, in the injured tone of onewho suspects that he is being laughed at; I cannot see, however, what ithas to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.
Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it haseverything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the mixturepalatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up readilyenough.
As he spoke he turned the contents of the wineglass into a saucer andplaced it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. SherlockHolmess earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat insilence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect.
None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched uponthe cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparently neither the betternor the worse for its draught.
Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minutewithout result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointmentappeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers uponthe table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So greatwas his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the twodetectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check whichhe had met.
It cant be a coincidence, he cried, at last springing from his chair andpacing wildly up and down the room; it is impossible that it should be amere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of Drebberare actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are inert.
What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have beenfalse. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, Ihave it! I have it! With a perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box,cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to theterrier. The unfortunate creatures tongue seemed hardly to have beenmoistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay asrigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning.
Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration fromhis forehead. I should have more faith, he said; I ought to know by thistime that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions,it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. Ofthe two pills in that box, one was of the most deadly poison, and the otherwas entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before ever I saw thebox at all.
This last statement appeared to me to be so startling that I could hardlybelieve that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, however,to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that themists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began to havea dim, vague perception of the truth.
All this seems strange to you, continued Holmes, because you failedat the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single realclue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize uponthat, and everything [50] which has occurred since then has served toconfirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence ofit. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case moreobscure have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. Itis a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The mostcommonplace crime is often the most mysterious, because it presents nonew or special features from which deductions may be drawn. Thismurder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the bodyof the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of thoseoutr and sensational accompaniments which have rendered itremarkable. These strange details, far from making the case moredifficult, have really had the effect of making it less so.
Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerableimpatience, could contain himself no longer. Look here, Mr. SherlockHolmes, he said, we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smartman, and that you have your own methods of working. We wantsomething more than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a caseof taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong.
Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair.
Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrongtoo. You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to knowmore than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a rightto ask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you namethe man who did it?
I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir, remarked Lestrade.
We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked morethan once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidencewhich you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer.
Any delay in arresting the assassin, I observed, might give him timeto perpetrate some fresh atrocity.
Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. Hecontinued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chestand his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought.
There will be no more murders, he said at last, stopping abruptly andfacing us. You can put that consideration out of the question. You haveasked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing ofhis name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of layingour hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopesof managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing whichneeds delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to dealwith, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another whois as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone canhave a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had theslightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instantamong the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning tohurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these men tobe more than a match for the official force, and that is why I have notasked your assistance. If I fail, I shall, of course, incur all the blame dueto this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present I am ready topromise that the instant that I can communicate with you withoutendangering my own combinations, I shall do so.
Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance,or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former hadflushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the others beady eyesglistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time tospeak, however, before there was a tap [51] at the door, and thespokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced hisinsignificant and unsavoury person.
Please, sir, he said, touching his forelock, I have the cab downstairs.
Good boy, said Holmes, blandly. Why dont you introduce thispattern at Scotland Yard? he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffsfrom a drawer. See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in aninstant.
The old pattern is good enough, remarked Lestrade, if we can onlyfind the man to put them on.
Very good, very good, said Holmes, smiling. The cabman may aswell help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins.
I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he wereabout to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me aboutit. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out andbegan to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered theroom.
Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman, he said, kneeling overhis task, and never turning his head.
The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and putdown his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, thejangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again.
Gentlemen, he cried, with flashing eyes, let me introduce you to Mr.
Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of JosephStangerson.
The whole thing occurred in a momentCso quickly that I had no time torealize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmesstriumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabmans dazed,savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had appearedas if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might have been agroup of statues. Then with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisonerwrenched himself free from Holmess grasp, and hurled himself throughthe window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but before he gotquite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like somany staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and thencommenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he that thefour of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have theconvulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands wereterribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood hadno effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestradesucceeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling himthat we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and eventhen we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as hishands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and panting.
We have his cab, said Sherlock Holmes. It will serve to take him toScotland Yard. And now, gentlemen, he continued, with a pleasantsmile, we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are verywelcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is nodanger that I will refuse to answer them.
David Soucek, 1998Part 2, Chapter 1A Study in ScarletPART 2THE COUNTRY OF THE SAINTSChapter 1ON THE GREAT ALKALI PLAININ THE central portion of the great North American Continent there liesan arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as abarrier against the advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada toNebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Coloradoupon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature alwaysin one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped andlofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowingrivers which dash through jagged canons; and there are enormous plains,which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are gray with thesaline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristicsof barrenness, inhospitality, and misery.
There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees orof Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other huntinggrounds,but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of thoseawesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies.
The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through theair, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, andpicks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the soledwellers in the wilderness.
In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from thenorthern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretchesthe great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, andintersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extremeverge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, with their ruggedsummits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is nosign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in thesteel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, gray earthCabove all, thereis absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in allthat mighty wilderness; nothing but silenceCcomplete and heart-subduingsilence.
It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broadplain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one seesa pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost inthe extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by thefeet of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white objectswhich glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali.
Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some large and coarse,others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, andthe latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this [53] ghastlycaravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen by thewayside.
Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of May,eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearance wassuch that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. Anobserver would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer toforty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown parchmentlikeskin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his long, brownhair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his eyes weresunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre; while the handwhich grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. Ashe stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tall figureand the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorousconstitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes, which hung sobaggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gave himthat senile and decrepit appearance. The man was dyingCdying fromhunger and from thirst.
He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this little elevation,in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great salt plainstretched before his eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains,without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate thepresence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam ofhope. North, and east, and west he looked with wild, questioning eyes,and then he realized that his wanderings had come to an end, and thatthere, on that barren crag, he was about to die. Why not here, as well asin a feather bed, twenty years hence? he muttered, as he seated himselfin the shelter of a boulder.
Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle,and also a large bundle tied up in a gray shawl, which he had carriedslung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy forhis strength, for in lowering it, it came down on the ground with somelittle violence. Instantly there broke from the gray parcel a little moaningcry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very brightbrown eyes, and two little speckled dimpled fists.
Youve hurt me! said a childish voice, reproachfully.
Have I, though? the man answered penitently; I didnt go for to doit. As he spoke he unwrapped the gray shawl and extricated a pretty littlegirl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pink frockwith its little linen apron, all bespoke a mothers care. The child was paleand wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered lessthan her companion.
How is it now? he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing thetousy golden curls which covered the back of her head.
Kiss it and make it well, she said, with perfect gravity, showing theinjured part up to him. Thats what mother used to do. Wheres mother?
Mothers gone. I guess youll see her before long.
Gone, eh! said the little girl. Funny, she didnt say good-bye; shemost always did if she was just goin over to aunties for tea, and nowshes been away three days. Say, its awful dry, aint it? Aint there nowater nor nothing to eat?
No, there aint nothing, dearie. Youll just need to be patient awhile,and then youll be all right. Put your head up agin me like that, and thenyoull feel bullier. It aint easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but Iguess Id best let you know how the cards lie. Whats that youve got?
Pretty things! fine things! cried the little girl enthusiastically, holdingup two [54] glittering fragments of mica. When we goes back to homeIll give them to brother Bob.
Youll see prettier things than them soon, said the man confidently.
You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you thoughCyou remember whenwe left the river?
Oh, yes.
Well, we reckoned wed strike another river soon, dye see. But therewas somethin wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin, and it didnt turnup. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you, andCandCC
And you couldnt wash yourself, interrupted his companion gravely,staring up at his grimy visage.
No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and then IndianPete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie,your mother.
Then mothers a deader too, cried the little girl, dropping her face inher pinafore and sobbing bitterly.
Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was somechance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder andwe tramped it together. It dont seem as though weve improved matters.
Theres an almighty small chance for us now!
Do you mean that we are going to die too? asked the child, checkingher sobs, and raising her tear-stained face.
I guess thats about the size of it.
Why didnt you say so before? she said, laughing gleefully. Yougave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die well bewith mother again.
Yes, you will, dearie.
And you too. Ill tell her how awful good youve been. Ill bet shemeets us at the door of heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot ofbuckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me wasfond of. How long will it be first?
I dont knowCnot very long. The mans eyes were fixed upon thenorthern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared threelittle specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did theyapproach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds,which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and then settled uponsome rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vultures ofthe West, whose coming is the forerunner of death.
Cocks and hens, cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their illomenedforms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. Say, did Godmake this country?
Of course He did, said her companion, rather startled by thisunexpected question.
He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri, thelittle girl continued. I guess somebody else made the country in theseparts. Its not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and the trees.
What would ye think of offering up prayer? the man asked diffidently.
It aint night yet, she answered.
It dont matter. It aint quite regular, but He wont mind that, you bet.
You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the wagonwhen we was on the plains.
[55] Why dont you say some yourself? the child asked, withwondering eyes.
I disremember them, he answered. I haint said none since I washalf the height o that gun. I guess its never too late. You say them out,and Ill stand by and come in on the choruses.
Then youll need to kneel down, and me too, she said, laying theshawl out for that purpose. Youve got to put your hands up like this. Itmakes you feel kind of good.
It was a strange sight, had there been anything but the buzzards to seeit. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the littleprattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby faceand his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudlessheaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread Being with whom they were faceto face, while the two voicesCthe one thin and clear, the other deep andharshCunited in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayerfinished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until thechild fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. Hewatched over her slumber for some time, but Nature proved to be toostrong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed himselfneither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes,and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until the mansgrizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, andboth slept the same deep and dreamless slumber.
Had the wanderer remained awake for another half-hour a strange sightwould have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkaliplain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly tobe distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growinghigher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloudcontinued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only beraised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots theobserver would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herdsof bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. Thiswas obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drewnearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing,the canvas-covered tilts of wagons and the figures of armed horsemenbegan to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed itself asbeing a great caravan upon its journey for the West. But what a caravan!
When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear wasnot yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretchedthe straggling array, wagons and carts, men on horseback, and men onfoot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, andchildren who toddled beside the wagons or peeped out from under thewhite coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, butrather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress ofcircumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through theclear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass ofhumanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. Loudas it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them.
At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave, ironfacedmen, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed with rifles. Onreaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council amongthemselves.
The wells are to the right, my brothers, said one, a hard-lipped, cleanshavenman with grizzly hair.
[56] To the right of the Sierra BlancoCso we shall reach the RioGrande, said another.
Fear not for water, cried a third. He who could draw it from therocks will not now abandon His own chosen people.
Amen! amen! responded the whole party.
They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest andkeenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged cragabove them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showingup hard and bright against the gray rocks behind. At the sight there was ageneral reining up of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemencame galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word Redskins wason every lip.
There cant be any number of Injuns here, said the elderly man whoappeared to be in command. We have passed the Pawnees, and there areno other tribes until we cross the great mountains.
Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson? asked one of theband.
And I, And I, cried a dozen voices.
Leave your horses below and we will await you here, the elderanswered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened theirhorses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to theobject which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly andnoiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. Thewatchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock untiltheir figures stood out against the sky-line. The young man who had firstgiven the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throwup his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining himthey were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes.
On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a singlegiant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long-beardedand hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid face andregular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a child,with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy neck, and hergolden-haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Herrosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white teethwithin, and a playful smile played over her infantile features. Her plumplittle white legs, terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shiningbuckles, offered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled members of hercompanion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stoodthree solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the newcomers, utteredraucous screams of disappointment and flapped sullenly away.
The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, who stared aboutthem in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked downupon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him,and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and ofbeasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and hepassed his bony hand over his eyes. This is what they call delirium, Iguess, he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt ofhis coat, and said nothing, but looked all round her with the wondering,questioning gaze of childhood.
The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castawaysthat their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girland hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gauntcompanion, and assisted him towards the wagons.
[57] My name is John Ferrier, the wanderer explained; me and thatlittle un are all thats left o twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o
thirst and hunger away down in the south.
Is she your child? asked someone.
I guess she is now, the other cried, defiantly; shes mine cause Isaved her. No man will take her from me. Shes Lucy Ferrier from thisday on. Who are you, though? he continued, glancing with curiosity athis stalwart, sunburned rescuers; there seems to be a powerful lot of ye.
Nigh unto ten thousand, said one of the young men; we are thepersecuted children of GodCthe chosen of the Angel Moroni.
I never heard tell on him, said the wanderer. He appears to havechosen a fair crowd of ye.
Do not jest at that which is sacred, said the other, sternly. We are ofthose who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters onplates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith atPalmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the state of Illinois, where wehad founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violentman and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert.
The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. Isee, he said; you are the Mormons.
We are the Mormons, answered his companions with one voice.
And where are you going?
We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person ofour Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be donewith you.
They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surroundedby crowds of the pilgrimsCpale-faced, meek-looking women; strong,laughing children; and anxious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries ofastonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when theyperceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of theother. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by agreat crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon, which wasconspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of itsappearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others werefurnished with two, or, at most, four apiece. Beside the driver there sat aman who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whosemassive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He wasreading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid itaside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then heturned to the two castaways.
If we take you with us, he said, in solemn words, it can only be asbelievers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Betterfar that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you shouldprove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the wholefruit. Will you come with us on these terms?
Guess Ill come with you on any terms, said Ferrier, with suchemphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. The leader aloneretained his stern, impressive expression.
Take him, Brother Stangerson, he said, give him food and drink, andthe child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed.
We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!
On, on to Zion! cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippleddown [58] the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they diedaway in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and acreaking of wheels the great wagons got into motion, and soon the wholecaravan was winding along once more. The Elder to whose care the twowaifs had been committed led them to his wagon, where a meal wasalready awaiting them.
You shall remain here, he said. In a few days you will haverecovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now andforever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he hasspoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 2A Study in ScarletChapter 2THE FLOWER OF UTAHTHIS is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations endured bythe immigrant Mormons before they came to their final haven. From theshores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountainsthey had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history.
The savage man, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, anddiseaseCevery impediment which Nature could place in the wayChad allbeen overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and theaccumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them.
There was not one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayerwhen they saw the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneaththem, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the promisedland, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs for evermore.
Young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator as well as aresolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared, in which the futurecity was sketched out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted inproportion to the standing of each individual. The tradesman was put tohis trade and the artisan to his calling. In the town streets and squaressprang up as if by magic. In the country there was draining and hedging,planting and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole countrygolden with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strangesettlement. Above all, the great temple which they had erected in thecentre of the city grew ever taller and larger. From the first blush of dawnuntil the closing of the twilight, the clatter of the hammer and the rasp ofthe saw were never absent from the monument which the immigrantserected to Him who had led them safe through many dangers.
The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl, who had shared hisfortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied theMormons to the end of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier wasborne along pleasantly enough in Elder Stangersons wagon, a retreatwhich she shared with the Mormons three wives and with his son, aheadstrong, forward boy of twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity ofchildhood, from the shock caused by her mothers death, she soon becamea pet with the women, and reconciled herself to this new life in hermoving canvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier having recoveredfrom his privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and anindefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his newcompanions, that when they reached [59] the end of their wanderings, itwas unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as large and asfertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, with the exception of Younghimself, and of Stangerson, Kemball, Johnston, and Drebber, who werethe four principal Elders.
On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a substantial loghouse,which received so many additions in succeeding years that it grewinto a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen in hisdealings and skilful with his hands. His iron constitution enabled him towork morning and evening at improving and tilling his lands. Hence itcame about that his farm and all that belonged to him prosperedexceedingly. In three years he was better off than his neighbours, in six hewas well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve there were not half adozen men in the whole of Salt Lake City who could compare with him.
From the great inland sea to the distant Wasatch Mountains there was noname better known than that of John Ferrier.
There was one way and only one in which he offended thesusceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion couldever induce him to set up a female establishment after the manner of hiscompanions. He never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, butcontented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to hisdetermination. There were some who accused him of lukewarmness in hisadopted religion, and others who put it down to greed of wealth andreluctance to incur expense. Others, again, spoke of some early loveaffair, and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the shores of theAtlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier remained strictly celibate. In everyother respect he conformed to the religion of the young settlement, andgained the name of being an orthodox and straight-walking man.
Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adoptedfather in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and thebalsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to theyoung girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger, hercheek more ruddy and her step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon thehigh road which ran by Ferriers farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revivein his mind as he watched her lithe, girlish figure tripping through thewheatfields, or met her mounted upon her fathers mustang, andmanaging it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the West. So thebud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father therichest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of American girlhood ascould be found in the whole Pacific slope.
It was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child haddeveloped into the woman. It seldom is in such cases. That mysteriouschange is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of alldoes the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of ahand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns, with a mixture ofpride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awakened within her.
There are few who cannot recall that day and remember the one littleincident which heralded the dawn of a new life. In the case of LucyFerrier the occasion was serious enough in itself, apart from its futureinfluence on her destiny and that of many besides.
It was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were as busy asthe bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. In the fields andin the streets rose the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty highroads defiled long streams of heavily laden mules, all heading to the west,for the gold fever had [60] broken out in California, and the overland routelay through the city of the Elect. There, too, were droves of sheep andbullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and trains of tiredimmigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey.
Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of anaccomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed withthe exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. She had acommission from her father in the city, and was dashing in as she haddone many a time before, with all the fearlessness of youth, thinking onlyof her task and how it was to be performed. The travel-stainedadventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemotionalIndians, journeying in with their peltries, relaxed their accustomedstoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden.
She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the roadblocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-lookingherdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavoured to pass thisobstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcelyhad she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her,and she found herself completely embedded in the moving stream offierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal withcattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of everyopportunity to urge her horse on, in the hopes of pushing her way throughthe cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either byaccident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of the mustang,and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared up upon its hind legs witha snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unseatedany but a skilful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of theexcited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it to freshmadness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle, yeta slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy andterrified animals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head beganto swim, and her grip upon the bridle to relax. Choked by the rising cloudof dust and by the steam from the struggling creatures, she might haveabandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice at her elbowwhich assured her of assistance. At the same moment a sinewy brownhand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way throughthe drove, soon brought her to the outskirts.
Youre not hurt, I hope, miss, said her preserver, respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. Im awfulfrightened, she said, naively; whoever would have thought that Ponchowould have been so scared by a lot of cows?
Thank God, you kept your seat, the other said, earnestly. He was atall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, andclad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over hisshoulders. I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier, he remarked; Isaw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if heremembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. If hes the same Ferrier, myfather and he were pretty thick.
Hadnt you better come and ask yourself? she asked, demurely.
The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyessparkled with pleasure. Ill do so, he said; weve been in themountains for two months, and are not over and above in visitingcondition. He must take us as he finds us.
He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I, she answered;hes [61] awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me hed havenever got over it.
Neither would I, said her companion.
You! Well, I dont see that it would make much matter to you,anyhow. You aint even a friend of ours.
The young hunters dark face grew so gloomy over this remark thatLucy Ferrier laughed aloud.
There, I didnt mean that, she said; of course, you are a friend now.
You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father wont trustme with his business any more. Good-bye!
Good-bye, he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bendingover her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut withher riding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloudof dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy andtaciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains prospectingfor silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raisingcapital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. He hadbeen as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incidenthad drawn his thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair younggirl, as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred hisvolcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When she had vanished fromhis sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neithersilver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of suchimportance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which hadsprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy, butrather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperioustemper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. Heswore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and humanperseverance could render him successful.
He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again, until hisface was a familiar one at the farmhouse. John, cooped up in the valley,and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of theoutside world during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope wasable to tell him, and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father.
He had been a pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strange taleof fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He hadbeen a scout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman.
Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had beenthere in search of them. He soon became a favourite with the old farmer,who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions, Lucy was silent,but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes showed only too clearlythat her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may nothave observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown awayupon the man who had won her affections.
One summer evening he came galloping down the road and pulled up atthe gate. She was at the doorway, and came down to meet him. He threwthe bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway.
I am off, Lucy, he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazingtenderly down into her face: I wont ask you to come with me now, butwill you be ready to come when I am here again?
And when will that be? she asked, blushing and laughing.
A couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim you then, mydarling. Theres no one who can stand between us.
And how about father? she asked.
[62] He has given his consent, provided we get these mines working allright. I have no fear on that head.
Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all, theres nomore to be said, she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast.
Thank God! he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. It is settled,then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They are waiting forme at the canon. Good-bye, my own darlingCgood-bye. In two monthsyou shall see me.
He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon hishorse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as thoughafraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what hewas leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanishedfrom her sight. Then she walked back into the house, the happiest girl inall Utah.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 3A Study in ScarletChapter 3JOHN FERRIERTALKS WITH THE PROPHETTHREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades haddeparted from Salt Lake City. John Ferriers heart was sore within himwhen he thought of the young mans return, and of the impending loss ofhis adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to thearrangement more than any argument could have done. He had alwaysdetermined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would everinduce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such marriage heregarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whateverhe might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he wasinflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for toexpress an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days inthe Land of the Saints.
Yes, a dangerous matterCso dangerous that even the most saintly daredonly whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest somethingwhich fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down a swiftretribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turnedpersecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the most terribledescription. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the German Vehmgericht,nor the secret societies of Italy, were ever able to put a more formidablemachinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the state of Utah.
Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made thisorganization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent,and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held out against theChurch vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what hadbefallen him. His wife and his children awaited him at home, but nofather ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of hissecret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation,and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power whichwas suspended over them. No wonder that men went about in fear andtrembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared notwhisper the doubts which oppressed them.
At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon therecalcitrants [63] who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wishedafterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took a widerrange. The supply of adult women was running short, and polygamywithout a female population on which to draw was a barren doctrineindeed. Strange rumours began to be bandied about Crumours ofmurdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians hadnever been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of theEldersCwomen who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the tracesof an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers upon the mountainsspoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flittedby them in the darkness. These tales and rumours took substance andshape, and were corroborated and recorroborated, until they resolvedthemselves into a definite name. To this day, in the lonely ranches of theWest, the name of the Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinisterand an ill-omened one.
Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terribleresults served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspiredin the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless society.
The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence doneunder the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. The very friendto whom you communicated your misgivings as to the Prophet and hismission might be one of those who would come forth at night with fireand sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every man feared hisneighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart.
One fine morning John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields,when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window,saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. Hisheart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great BrighamYoung himself. Full of trepidationCfor he knew that such a visit bodedhim little goodCFerrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. Thelatter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with astern face into the sitting-room.
Brother Ferrier, he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenlyfrom under his light-coloured eyelashes, the true believers have beengood friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in thedesert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen Valley,gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under ourprotection. Is not this so?
It is so, answered John Ferrier.
In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was, that youshould embrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages.
This you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you haveneglected.
And how have I neglected it? asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands inexpostulation. Have I not given to the common fund? Have I notattended at the Temple? Have I notC C?
Where are your wives? asked Young, looking round him. Call themin, that I may greet them.
It is true that I have not married, Ferrier answered. But women werefew, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a lonelyman: I had my daughter to attend to my wants.
It is of that daughter that I would speak to you, said the leader of theMormons. She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has found favourin the eyes of many who are high in the land.
[64] John Ferrier groaned internally.
There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieveCstories that sheis sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues. What isthe thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith? Let everymaiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a Gentile,she commits a grievous sin. This being so, it is impossible that you, whoprofess the holy creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it.
John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his ridingwhip.
Upon this one point your whole faith shall be testedCso it has beendecided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young, and we wouldnot have her wed gray hairs, neither would we deprive her of all choice.
We Elders have many heifers,1 but our children must also be provided.
Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either of them wouldgladly welcome your daughter to his house. Let her choose between them.
They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say you to that?
Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted.
You will give us time, he said at last. My daughter is very youngCshe is scarce of an age to marry.
She shall have a month to choose, said Young, rising from his seat.
At the end of that time she shall give her answer.
He was passing through the door, when he turned with flushed face andflashing eyes. It were better for you, John Ferrier, he thundered, thatyou and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco,than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the HolyFour!
With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, andFerrier heard his heavy steps scrunching along the shingly path.
He was still sitting with his elbow upon his knee, considering how heshould broach the matter to his daughter, when a soft hand was laid uponhis, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at herpale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed.
I could not help it, she said, in answer to his look. His voice rangthrough the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?
Dont you scare yourself, he answered, drawing her to him, andpassing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. Wellfix it up somehow or another. You dont find your fancy kind o lesseningfor this chap, do you?
A sob and a squeeze of his hand were her only answer.
No; of course not. I shouldnt care to hear you say you did. Hes alikely lad, and hes a Christian, which is more than these folks here, inspite o all their praying and preaching. Theres a party starting forNevada to-morrow, and Ill manage to send him a message letting himknow the hole we are in. If I know anything o that young man, hell beback with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs.
Lucy laughed through her tears at her fathers description.
When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is for you that Iam frightened, dear. One hearsCone hears such dreadful stories aboutthose who oppose the Prophet; something terrible always happens tothem.
But we havent opposed him yet, her father answered. It will betime to [65] look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear monthbefore us; at the end of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah.
Leave Utah!
Thats about the size of it.
But the farm?
We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go. To tellthe truth, Lucy, it isnt the first time I have thought of doing it. I dontcare about knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their darnedProphet. Im a free-born American, and its all new to me. Guess Im tooold to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might chance to runup against a charge of buckshot travelling in the opposite direction.
But they wont let us leave, his daughter objected.
Wait till Jefferson comes, and well soon manage that. In themeantime, dont you fret yourself, my dearie, and dont get your eyesswelled up, else hell be walking into me when he sees you. Theresnothing to be afeared about, and theres no danger at all.
John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone,but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the fasteningof the doors that night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rustyold shot-gun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom.
1 Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred wives under thisendearing epithet.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 4A Study in ScarletChapter 4A FLIGHT FOR LIFEON THE morning which followed his interview with the Mormon Prophet,John Ferrier went in to Salt Lake City, and having found hisacquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrustedhim with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man ofthe imminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it wasthat he should return. Having done thus he felt easier in his mind, andreturned home with a lighter heart.
As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched toeach of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on the enteringto find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a longpale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, with his feet cocked upupon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse, bloatedfeatures, was standing in front of the window with his hands in hispockets whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as heentered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation.
Maybe you dont know us, he said. This here is the son of ElderDrebber, and Im Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the desertwhen the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true fold.
As He will all the nations in His own good time, said the other in anasal voice; He grindeth slowly but exceeding small.
John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were.
We have come, continued Stangerson, at the advice of our fathers tosolicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good toyou and to her. [66] As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber herehas seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.
Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson, cried the other; the question is nothow many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father hasnow given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man.
But my prospects are better, said the other, warmly. When the Lordremoves my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather factory.
Then I am your elder, and am higher in the Church.
It will be for the maiden to decide, rejoined young Drebber, smirkingat his own reflection in the glass. We will leave it all to her decision.
During this dialogue John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway,hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors.
Look here, he said at last, striding up to them, when my daughtersummons you, you can come, but until then I dont want to see your facesagain.
The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes thiscompetition between them for the maidens hand was the highest ofhonours both to her and her father.
There are two ways out of the room, cried Ferrier; there is the door,and there is the window. Which do you care to use?
His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening,that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The oldfarmer followed them to the door.
Let me know when you have settled which it is to be, he said,sardonically.
You shall smart for this! Stangerson cried, white with rage. Youhave defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to theend of your days.
The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you, cried young Drebber;He will arise and smite you!
Then Ill start the smiting, exclaimed Ferrier, furiously, and wouldhave rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm andrestrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses
hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach.
The young canting rascals! he exclaimed, wiping the perspirationfrom his forehead; I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, thanthe wife of either of them.
And so should I, father, she answered, with spirit; but Jefferson willsoon be here.
Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for wedo not know what their next move may be.
It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice andhelp should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopteddaughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been sucha case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If minor errorswere punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch rebel?
Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him.
Others as well known and as rich as himself had been spirited awaybefore now, and their goods given over to the Church. He was a braveman, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him.
Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense wasunnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however, andaffected to make light [67] of the whole matter, though she, with the keeneye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.
He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance fromYoung as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in anunlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his surprise,a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over hischest. On it was printed, in bold, straggling letters:CTwenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and thenC C
The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been.
How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for hisservants slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all beensecured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, butthe incident struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days wereevidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. Whatstrength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with suchmysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struckhim to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him.
Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to theirbreakfast, when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In thecentre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, thenumber 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not enlightenher. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He sawand he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had been paintedupon the outside of his door.
Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that hisunseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in someconspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of themonth of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls,sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placardsstuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance JohnFerrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. Ahorror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight ofthem. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled lookof some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that wasfor the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada.
Twenty had changed to fifteen, and fifteen to ten, but there was nonews of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, and stillthere came no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down theroad, or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate,thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give wayto four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope ofescape. Singlehanded, and with his limited knowledge of the mountainswhich surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. Themore frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none couldpass along them without an order from the Council. Turn which way hewould, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him.
Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itselfbefore he consented to what he regarded as his daughters dishonour.
He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles,and searching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shownthe figure 2 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the lastof the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague andterrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughterCwhat was tobecome of her after he was gone? [68] Was there no escape from theinvisible network which was drawn all round them? He sank his headupon the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence.
What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching soundClow,but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of thehouse. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. There was a pausefor a few moments, and then the low, insidious sound was repeated.
Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the panels of thedoor. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry out themurderous orders of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent who wasmarking up that the last day of grace had arrived? John Ferrier felt thatinstant death would be better than the suspense which shook his nervesand chilled his heart. Springing forward, he drew the bolt and threw thedoor open.
Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and the stars weretwinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before thefarmers eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on theroad was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Ferrier lookedto right and to left, until, happening to glance straight down at his ownfeet, he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face upon theground, with arms and legs all asprawl.
So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall withhis hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out. His first thoughtwas that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, butas he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into the hall withthe rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the house the mansprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the astonished farmerthe fierce face and resolute expression of Jefferson Hope.
Good God! gasped John Ferrier. How you scared me! Whatevermade you come in like that?
Give me food, the other said, hoarsely. I have had no time for bite orsup for eight-and-forty hours. He flung himself upon the cold meat andbread which were still lying upon the table from his hosts supper, anddevoured it voraciously. Does Lucy bear up well? he asked, when hehad satisfied his hunger.
Yes. She does not know the danger, her father answered.
That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why Icrawled my way up to it. They may be darned sharp, but theyre not quitesharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter.
John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had adevoted ally. He seized the young mans leathery hand and wrung itcordially. Youre a man to be proud of, he said. There are not manywho would come to share our danger and our troubles.
Youve hit it there, pard, the young hunter answered. I have arespect for you, but if you were alone in this business Id think twicebefore I put my head into such a hornets nest. Its Lucy that brings mehere, and before harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o theHope family in Utah.
What are we to do?
To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost. Ihave a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. How muchmoney have you?
Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.
That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must push forCarson City [69] through the mountains. You had best wake Lucy. It is aswell that the servants do not sleep in the house.
While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approachingjourney, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that he could find into asmall parcel, and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew byexperience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He hadhardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with hisdaughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the loverswas warm, but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was much to bedone.
We must make our start at once, said Jefferson Hope, speaking in alow but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril, buthas steeled his heart to meet it. The front and back entrances arewatched, but with caution we may get away through the side window andacross the fields. Once on the road we are only two miles from the Ravinewhere the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should be halfway throughthe mountains.
What if we are stopped? asked Ferrier.
Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of histunic. If they are too many for us, we shall take two or three of themwith us, he said with a sinister smile.
The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from thedarkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own,and which he was now about to abandon forever. He had long nervedhimself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour andhappiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes.
All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silentstretch of grainland, that it was difficult to realize that the spirit of murderlurked through it all. Yet the white face and set expression of the younghunter showed that in his approach to the house he had seen enough tosatisfy him upon that head.
Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had the scantyprovisions and water, while Lucy had a small bundle containing a few ofher more valued possessions. Opening the window very slowly andcarefully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured thenight, and then one by one passed through into the little garden. Withbated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and gained theshelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap whichopened into the cornfield. They had just reached this point when theyoung man seized his two companions and dragged them down into theshadow, where they lay silent and trembling.
It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson Hope the earsof a lynx. He and his friends had hardly crouched down before themelancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards ofthem, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a smalldistance. At the same moment a vague, shadowy figure emerged from thegap for which they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cryagain, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity.
To-morrow at midnight, said the first, who appeared to be inauthority. When the whippoorwill calls three times.
It is well, returned the other. Shall I tell Brother Drebber?
Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!
Seven to five! repeated the other; and the two figures flitted away indifferent directions. Their concluding words had evidently been someform of sign and [70] countersign. The instant that their footsteps haddied away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helpinghis companions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top ofhis speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strengthappeared to fail her.
Hurry on! hurry on! he gasped from time to time. We are throughthe line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!
Once on the high road, they made rapid progress. Only once did theymeet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, and so avoidrecognition. Before reaching the town the hunter branched away into arugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark, jaggedpeaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which ledbetween them was the Eagle Canon in which the horses were awaitingthem. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among thegreat boulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he cameto the retired corner screened with rocks, where the faithful animals hadbeen picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier uponone of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope led the otheralong the precipitous and dangerous path.
It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to faceNature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great crag towered up athousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basalticcolumns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified monster.
On the other hand a wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advanceimpossible. Between the two ran the irregular tracks, so narrow in placesthat they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that only practisedriders could have traversed it at all. Yet, in spite of all dangers anddifficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for everystep increased the distance between them and the terrible despotism fromwhich they were flying.
They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within thejurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very wildest and mostdesolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry, and pointedupwards. On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark andplain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them as soonas they perceived him, and his military challenge of Who goes there?
rang through the silent ravine.
Travellers for Nevada, said Jefferson Hope, with his hand upon therifle which hung by his saddle.
They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peering downat them as if dissatisfied at their reply.
By whose permission? he asked.
The Holy Four, answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences hadtaught him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer.
Nine to seven, cried the sentinel.
Seven to five, returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering thecountersign which he had heard in the garden.
Pass, and the Lord go with you, said the voice from above. Beyondhis post the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break into atrot. Looking back, they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon hisgun, and knew that they had passed the outlying post of the chosenpeople, and that freedom lay before them.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 5A Study in ScarletChapter 5THE AVENGING ANGELSALL night their course lay through intricate defiles and over irregular androck-strewn paths. More than once they lost their way, but Hopesintimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the trackonce more. When morning broke, a scene of marvellous though savagebeauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peakshemmed them in, peeping over each others shoulders to the far horizon.
So steep were the rocky banks on either side of them that the larch and thepine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to need only a gust ofwind to come hurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely anillusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulderswhich had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed, a great rockcame thundering down with a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes in thesilent gorges, and startled the weary horses into a gallop.
As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the greatmountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until theywere all ruddy and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the heartsof the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wild torrent whichswept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered their horses, whilethey partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain haverested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. They will be upon ourtrack by this time, he said. Everything depends upon our speed. Oncesafe in Carson, we may rest for the remainder of our lives.
During the whole of that day they struggled on through the defiles, andby evening they calculated that they were more than thirty miles fromtheir enemies. At night-time they chose the base of a beetling crag, wherethe rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and there, huddledtogether for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours sleep. Before daybreak,however, they were up and on their way once more. They had seen nosigns of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that they werefairly out of the reach of the terrible organization whose enmity they hadincurred. He little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soonit was to close upon them and crush them.
About the middle of the second day of their flight their scanty store ofprovisions began to run out. This gave the hunter little uneasiness,however, for there was game to be had among the mountains, and he hadfrequently before had to depend upon his rifle for the needs of life.
Choosing a sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches andmade a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, forthey were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea level, and the airwas bitter and keen. Having tethered the horses, and bid Lucy adieu, hethrew his gun over his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever chancemight throw in his way. Looking back, he saw the old man and the younggirl crouching over the blazing fire, while the three animals stoodmotionless in the background. Then the intervening rocks hid them fromhis view.
He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after anotherwithout [72] success, though, from the marks upon the bark of the trees,and other indications, he judged that there were numerous bears in thevicinity. At last, after two or three hours fruitless search, he was thinkingof turning back in despair, when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sightwhich sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the edge of a juttingpinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a creaturesomewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed with a pair ofgigantic horns. The big-hornCfor so it is calledCwas acting, probably, as aguardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; but fortunately itwas heading in the opposite direction, and had not perceived him. Lyingon his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock, and took a long and steady aimbefore drawing the trigger. The animal sprang into the air, tottered for amoment upon the edge of the precipice, and then came crashing downinto the valley beneath.
The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter contented himselfwith cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. With this trophy overhis shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was alreadydrawing in. He had hardly started, however, before he realized thedifficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered far past theravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick outthe path which he had taken. The valley in which he found himselfdivided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were so like each otherthat it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. He followed onefor a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent which he was surethat he had never seen before. Convinced that he had taken the wrongturn, he tried another, but with the same result. Night was coming onrapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found himself in a defilewhich was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep to theright track, for the moon had not yet risen, and the high cliffs on eitherside made the obscurity more profound. Weighed down with his burden,and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his heart bythe reflection that every step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that hecarried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder of theirjourney.
He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he had leftthem. Even in the darkness he could recognize the outline of the cliffswhich bounded it. They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, forhe had been absent nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart he puthis hands to his mouth and made the glen reecho to a loud halloo as asignal that he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer. Nonecame save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary, silent ravines, andwas borne back to his ears in countless repetitions. Again he shouted,even louder than before, and again no whisper came back from the friendswhom he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread cameover him, and he hurried onward frantically, dropping the precious foodin his agitation.
When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where thefire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile of wood ashes there, but ithad evidently not been tended since his departure. The same dead silencestill reigned all round. With his fears all changed to convictions, hehurried on. There was no living creature near the remains of the fire:
animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too clear that somesudden and terrible disaster had occurred during his absenceCa disasterwhich had embraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind it.
Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his head spinround, [73] and had to lean upon his rifle to save himself from falling. Hewas essentially a man of action, however, and speedily recovered from histemporary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from thesmouldering fire, he blew it into a flame, and proceeded with its help toexamine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet ofhorses, showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken thefugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they had afterwardsturned back to Salt Lake City. Had they carried back both of hiscompanions with them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himselfthat they must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which madeevery nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way on one side of thecamp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly not beenthere before. There was no mistaking it for anything but a newly duggrave. As the young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick hadbeen planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. Theinscription upon the paper was brief, but to the point:
JOHN FERRIER,FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY.
Died August 4th, 1860.
The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before, was gone,then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildly round tosee if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy hadbeen carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destiny,by becoming one of the harem of an Elders son. As the young fellowrealized the certainty of her fate, and his own powerlessness to prevent it,he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer in his last silentresting-place.
Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy which springsfrom despair. If there was nothing else left to him, he could at least devotehis life to revenge. With indomitable patience and perseverance, JeffersonHope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he mayhave learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived. As he stoodby the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuagehis grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his ownhand upon his enemies. His strong will and untiring energy should, hedetermined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white face, heretraced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and having stirred upthe smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a few days. Thishe made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walkback through the mountains upon the track of the Avenging Angels.
For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the defiles which hehad already traversed on horseback. At night he flung himself downamong the rocks, and snatched a few hours of sleep; but before daybreakhe was always well on his way. On the sixth day, he reached the EagleCanon, from which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence hecould look down upon the home of the Saints. Worn and exhausted, heleaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silentwidespread city beneath him. As he looked at it, he observed that therewere flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. Hewas still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard the clatterof horses hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding towards him. As heapproached, he recognized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom hehad rendered services [74] at different times. He therefore accosted himwhen he got up to him, with the object of finding out what Lucy Ferriersfate had been.
I am Jefferson Hope, he said. You remember me.
The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishmentCindeed, itwas difficult to recognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastlywhite face and fierce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days.
Having, however, at last satisfied himself as to his identity, the manssurprise changed to consternation.
You are mad to come here, he cried. It is as much as my own life isworth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrant against you from theHoly Four for assisting the Ferriers away.
I dont fear them, or their warrant, Hope said, earnestly. You mustknow something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you by everything youhold dear to answer a few questions. We have always been friends. ForGods sake, dont refuse to answer me.
What is it? the Mormon asked, uneasily. Be quick. The very rockshave ears and the trees eyes.
What has become of Lucy Ferrier?
She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man, hold up;you have no life left in you.
Dont mind me, said Hope faintly. He was white to the very lips, andhad sunk down on the stone against which he had been leaning. Married,you say?
Married yesterdayCthats what those flags are for on the EndowmentHouse. There was some words between young Drebber and youngStangerson as to which was to have her. Theyd both been in the partythat followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed togive him the best claim; but when they argued it out in council, Drebbersparty was the stronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one wonthave her very long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday. She ismore like a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?
Yes, I am off, said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his seat. Hisface might have been chiselled out of marble, so hard and set was itsexpression, while its eyes glowed with a baleful light.
Where are you going?
Never mind, he answered; and, slinging his weapon over hisshoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away into the heart of themountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Amongst them all there wasnone so fierce and so dangerous as himself.
The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled. Whether itwas the terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriageinto which she had been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again,but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who hadmarried her principally for the sake of John Ferriers property, did notaffect any great grief at his bereavement; but his other wives mournedover her, and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the Mormoncustom. They were grouped round the bier in the early hours of themorning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, the door wasflung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in tatteredgarments strode into the room. Without a glance or a word to thecowering women, he walked up to the white silent figure which had oncecontained the pure soul of Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed hislips reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, hetook the wedding ring from her finger. She [75] shall not be buried inthat, he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raisedsprang down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief was theepisode that the watchers might have found it hard to believe itthemselves or persuade other people of it, had it not been for theundeniable fact that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been abride had disappeared.
For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains,leading a strange, wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire forvengeance which possessed him. Tales were told in the city of the weirdfigure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which haunted thelonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangersonswindow and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. Onanother occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder crasheddown on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing himselfupon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in discovering thereason of these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditionsinto the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, butalways without success. Then they adopted the precaution of never goingout alone or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. After atime they were able to relax these measures, for nothing was either heardor seen of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled hisvindictiveness.
Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. The hunters mindwas of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge hadtaken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any otheremotion. He was, however, above all things, practical. He soon realizedthat even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant strain whichhe was putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food werewearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains, what was tobecome of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtakehim if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemys game, so hereluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to recruit his healthand to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his object withoutprivation.
His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but acombination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the minesfor nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of hiswrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on thatmemorable night when he had stood by John Ferriers grave. Disguised,and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless whatbecame of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice.
There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a schism amongthe Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger members ofthe Church having rebelled against the authority of the Elders, and theresult had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents, whohad left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber andStangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reportedthat Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property intomoney, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion,Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however,as to their whereabouts.
Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought ofrevenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never falteredfor a moment. With the small competence he possessed, eked out by suchemployment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town throughthe United States in quest [76] of his enemies. Year passed into year, hisblack hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound,with his mind wholly set upon the one object to which he had devoted hislife. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a facein a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohiopossessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to hismiserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all arranged. It chanced,however, that Drebber, looking from his window, had recognized thevagrant in the street, and had read murder in his eyes. He hurried before ajustice of the peace accompanied by Stangerson, who had become hisprivate secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of theirlives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival. That evening JeffersonHope was taken into custody, and not being able to find sureties, wasdetained for some weeks. When at last he was liberated it was only to findthat Drebbers house was deserted, and that he and his secretary haddeparted for Europe.
Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatredurged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and forsome time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for hisapproaching journey. At last, having collected enough to keep life in him,he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city,working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking thefugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg, they had departed for Paris;and when he followed them there, he learned that they had just set off forCopenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for theyhad journeyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running themto earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the oldhunters own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watsons Journal, to whichwe are already under such obligations.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 6A Study in ScarletChapter 6A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHNWATSON, M.D.
OUR prisoners furious resistance did not apparently indicate any ferocityin his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself powerless, hesmiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurtany of us in the scuffle. I guess youre going to take me to the policestation,
he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. My cabs at the door. Ifyoull loose my legs Ill walk down to it. Im not so light to lift as I usedto be.
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances, as if they thought thisproposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at hisword, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ankles. Herose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were freeonce more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I hadseldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark, sunburned facebore an expression of determination and energy which was as formidableas his personal strength.
If theres a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you are theman for [77] it, he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellowlodger.
The way you kept on my trail was a caution.
You had better come with me, said Holmes to the two detectives.
I can drive you, said Lestrade.
Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor. Youhave taken an interest in the case, and may as well stick to us.
I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made noattempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his, andwe followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, andbrought us in a very short time to our destination. We were ushered into asmall chamber, where a police inspector noted down our prisoners nameand the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. Theofficial was a white-faced, unemotional man, who went through his dutiesin a dull, mechanical way. The prisoner will be put before themagistrates in the course of the week, he said; in the meantime, Mr.
Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn youthat your words will be taken down, and may be used against you.
Ive got a good deal to say, our prisoner said slowly. I want to tellyou gentlemen all about it.
Hadnt you better reserve that for your trial? asked the inspector.
I may never be tried, he answered. You neednt look startled. It isntsuicide I am thinking of. Are you a doctor? He turned his fierce darkeyes upon me as he asked this last question.
Yes, I am, I answered.
Then put your hand here, he said, with a smile, motioning with hismanacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbingand commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemedto thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when somepowerful engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could hear adull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.
Why, I cried, you have an aortic aneurism!
Thats what they call it, he said, placidly. I went to a doctor lastweek about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many dayspassed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from overexposure andunder-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. Ive done my work now,and I dont care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account ofthe business behind me. I dont want to be remembered as a common cutthroat.
The inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to theadvisability of allowing him to tell his story.
Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger? the formerasked.
Most certainly there is, I answered.
In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to take hisstatement, said the inspector. You are at liberty, sir, to give youraccount, which I again warn you will be taken down.
Ill sit down, with your leave, the prisoner said, suiting the action tothe word. This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the tusslewe had half an hour ago has not mended matters. Im on the brink of thegrave, and I am not likely [78] to lie to you. Every word I say is theabsolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me.
With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and beganthe following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodicalmanner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplaceenough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I havehad access to Lestrades notebook, in which the prisoners words weretaken down exactly as they were uttered.
It dont much matter to you why I hated these men, he said; itsenough that they were guilty of the death of two human beingsCa fatherand daughterCand that they had, therefore, forfeited their own lives. Afterthe lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible forme to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew of their guiltthough, and I determined that I should be judge, jury, and executioner allrolled into one. Youd have done the same, if you have any manhood inyou, if you had been in my place.
That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. Shewas forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. Itook the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his dyingeyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts should beof the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it about with me,and have followed him and his accomplice over two continents until Icaught them. They thought to tire me out, but they could not do it. If I dieto-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing that my work in this worldis done, and well done. They have perished, and by my hand. There isnothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.
They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me tofollow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and Ifound that I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving andriding are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cab-ownersoffice, and soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week tothe owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There wasseldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The hardestjob was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that everwere contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me,though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, Igot on pretty well.
It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen wereliving; but I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped across them.
They were at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on the other side ofthe river. When once I found them out, I knew that I had them at mymercy. I had grown my beard, and there was no chance of theirrecognizing me. I would dog them and follow them until I saw myopportunity. I was determined that they should not escape me again.
They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they would aboutLondon, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I followed them on mycab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then theycould not get away from me. It was only early in the morning or late atnight that I could earn anything, so that I began to get behindhand withmy employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I could lay myhand upon the men I wanted.
They were very cunning, though. They must have thought that therewas some chance of their being followed, for they would never go outalone, and never after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind themevery day, and never once [79] saw them separate. Drebber himself wasdrunk half the time, but Stangerson was not to be caught napping. Iwatched them late and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but Iwas not discouraged, for something told me that the hour had almostcome. My only fear was that this thing in my chest might burst a little toosoon and leave my work undone.
At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay Terrace, asthe street was called in which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive up totheir door. Presently some luggage was brought out and after a timeDrebber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off. I whipped up myhorse and kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I fearedthat they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston Station they got out,and I left a boy to hold my horse and followed them on to the platform. Iheard them ask for the Liverpool train, and the guard answer that one hadjust gone, and there would not be another for some hours. Stangersonseemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased thanotherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I could hear every wordthat passed between them. Drebber said that he had a little business of hisown to do, and that if the other would wait for him he would soon rejoinhim. His companion remonstrated with him, and reminded him that theyhad resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the matter was adelicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not catch what Stangersonsaid to that, but the other burst out swearing, and reminded him that hewas nothing more than his paid servant, and that he must not presume todictate to him. On that the secretary gave it up as a bad job, and simplybargained with him that if he missed the last train he should rejoin him atHallidays Private Hotel; to which Drebber answered that he would beback on the platform before eleven, and made his way out of the station.
The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come. I had myenemies within my power. Together they could protect each other, butsingly they were at my mercy. I did not act, however, with undueprecipitation. My plans were already formed. There is no satisfaction invengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikeshim, and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans arranged bywhich I should have the opportunity of making the man who had wrongedme understand that his old sin had found him out. It chanced that somedays before a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over somehouses in the Brixton Road had dropped the key of one of them in mycarriage. It was claimed that same evening, and returned; but in theinterval I had taken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. Bymeans of this I had access to at least one spot in this great city where Icould rely upon being free from interruption. How to get Drebber to thathouse was the difficult problem which I had now to solve.
He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor shops,staying for nearly half an hour in the last of them. When he came out, hestaggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on. There was ahansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. I followed it so close that thenose of my horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way. Werattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets, until, to myastonishment, we found ourselves back in the terrace in which he hadboarded. I could not imagine what his intention was in returning there; butI went on and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house. Heentered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass of water, if youplease. My mouth gets dry with the talking.
[80] I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.
Thats better, he said. Well, I waited for a quarter of an hour, ormore, when suddenly there came a noise like people struggling inside thehouse. Next moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, oneof whom was Drebber, and the other was a young chap whom I had neverseen before. This fellow had Drebber by the collar, and when they cameto the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent himhalf across the road. You hound! he cried, shaking his stick at him; Illteach you to insult an honest girl! He was so hot that I think he wouldhave thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered awaydown the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far as thecorner, and then seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. Drive me toHallidays Private Hotel, said he.
When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with joythat I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might go wrong. I drovealong slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best to do. I mighttake him right out into the country, and there in some deserted lane havemy last interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when hesolved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized him again, andhe ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leaving wordthat I should wait for him. There he remained until closing time, andwhen he came out he was so far gone that I knew the game was in myown hands.
Dont imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. It would onlyhave been rigid justice if I had done so, but I could not bring myself to doit. I had long determined that he should have a show for his life if hechose to take advantage of it. Among the many billets which I have filledin America during my wandering life, I was once janitor and sweeper-outof the laboratory at York College. One day the professor was lecturing onpoisons, and he showed his students some alkaloid, as he called it, whichhe had extracted from some South American arrow poison, and whichwas so powerful that the least grain meant instant death. I spotted thebottle in which this preparation was kept, and when they were all gone, Ihelped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly good dispenser, so I workedthis alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and each pill I put in a box with asimilar pill made without the poison. I determined at the time that when Ihad my chance my gentlemen should each have a draw out of one of theseboxes, while I ate the pill that remained. It would be quite as deadly and agood deal less noisy than firing across a handkerchief. From that day Ihad always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had now comewhen I was to use them.
It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowing hardand raining in torrents. Dismal as it was outside, I was glad withinCsoglad that I could have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of yougentlemen have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twentylong years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you wouldunderstand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at it to steady my nerves,but my hands were trembling and my temples throbbing with excitement.
As I drove, I could see old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me outof the darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in thisroom. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each side of the horseuntil I pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road.
There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except thedripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window, I found Drebber allhuddled [81] together in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm, Itstime to get out, I said.
All right, cabby, said he.
I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had mentioned,for he got out without another word, and followed me down the garden. Ihad to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he was still a little topheavy.
When we came to the door, I opened it and led him into the frontroom. I give you my word that all the way, the father and the daughterwere walking in front of us.
Its infernally dark, said he, stamping about.
Well soon have a light, I said, striking a match and putting it to awax candle which I had brought with me. Now, Enoch Drebber, Icontinued, turning to him, and holding the light to my own face, who amI?
He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and then Isaw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole features, whichshowed me that he knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and Isaw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered inhis head. At the sight I leaned my back against the door and laughed loudand long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but I hadnever hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me.
You dog! I said; I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to St.
Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last yourwanderings have come to an end, for either you or I shall never see tomorrowssun rise. He shrunk still farther away as I spoke, and I couldsee on his face that he thought I was mad. So I was for the time. Thepulses in my temples beat like sledge-hammers, and I believe I wouldhave had a fit of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose andrelieved me.
What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now? I cried, locking the door,and shaking the key in his face. Punishment has been slow in coming,but it has overtaken you at last. I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke.
He would have begged for his life, but he knew well that it was useless.
Would you murder me? he stammered.
There is no murder, I answered. Who talks of murdering a maddog? What mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you dragged herfrom her slaughtered father, and bore her away to your accursed andshameless harem?
It was not I who killed her father, he cried.
But it was you who broke her innocent heart, I shrieked, thrustingthe box before him. Let the high God judge between us. Choose and eat.
There is death in one and life in the other. I shall take what you leave. Letus see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.
He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but I drewmy knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me. Then Iswallowed the other, and we stood facing one another in silence for aminute or more, waiting to see which was to live and which was to die.
Shall I ever forget the look which came over his face when the firstwarning pangs told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as Isaw it, and held Lucys marriage ring in front of his eyes. It was but for amoment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain contortedhis features; he threw his hands out in front of him, staggered, and then,with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned him over with myfoot, and placed my hand upon his heart. There was no movement. Hewas dead!
The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken no noticeof it. [82] I dont know what it was that put it into my head to write uponthe wall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting thepolice upon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. Iremember a German being found in New York with RACHE written upabove him, and it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secretsocieties must have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkerswould puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger in my own blood andprinted it on a convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down to mycab and found that there was nobody about, and that the night was stillvery wild. I had driven some distance, when I put my hand into the pocketin which I usually kept Lucys ring, and found that it was not there. I wasthunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I had of her.
Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped over Drebbersbody, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly upto the houseCfor I was ready to dare anything rather than lose the ring.
When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms of a police-officer whowas coming out, and only managed to disarm his suspicions bypretending to be hopelessly drunk.
That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do thenwas to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferriers debt. Iknew that he was staying at Hallidays Private Hotel, and I hung about allday, but he never came out. I fancy that he suspected something whenDrebber failed to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson,and always on his guard. If he thought he could keep me off by stayingindoors he was very much mistaken. I soon found out which was thewindow of his bedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of someladders which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made myway into his room in the gray of the dawn. I woke him up and told himthat the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken solong before. I described Drebbers death to him, and I gave him the samechoice of the poisoned pills. Instead of grasping at the chance of safetywhich that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat. Inself-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have been the same inany case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty hand topick out anything but the poison.
I have little more to say, and its as well, for I am about done up. Iwent on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until I couldsave enough to take me back to America. I was standing in the yard whena ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called JeffersonHope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B, BakerStreet. I went round suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew, thisyoung man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly shackled asever I saw in my life. Thats the whole of my story, gentlemen. You mayconsider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an officerof justice as you are.
So thrilling had the mans narrative been and his manner was soimpressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the professionaldetectives, blase as they were in every detail of crime, appeared to bekeenly interested in the mans story. When he finished, we sat for someminutes in a stillness which was only broken by the scratching ofLestrades pencil as he gave the finishing touches to his shorthandaccount.
There is only one point on which I should like a little moreinformation, Sherlock Holmes said at last. Who was your accomplicewho came for the ring which I advertised?
[83] The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. I can tell my ownsecrets, he said, but I dont get other people into trouble. I saw youradvertisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be the ringwhich I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think youll ownhe did it smartly.
Not a doubt of that, said Holmes, heartily.
Now, gentlemen, the inspector remarked gravely, the forms of thelaw must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner will be broughtbefore the magistrates, and your attendance will be required. Until then Iwill be responsible for him. He rang the bell as he spoke, and JeffersonHope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made ourway out of the station and took a cab back to Baker Street.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 7A Study in ScarletChapter 7THE CONCLUSIONWE HAD all been warned to appear before the magistrates upon theThursday; but when the Thursday came there was no occasion for ourtestimony. A higher Judge had taken the matter in hand, and JeffersonHope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice would bemeted out to him. On the very night after his capture the aneurism burst,and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor of the cell, witha placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his dyingmoments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well done.
Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death, Holmesremarked, as we chatted it over next evening. Where will their grandadvertisement be now?
I dont see that they had very much to do with his capture, I answered.
What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence, returnedmy companion, bitterly. The question is, what can you make peoplebelieve that you have done? Never mind, he continued, more brightly,after a pause. I would not have missed the investigation for anything.
There has been no better case within my recollection. Simple as it was,there were several most instructive points about it.
Simple! I ejaculated.
Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise, said SherlockHolmes, smiling at my surprise. The proof of its intrinsic simplicity is,that without any help save a few very ordinary deductions I was able tolay my hand upon the criminal within three days.
That is true, said I.
I have already explained to you that what is out of the common isusually a guide rather than a hindrance. In solving a problem of this sort,the grand thing is to be able to reason backward. That is a very usefulaccomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much.
In the everyday affairs of life it is more useful to reason forward, and sothe other comes to be neglected. There are fifty who can reasonsynthetically for one who can reason analytically.
I confess, said I, that I do not quite follow you.
I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make it clearer.
Most people, if you describe a train of events to them, will tell you whatthe result would be. They can put those events together in their minds,and argue from them [84] that something will come to pass. There are fewpeople, however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to evolvefrom their own inner consciousness what the steps were which led up tothat result. This power is what I mean when I talk of reasoning backward,or analytically.
I understand, said I.
Now this was a case in which you were given the result and had tofind everything else for yourself. Now let me endeavour to show you thedifferent steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approachedthe house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from allimpressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and there, as Ihave already explained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, Iascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the night. I satisfiedmyself that it was a cab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge ofthe wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably less wide than agentlemans brougham.
This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down the gardenpath, which happened to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitablefor taking impressions. No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere trampledline of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had ameaning. There is no branch of detective science which is so importantand so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I havealways laid great stress upon it, and much practice has made it secondnature to me. I saw the heavy footmarks of the constables, but I saw alsothe track of the two men who had first passed through the garden. It waseasy to tell that they had been before the others, because in places theirmarks had been entirely obliterated by the others coming upon the top ofthem. In this way my second link was formed, which told me that thenocturnal visitors were two in number, one remarkable for his height (as Icalculated from the length of his stride), and the other fashionablydressed, to judge from the small and elegant impression left by his boots.
On entering the house this last inference was confirmed. My wellbootedman lay before me. The tall one, then, had done the murder, ifmurder there was. There was no wound upon the dead mans person, butthe agitated expression upon his face assured me that he had foreseen hisfate before it came upon him. Men who die from heart disease, or anysudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon theirfeatures. Having sniffed the dead mans lips, I detected a slightly soursmell, and I came to the conclusion that he had had poison forced uponhim. Again, I argued that it had been forced upon him from the hatred andfear expressed upon his face. By the method of exclusion, I had arrived atthis result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. Do not imaginethat it was a very unheard-of idea. The forcible administration of poison isby no means a new thing in criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky inOdessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once to anytoxicologist.
And now came the great question as to the reason why. Robbery hadnot been the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. Was it politics,then, or was it a woman? That was the question which confronted me. Iwas inclined from the first to the latter supposition. Political assassins areonly too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder had, on thecontrary, been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator had left histracks all over the room, showing that he had been there all the time. Itmust have been a private wrong, and not a political one, which called forsuch a methodical revenge. When the inscription was discovered [85]
upon the wall, I was more inclined than ever to my opinion. The thingwas too evidently a blind. When the ring was found, however, it settledthe question. Clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victim ofsome dead or absent woman. It was at this point that I asked Gregsonwhether he had inquired in his telegram to Cleveland as to any particularpoint in Mr. Drebbers former career. He answered, you remember, in thenegative.
I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room, whichconfirmed me in my opinion as to the murderers height, and furnishedme with the additional details as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the lengthof his nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there were nosigns of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst fromthe murderers nose in his excitement. I could perceive that the track ofblood coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that any man,unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through emotion, soI hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddyfacedman. Events proved that I had judged correctly.
Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson had neglected.
I telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland, limiting my inquiryto the circumstances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. Theanswer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber had already applied forthe protection of the law against an old rival in love, named JeffersonHope, and that this same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now thatI held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was tosecure the murderer.
I had already determined in my own mind that the man who hadwalked into the house with Drebber was none other than the man who haddriven the cab. The marks in the road showed me that the horse hadwandered on in a way which would have been impossible had there beenanyone in charge of it. Where, then, could the driver be, unless he wereinside the house? Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man wouldcarry out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a thirdperson, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing one man wished todog another through London, what better means could he adopt than toturn cabdriver? All these considerations led me to the irresistibleconclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of theMetropolis.
If he had been one, there was no reason to believe that he had ceasedto be. On the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden change wouldbe likely to draw attention to himself. He would probably, for a time atleast, continue to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose thathe was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his name ina country where no one knew his original one? I therefore organized mystreet Arab detective corps, and sent them systematically to every cabproprietor in London until they ferreted out the man that I wanted. Howwell they succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are still freshin your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an incident whichwas entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in any case have beenprevented. Through it, as you know, I came into possession of the pills,the existence of which I had already surmised. You see, the whole thing isa chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw.
It is wonderful! I cried. Your merits should be publicly recognized.
You should publish an account of the case. If you wont, I will for you.
You may do what you like, Doctor, he answered. See here! hecontinued, handing a paper over to me, look at this!
[86] It was the Echo for the day, and the paragraph to which he pointedwas devoted to the case in question.
The public, it said, have lost a sensational treat through the suddendeath of the man Hope, who was suspected of the murder of Mr. EnochDrebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case willprobably be never known now, though we are informed upon goodauthority that the crime was the result of an old-standing and romanticfeud, in which love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both thevictims belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day Saints, andHope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt Lake City. If the casehas had no other effect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking mannerthe efficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson toall foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds at home, and notto carry them on to British soil. It is an open secret that the credit of thissmart capture belongs entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard officials,Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was apprehended, it appears, inthe rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as anamateur, shown some talent in the detective line and who, with suchinstructors, may hope in time to attain to some degree of their skill. It isexpected that a testimonial of some sort will be presented to the twoofficers as a fitting recognition of their services.
Didnt I tell you so when we started? cried Sherlock Holmes with alaugh. Thats the result of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them atestimonial!
Never mind, I answered; I have all the facts in my journal, and thepublic shall know them. In the meantime you must make yourselfcontented by the consciousness of success, like the Roman miserCPopulus me sibilat, at mihi plaudoIpse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.
David Soucek, 1998The Sign of FourThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE SIGN OF FOURFirst edition in Lippincotts Magazine, 1890Chapter 1. The Science of DeductionChapter 2. The Statement of the CaseChapter 3. In Quest of a SolutionChapter 4. The Story of the Bald-headed ManChapter 5. The Tragedy of Pondicherry LodgeChapter 6. Sherlock Holmes Gives a DemonstartionChapter 7. The Episode of the BarrelChapter 8. The Baker Street IrregularsChapter 9. A Break in the ChainChapter 10. The End of the IslanderChapter 11. The Great Agra TreasureChapter 12. The Strange Story of Jonathan SmallFirst published in the Lippincotts Magazine, Philadelphia and London, in February1890. First book edition by S. Blackett in Oct. 1890.
The second book edition, 1892David Soucek, 1998The Sign of FourChapter 1THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTIONSHERLOCK HOLMES took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece,and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back hisleft shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon thesinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerablepuncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down thetiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sighof satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance,but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day today I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swellednightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest.
Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul uponthe subject; but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of mycompanion which made him the last man with whom one would care totake anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterlymanner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinaryqualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had takenwith my lunch or the additional exasperation produced by the extremedeliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.
Which is it to-day, I asked, morphine or cocaine?
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which hehad opened.
It is cocaine, he said, a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care totry it?
No, indeed, I answered brusquely. My constitution has not got overthe Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain uponit.
He smiled at my vehemence. Perhaps you are right, Watson, he said.
I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, sotranscendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondaryaction is a matter of small moment.
But consider! I said earnestly. Count the cost! Your brain may, asyou say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid processwhich involves increased tissue-change and may at least leave apermanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes uponyou. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for amere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which youhave been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade toanother but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to someextent answerable.
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tipstogether, and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who hasa relish for conversation.
My mind, he said, rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give mework, [90] give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricateanalysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then withartificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave formental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particularprofession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.
The only unofficial detective? I said, raising my eyebrows.
The only unofficial consulting detective, he answered. I am the lastand highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson, or Lestrade, orAthelney Jones are out of their depthsCwhich, by the way, is their normalstateCthe matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert, andpronounce a specialists opinion. I claim no credit in such cases. Myname figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding afield for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have yourselfhad some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case.
Yes, indeed, said I cordially. I was never so struck by anything inmy life. I even embodied it in a small brochure, with the somewhatfantastic title of A Study in Scarlet.
He shook his head sadly.
I glanced over it, said he. Honestly, I cannot congratulate you uponit. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science and should be treated inthe same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge itwith romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you workeda love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.
But the romance was there, I remonstrated. I could not tamper withthe facts.
Some facts should be suppressed, or, at least, a just sense ofproportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the casewhich deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effectsto causes, by which I succeeded in unravelling it.
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been speciallydesigned to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the egotismwhich seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should bedevoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years that Ihad lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small vanityunderlay my companions quiet and didactic manner. I made no remark,however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had had a Jezail bulletthrough it some time before, and though it did not prevent me fromwalking it ached wearily at every change of the weather.
My practice has extended recently to the Continent, said Holmesafter a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. I was consulted last weekby Francois le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come rather to thefront lately in the French detective service. He has all the Celtic power ofquick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of exact knowledgewhich is essential to the higher developments of his art. The case wasconcerned with a will and possessed some features of interest. I was ableto refer him to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other atSt. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. Here isthe letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance.
He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. Iglanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration,with stray magnifiques, [91] coup-de-ma.tres and tours-de-force, alltestifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
He speaks as a pupil to his master, said I.
Oh, he rates my assistance too highly, said Sherlock Holmes lightly.
He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the threequalities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power ofobservation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge, andthat may come in time. He is now translating my small works intoFrench.
Your works?
Oh, didnt you know? he cried, laughing. Yes, I have been guilty ofseveral monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, forexample, is one Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the VariousTobaccos. In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette,and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in theash. It is a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials, andwhich is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you can saydefinitely, for example, that some murder had been done by a man whowas smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search.
To the trained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of aTrichinopoly and the white fluff of birds-eye as there is between acabbage and a potato.
You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae, I remarked.
I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracingof footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as apreserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon theinfluence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of thehands of slaters, sailors, cork-cutters, compositors, weavers, and diamondpolishers.
That is a matter of great practical interest to the scientificdetectiveCespecially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering theantecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my hobby.
Not at all, I answered earnestly. It is of the greatest interest to me,especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your practicalapplication of it. But you spoke just now of observation and deduction.
Surely the one to some extent implies the other.
Why, hardly, he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchairand sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. For example,observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there youdispatched a telegram.
Right! said I. Right on both points! But I confess that I dont seehow you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I havementioned it to no one.
It is simplicity itself, he remarked, chuckling at my surpriseCsoabsurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may serve todefine the limits of observation and of deduction. Observation tells methat you have a little reddish mould adhering to your instep. Just oppositethe Wigmore Street Office they have taken up the pavement and thrownup some earth, which lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoidtreading in it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which isfound, as far as I know, nowhere else in the neighbourhood. So much isobservation. The rest is deduction.
How, then, did you deduce the telegram?
Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I satopposite [92] to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there thatyou have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards. What couldyou go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate allother factors, and the one which remains must be the truth.
In this case it certainly is so, I replied after a little thought. Thething, however, is, as you say, of the simplest. Would you think meimpertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe test?
On the contrary, he answered, it would prevent me from taking asecond dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problemwhich you might submit to me.
I have heard you say it is difficult for a man to have any object indaily use without leaving the impress of his individuality upon it in such away that a trained observer might read it. Now, I have here a watch whichhas recently come into my possession. Would you have the kindness to letme have an opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner?
I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement inmy heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I intendedit as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionallyassumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial,opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked eyes andthen with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep from smiling at hiscrestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and handed it back.
There are hardly any data, he remarked. The watch has beenrecently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts.
You are right, I answered. It was cleaned before being sent to me.
In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most lame andimpotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from anuncleaned watch?
Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren, heobserved, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. Subjectto your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to your elderbrother, who inherited it from your father.
That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?
Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch isnearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so it wasmade for the last generation. Jewellery usually descends to the eldest son,and he is most likely to have the same name as the father. Your father has,if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, therefore, been in thehands of your eldest brother.
Right, so far, said I. Anything else?
He was a man of untidy habitsCvery untidy and careless. He was leftwith good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some timein poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, takingto drink, he died. That is all I can gather.
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room withconsiderable bitterness in my heart.
This is unworthy of you, Holmes, I said. I could not have believedthat you would have descended to this. You have made inquiries into thehistory of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce thisknowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe thatyou have read all this from [93] his old watch! It is unkind and, to speakplainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it.
My dear doctor, said he kindly, pray accept my apologies. Viewingthe matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal andpainful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never evenknew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch.
Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts?
They are absolutely correct in every particular.
Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance ofprobability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate.
But it was not mere guesswork?
No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habitCdestructive to the logicalfaculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do not followmy train of thought or observe the small facts upon which largeinferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that your brotherwas careless. When you observe the lower part of that watch-case younotice that it is not only dinted in two places but it is cut and marked allover from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys,in the same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man whotreats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man. Neither isit a very far-fetched inference that a man who inherits one article of suchvalue is pretty well provided for in other respects.
I nodded to show that I followed his reasoning.
It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take awatch, to scratch the numbers of the ticket with a pin-point upon theinside of the case. It is more handy than a label as there is no risk of thenumber being lost or transposed. There are no less than four suchnumbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case. InferenceCthat yourbrother was often at low water. Secondary inferenceCthat he hadoccasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not have redeemed the pledge.
Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the keyhole.
Look at the thousands of scratches all round the holeCmarks where thekey has slipped. What sober mans key could have scored those grooves?
But you will never see a drunkards watch without them. He winds it atnight, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is themystery in all this?
It is as clear as daylight, I answered. I regret the injustice which Idid you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. May Iask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at present?
None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brainwork. What elseis there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary,dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down thestreet and drifts across the dun-coloured houses. What could be morehopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers,Doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime iscommonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save thosewhich are commonplace have any function upon earth.
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade when, with a crisp knock,our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.
A young lady for you, sir, she said, addressing my companion.
Miss Mary Morstan, he read. Hum! I have no recollection of thename. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Dont go, Doctor. Ishould prefer that you remain.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 2The Sign of FourChapter 2THE STATEMENT OF THE CASEMISS MORSTAN entered the room with a firm step and an outwardcomposure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, wellgloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, aplainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it asuggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige,untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dullhue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face hadneither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expressionwas sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritualand sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over manynations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a facewhich gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could notbut observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed forher, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign ofintense inward agitation.
I have come to you, Mr. Holmes, she said, because you onceenabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domesticcomplication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill.
Mrs. Cecil Forrester, he repeated thoughtfully. I believe that I wasof some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember it, was avery simple one.
She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine. Ican hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable, thanthe situation in which I find myself.
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward inhis chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his clearcut,hawklike features.
State your case, said he in brisk business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one.
You will, I am sure, excuse me, I said, rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.
If your friend, she said, would be good enough to stop, he might beof inestimable service to me.
I relapsed into my chair.
Briefly, she continued, the facts are these. My father was an officerin an Indian regiment, who sent me home when I was quite a child. Mymother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was placed,however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and thereI remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year 1878 my father,who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months leaveand came home. He telegraphed to me from London that he had arrivedall safe and directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotelas his address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and love.
On reaching London I drove to the Langham and was informed thatCaptain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone out the nightbefore and had not returned. I waited all day without news of him. Thatnight, on the [95] advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated withthe police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiriesled to no result; and from that day to this no word has ever been heard ofmy unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of hope to findsome peace, some comfort, and insteadC C
She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.
The date? asked Holmes, opening his notebook.
He disappeared upon the third of December, 1878Cnearly ten yearsago.
His luggage?
Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clueCsomeclothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities from theAndaman Islands. He had been one of the officers in charge of theconvict-guard there.
Had he any friends in town?
Only one that we know ofCMajor Sholto, of his own regiment, theThirty-fourth Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some little timebefore and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, ofcourse, but he did not even know that his brother officer was in England.
A singular case, remarked Holmes.
I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six yearsagoCto be exact, upon the fourth of May, 1882Can advertisementappeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan, andstating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was noname or address appended. I had at that time just entered the family ofMrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her advice Ipublished my address in the advertisement column. The same day therearrived through the post a small cardboard box addressed to me, which Ifound to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing wasenclosed. Since then every year upon the same date there has alwaysappeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as tothe sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be of a rarevariety and of considerable value. You can see for yourself that they arevery handsome.
She opened a flat box as she spoke and showed me six of the finestpearls that I had ever seen.
Your statement is most interesting, said Sherlock Holmes. Hasanything else occurred to you?
Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. Thismorning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for yourself.
Thank you, said Holmes. The envelope, too, please. Post-mark,London, S. W. Date, July 7. Hum! Mans thumb-mark oncornerCprobably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence apacket. Particular man in his stationery. No address.
Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatreto-night at seven oclock. If you are distrustful bring two friends.
You are a wronged woman and shall have justice. Do not bringpolice. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.
Well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery! What do you intend todo, Miss Morstan?
That is exactly what I want to ask you.
Then we shall most certainly goCyou and I andCyes, why Dr. Watsonis the [96] very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I haveworked together before.
But would he come? she asked with something appealing in her voiceand expression.
I shall be proud and happy, said I fervently, if I can be of anyservice.
You are both very kind, she answered. I have led a retired life andhave no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it will do, Isuppose?
You must not be later, said Holmes. There is one other point,however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-boxaddresses?
I have them here, she answered, producing half a dozen pieces ofpaper.
You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition. Let ussee, now. He spread out the papers upon the table and gave little dartingglances from one to the other. They are disguised hands, except theletter, he said presently; but there can be no question as to theauthorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will break out, and see thetwirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I should notlike to suggest false hopes, Miss Morstan, but is there any resemblancebetween this hand and that of your father?
Nothing could be more unlike.
I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at six.
Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter before then.
It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then.
Au revoir, said our visitor; and with a bright, kindly glance from oneto the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and hurriedaway.
Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly down the streetuntil the gray turban and white feather were but a speck in the sombrecrowd.
What a very attractive woman! I exclaimed, turning to mycompanion.
He had lit his pipe again and was leaning back with drooping eyelids.
Is she? he said languidly; I did not observe.
You really are an automatonCa calculating machine, I cried. There issomething positively inhuman in you at times.
He smiled gently.
It is of the first importance, he cried, not to allow your judgment tobe biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in aproblem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. Iassure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged forpoisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the mostrepellent man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearlya quarter of a million upon the London poor.
In this case, howeverC C
I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have youever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you makeof this fellows scribble?
It is legible and regular, I answered. A man of business habits andsome force of character.
Holmes shook his head.
Look at his long letters, he said. They hardly rise above the commonherd. That d might be an a, and that l an e. Men of character alwaysdifferentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may write. There isvacillation in his ks and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. Ihave some few references to [97] make. Let me recommend this bookConeof the most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reades Martyrdomof Man. I shall be back in an hour.
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts werefar from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our latevisitor Cher smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mysterywhich overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her fathersdisappearance she must be seven-and-twenty nowCa sweet age, whenyouth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered byexperience. So I sat and mused until such dangerous thoughts came intomy head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into thelatest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weakleg and a weaker banking account, that I should dare to think of suchthings? She was a unit, a factorCnothing more. If my future were black, itwas better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it bymere will-o-the-wisps of the imagination.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 3The Sign of FourChapter 3IN QUEST OF A SOLUTIONIT WAS half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager, andin excellent spirits, a mood which in his case alternated with fits of theblackest depression.
There is no great mystery in this matter, he said, taking the cup of teawhich I had poured out for him; the facts appear to admit of only oneexplanation.
What! you have solved it already?
Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestivefact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive. The details are still to beadded. I have just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, thatMajor Sholto, of Upper Norwood, late of the Thirty-fourth BombayInfantry, died upon the twenty-eighth of April, 1882.
I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests.
No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstandisappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited isMajor Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.
Four years later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain Morstansdaughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to yearand now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman.
What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of her father? And whyshould the presents begin immediately after Sholtos death unless it is thatSholtos heir knows something of the mystery and desires to makecompensation? Have you any alternative theory which will meet thefacts?
But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why,too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, theletter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is toomuch to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice inher case that you know of.
There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties, said SherlockHolmes pensively; but our expedition of to-night will solve them all. Ah,here is a [98] four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready?
Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the hour.
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmestook his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It wasclear that he thought that our nights work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face wascomposed but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did notfeel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we wereembarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered thefew additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.
Major Sholto was a very particular friend of Papas, she said. Hisletters were full of allusions to the major. He and Papa were in commandof the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a great dealtogether. By the way, a curious paper was found in Papas desk which noone could understand. I dont suppose that it is of the slightestimportance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I brought it with me.
It is here.
Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon hisknee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens.
It is paper of native Indian manufacture, he remarked. It has at sometime been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a plan ofpart of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. Atone point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is 3.37 from left,
in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner is a curious hieroglyphiclike four crosses in a line with their arms touching. Beside it is written, invery rough and coarse characters, The sign of the fourCJonathan Small,Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar. No, I confess that I do notsee how this bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document ofimportance. It has been kept carefully in a pocketbook, for the one side isas clean as the other.
It was in his pocketbook that we found it.
Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of useto us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much deeperand more subtle than I at first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas.
He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and hisvacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I chatted in anundertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome, but ourcompanion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end of ourjourney.
It was a September evening and not yet seven oclock, but the day hadbeen a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city.
Mud-coloured clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down theStrand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw afeeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare fromthe shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air and threw amurky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, tomy mind, something eerie and ghostlike in the endless procession of faceswhich flitted across these narrow bars of lightCsad faces and glad,haggard and merry. Like all humankind, they flitted from the gloom intothe light and so back into the gloom once more. I am not subject toimpressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business uponwhich we were engaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. Icould see from Miss Morstans manner that she was suffering from thesame feeling. Holmes alone [99] could rise superior to petty influences.
He held his open notebook upon his knee, and from time to time he jotteddown figures and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the sideentrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and four-wheelerswere rattling up, discharging their cargoes of shirt-fronted men andbeshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly reached the third pillar,which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man in the dress ofa coachman accosted us.
Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan? he asked.
I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends, said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us.
You will excuse me, miss, he said with a certain dogged manner,but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither of yourcompanions is a police-officer.
I give you my word on that, she answered.
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a fourwheelerand opened the door. The man who had addressed us mounted tothe box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly done so beforethe driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pacethrough the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place,on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a completehoaxCwhich was an inconceivable hypothesisCor else we had good reasonto think that important issues might hang upon our journey. MissMorstans demeanour was as resolute and collected as ever. Iendeavoured to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventuresin Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at oursituation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were slightlyinvolved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving anecdote asto how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fireda double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I had some idea as to thedirection in which we were driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog,and my own limited knowledge of London, I lost my bearings and knewnothing save that we seemed to be going a very long way. SherlockHolmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as thecab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.
Rochester Row, said he. Now Vincent Square. Now we come out onthe Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side apparently.
Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses ofthe river.
We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames, with thelamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on andwas soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.
Wordsworth Road, said my companion. Priory Road. Lark HallLane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbour Lane. Our quest doesnot appear to take us to very fashionable regions.
We had indeed reached a questionable and forbidding neighbourhood.
Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare andtawdry brilliancy of public-houses at the corner. Then came rows of twostoriedvillas, each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then againinterminable lines of new, staring brick buildingsCthe monster tentacleswhich the giant city was throwing out into the country. At last the cabdrew up at the third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses wereinhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbours,save for a single glimmer in the kitchen-window. On our [100] knocking,however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant, clad ina yellow turban, white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. There wassomething strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in thecommonplace doorway of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.
The sahib awaits you, said he, and even as he spoke, there came ahigh, piping voice from some inner room.
Show them in to me, khitmutgar, it said. Show them straight in tome.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 4The Sign of FourChapter 4THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MANWE FOLLOWED the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill-lit andworse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threwopen. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre ofthe glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of redhair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot outfrom among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his handstogether as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerkCnowsmiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. Nature hadgiven him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregularteeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his handover the lower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness he gavethe impression of youth. In point of fact, he had just turned his thirtiethyear.
Your servant, Miss Morstan, he kept repeating in a thin, high voice.
Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place,miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howlingdesert of South London.
We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into whichhe invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond ofthe first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtainsand tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to exposesome richly mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amberand black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as intoa bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased thesuggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon amat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung froman almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned itfilled the air with a subtle and aromatic odour.
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, said the little man, still jerking and smiling.
That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And thesegentlemenC C
This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this Dr. Watson.
A doctor, eh? cried he, much excited. Have you your stethoscope?
Might I ask youCwould you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as tomy mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may relyupon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral.
I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anythingamiss, save, indeed, that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered fromhead to foot.
It appears to be normal, I said. You have no cause for uneasiness.
You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan, he remarked airily. I ama great [101] sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve. I amdelighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, MissMorstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might havebeen alive now.
I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this callousand offhand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan sat down, andher face grew white to the lips.
I knew in my heart that he was dead, said she.
I can give you every information, said he; and, what is more, I cando you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. Iam so glad to have your friends here not only as an escort to you but alsoas witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us can show abold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no outsidersCnopolice or officials. We can settle everything satisfactorily amongourselves without any interference. Nothing would annoy BrotherBartholomew more than any publicity.
He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with hisweak, watery blue eyes.
For my part, said Holmes, whatever you may choose to say will gono further.
I nodded to show my agreement.
That is well! That is well! said he. May I offer you a glass ofChianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I opena flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to tobaccosmoke,to the balsamic odour of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous,and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative.
He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrilythrough the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our headsadvanced and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky littlefellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre.
When I first determined to make this communication to you, said he,I might have given you my address; but I feared that you might disregardmy request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the liberty,therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man Williamsmight be able to see you first. I have complete confidence in hisdiscretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no furtherin the matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man ofsomewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and there isnothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinkingfrom all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact with therough crowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegancearound me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. Thelandscape is a genuine Corot, and though a connoisseur might perhapsthrow a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least questionabout the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school.
You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto, said Miss Morstan, but I am here atyour request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is verylate, and I should desire the interview to be as short as possible.
At the best it must take some time, he answered; for we shallcertainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shallall go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is veryangry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me. I hadquite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a terriblefellow he is when he is angry.
[102] If we are to go to Norwood, it would perhaps be as well to start atonce, I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red.
That would hardly do, he cried. I dont know what he would say if Ibrought you in that sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing youhow we all stand to each other. In the first place, I must tell you that thereare several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can onlylay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.
My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once ofthe Indian Army. He retired some eleven years ago and came to live atPondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India andbrought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection ofvaluable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these advantageshe bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My twin-brotherBartholomew and I were the only children.
I very well remember the sensation which was caused by thedisappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers, andknowing that he had been a friend of our fathers we discussed the casefreely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations as to what couldhave happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he had the wholesecret hidden in his own breast, that of all men he alone knew the fate ofArthur Morstan.
We did know, however, that some mystery, some positive danger,overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone, and healways employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at PondicherryLodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them. He was oncelightweight champion of England. Our father would never tell us what itwas he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with woodenlegs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-leggedman, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. Wehad to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used tothink this a mere whim of my fathers, but events have since led us tochange our opinion.
Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a greatshock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it,and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in the letter wecould never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short andwritten in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from an enlargedspleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of Aprilwe were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished tomake a last communication to us.
When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows andbreathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come uponeither side of the bed. Then grasping our hands he made a remarkablestatement to us in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as bypain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very words.
I have only one thing, he said, which weighs upon my mind at thissupreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstans orphan. Thecursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheldfrom her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers. Andyet I have made no use of it myself, so blind and foolish a thing isavarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that Icould not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet tipped with pearlsbeside the quinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to part with, [103]
although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her. You, mysons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send hernothingCnot even the chapletCuntil I am gone. After all, men have been asbad as this and have recovered.
I will tell you how Morstan died, he continued. He had suffered foryears from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I alone knewit. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances,came into possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over toEngland, and on the night of Morstans arrival he came straight over hereto claim his share. He walked over from the station and was admitted bymy faithful old Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had adifference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came toheated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm ofanger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned adusky hue, and he fell backward, cutting his head against the corner of thetreasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that hewas dead.
For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. Myfirst impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not butrecognize that there was every chance that I would be accused of hismurder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head,would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not be madewithout bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I wasparticularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul uponearth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why anysoul ever should know.
I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw myservant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the doorbehind him. Do not fear, sahib, he said; no one need know that youhave killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser? I did notkill him, said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. I heard it all,sahib, said he; I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lipsare sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him away together.
That was enough to decide me. If my own servant could not believe myinnocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolishtradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body thatnight, and within a few days the London papers were full of themysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from what Isay that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact thatwe concealed not only the body but also the treasure and that I have clungto Morstans share as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to makerestitution. Put your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden inC C
At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyesstared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled in a voice which I can neverforget, Keep him out! For Christs sake keep him out! We both staredround at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A facewas looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening ofthe nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairyface, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence.
My brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone.
When we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse hadceased to beat.
We searched the garden that night but found no sign of the intrudersave that just under the window a single footmark was visible in theflower-bed. But for that [104] one trace, we might have thought that ourimaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however,had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies atwork all round us. The window of my fathers room was found open inthe morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chestwas fixed a torn piece of paper with the words The sign of the four
scrawled across it. What the phrase meant or who our secret visitor mayhave been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of my fathersproperty had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out.
My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fearwhich haunted my father during his life, but it is still a complete mysteryto us.
The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully fora few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinarynarrative. At the short account of her fathers death Miss Morstan hadturned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about tofaint. She rallied, however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietlypoured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. SherlockHolmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lidsdrawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not butthink how on that very day he had complained bitterly of thecommonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem which would taxhis sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to theother of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story hadproduced and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.
My brother and I, said he, were, as you may imagine, much excitedas to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and formonths we dug and delved in every part of the garden withoutdiscovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hidingplacewas on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge thesplendour of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out.
Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some littlediscussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse topart with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a littleinclined to my fathers fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with thechaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It wasall that I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstansaddress and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals so that at least shemight never feel destitute.
It was a kindly thought, said our companion earnestly; it wasextremely good of you.
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly.
We were your trustees, he said; that was the view which I took of it,though Brother Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. Wehad plenty of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would havebeen such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion.
Le mauvais go.t mne au crime. The French have a very neat way ofputting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so farthat I thought it best to set up rooms for myself; so I left PondicherryLodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday,however, I learned that an event of extreme importance has occurred. Thetreasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with MissMorstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demandour share. I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholomew, so weshall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.
[105] Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased and sat twitching on his luxurioussettee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the newdevelopment which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was thefirst to spring to his feet.
You have done well, sir, from first to last, said he. It is possible thatwe may be able to make you some small return by throwing some lightupon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked justnow, it is late, and we had best put the matter through without delay.
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of hishookah and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoatwith astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up in spite of theextreme closeness of the night and finished his attire by putting on arabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears, so that nopart of him was visible save his mobile and peaky face.
My health is somewhat fragile, he remarked as he led the way downthe passage. I am compelled to be a valetudinarian.
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidentlyprearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. ThaddeusSholto talked incessantly in a voice which rose high above the rattle of thewheels.
Bartholomew is a clever fellow, said he. How do you think he foundout where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it wassomewhere indoors, so he worked out all the cubic space of the house andmade measurements everywhere so that not one inch should beunaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of thebuilding was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of allthe separate rooms and making every allowance for the space between,which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more thanseventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These could only beat the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath andplaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came uponanother little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was known tono one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest resting upon two rafters. Helowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of thejewels at not less than half a million sterling.
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another openeyed.
Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from aneedy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the placeof a loyal friend to rejoice at such news, yet I am ashamed to say thatselfishness took me by the soul and that my heart turned as heavy as leadwithin me. I stammered out some few halting words of congratulation andthen sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our newacquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I wasdreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains ofsymptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action ofinnumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leathercase in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answerswhich I gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard mecaution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops ofcastor-oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative.
However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled upwith a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door.
This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge, said Mr. Thaddeus Sholtoas he handed her out.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 5The Sign of FourChapter 5THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGEIT WAS nearly eleven oclock when we reached this final stage of ournights adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind us,and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward, andheavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peepingoccasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for somedistance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from thecarriage to give us a better light upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds and was girt round with avery high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow ironclampeddoor formed the only means of entrance. On this our guideknocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.
Who is there? cried a gruff voice from within.
It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time.
There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. Thedoor swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in theopening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his protrudedface and twinkling, distrustful eyes.
That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had no ordersabout them from the master.
No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that Ishould bring some friends.
He haint been out o his rooms to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have noorders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can let youin, but your friends they must just stop where they are.
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him ina perplexed and helpless manner.
This is too bad of you, McMurdo! he said. If I guarantee them, thatis enough for you. There is the young lady, too. She cannot wait on thepublic road at this hour.
Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, said the porter inexorably. Folk may befriends o yours, and yet no friend o the masters. He pays me well to domy duty, and my duty Ill do. I dont know none o your friends.
Oh, yes you do, McMurdo, cried Sherlock Holmes genially. I dontthink you can have forgotten me. Dont you remember that amateur whofought three rounds with you at Alisons rooms on the night of yourbenefit four years back?
Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes! roared the prize-fighter. Gods truth!
how could I have mistook you? If instead o standin there so quiet youhad just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, Idha known you without a question. Ah, youre one that has wasted yourgifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy.
You see, Watson, if all else fails me, I have still one of the scientificprofessions open to me, said Holmes, laughing. Our friend wont keepus out in the cold now, I am sure.
In you come, sir, in you comeCyou and your friends, he answered.
Very sorry, [107] Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to becertain of your friends before I let them in.
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clumpof a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where amoonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vastsize of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chillto the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the lanternquivered and rattled in his hand.
I cannot understand it, he said. There must be some mistake. Idistinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is nolight in his window. I do not know what to make of it.
Does he always guard the premises in this way? asked Holmes.
Yes; he has followed my fathers custom. He was the favourite sonyou know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him morethan he ever told me. That is Bartholomews window up there where themoonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, Ithink.
None, said Holmes. But I see the glint of a light in that little windowbeside the door.
Ah, that is the housekeepers room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstonesits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind waitinghere for a minute or two, for if we all go in together, and she has had noword of our coming, she may be alarmed. But, hush! what is that?
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of lightflickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, andwe all stood, with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the greatblack house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and mostpitiful of soundsCthe shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman.
It is Mrs. Bernstone, said Sholto. She is the only woman in thehouse. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment.
He hurried for the door and knocked in his peculiar way. We could seea tall old woman admit him and sway with pleasure at the very sight ofhim.
Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad youhave come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!
We heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and hervoice died away into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round andpeered keenly at the house and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumberedthe grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was inmine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two, who hadnever seen each other before that day, between whom no word or evenlook of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble ourhands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, butat the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go out to her so,and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn tome for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand like twochildren, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things thatsurrounded us.
What a strange place! she said, looking round.
It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in it. Ihave seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat, wherethe prospectors had been at work.
[108] And from the same cause, said Holmes. These are the traces ofthe treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years lookingfor it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit.
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholtocame running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes.
There is something amiss with Bartholomew! he cried. I amfrightened! My nerves cannot stand it.
He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his twitching, feebleface peeping out from the great astrakhan collar had the helpless,appealing expression of a terrified child.
Come into the house, said Holmes in his crisp, firm way.
Yes, do! pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. I really do not feel equal togiving directions.
We all followed him into the housekeepers room, which stood uponthe left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up anddown with a scared look and restless, picking fingers, but the sight ofMiss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.
God bless your sweet, calm face! she cried with a hysterical sob. Itdoes me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this day!
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand and murmured somefew words of kindly, womanly comfort which brought the colour backinto the others bloodless cheeks.
Master has locked himself in and will not answer me, she explained.
All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be alone;but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went up andpeeped through the keyhole. You must go up, Mr. ThaddeusCyou must goup and look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy andin sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such a face on himas that.
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholtosteeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to pass myhand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were tremblingunder him. Twice as we ascended, Holmes whipped his lens out of hispocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be mereshapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoanut-matting which served as astair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp low,and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remainedbehind with the frightened housekeeper.
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length,with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and three doorsupon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same slow and methodicalway, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadowsstreaming backward down the corridor. The third door was that which wewere seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving any answer, and thentried to turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on the inside,however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we setour lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the hole was notentirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it and instantly rose againwith a sharp intaking of the breath.
There is something devilish in this, Watson, said he, more movedthan I had ever before seen him. What do you make of it?
[109] I stooped to the hole and recoiled in horror. Moonlight wasstreaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shiftyradiance. Looking straight at me and suspended, as it were, in the air, forall beneath was in shadow, there hung a faceCthe very face of ourcompanion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the samecircular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The featureswere set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, whichin that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than anyscowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our little friend that Ilooked round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then Irecalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his brother and he weretwins.This is terrible! I said to Holmes. What is to be done?
The door must come down, he answered, and springing against it, heput all his weight upon the lock.
It creaked and groaned but did not yield. Together we flung ourselvesupon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and wefound ourselves within Bartholomew Sholtos chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A doubleline of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite thedoor, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, andretorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One ofthese appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of darkcolouredliquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy with apeculiarly pungent, tarlike odour. A set of steps stood at one side of theroom in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there wasan opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At thefoot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly together.
By the table in a wooden armchair the master of the house was seatedall in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder and that ghastly,inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold and had clearlybeen dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only his features but allhis limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion. By hishand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrumentCa brown, closegrainedstick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on withcoarse twine. Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some wordsscrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it and then handed it to me.
You see, he said with a significant raising of the eyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read with a thrill of horror, The sign of thefour.
In Gods name, what does it all mean? I asked.
It means murder, said he, stooping over the dead man. Ah! Iexpected it. Look here!
He pointed to what looked like a long dark thorn stuck in the skin justabove the ear.
It looks like a thorn, said I.
It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is poisoned.
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skinso readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of bloodshowed where the puncture had been.
This is all an insoluble mystery to me, said I. It grows darker insteadof clearer.
On the contrary, he answered, it clears every instant. I only require afew missing links to have an entirely connected case.
[110] We had almost forgotten our companions presence since weentered the chamber. He was still standing in the doorway, the verypicture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly,however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.
The treasure is gone! he said. They have robbed him of the treasure!
There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him to do it! Iwas the last person who saw him! I left him here last night, and I heardhim lock the door as I came downstairs.
What time was that?
It was ten oclock. And now he is dead, and the police will be calledin, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure Ishall. But you dont think so, gentlemen? Surely you dont think that itwas I? Is it likely that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh,dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!
He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy.
You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto, said Holmes kindly, puttinghis hand upon his shoulder; take my advice and drive down to the stationto report the matter to the police. Offer to assist them in every way. Weshall wait here until your return.
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard himstumbling down the stairs in the dark.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 6The Sign of FourChapter 6SHERLOCK HOLMESGIVES A DEMONSTRATIONNOW, Watson, said Holmes, rubbing his hands, we have half an hourto ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told you,almost complete; but we must not err on the side of overconfidence.
Simple as the case seems now, there may be something deeper underlyingit.
Simple! I ejaculated.
Surely, said he with something of the air of a clinical professorexpounding to his class. Just sit in the corner there, that your footprintsmay not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first place, how didthese folk come and how did they go? The door has not been openedsince last night. How of the window? He carried the lamp across to it,muttering his observations aloud the while but addressing them to himselfrather than to me. Window is snibbed on the inner side. Frame-work issolid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roofquite out of reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained alittle last night. Here is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And hereis a circular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here againby the table. See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration.
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs.
That is not a foot-mark, said I.
It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of awooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy bootwith a broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe.
[111] It is the wooden-legged man.
Quite so. But there has been someone elseCa very able and efficientally. Could you scale that wall, Doctor?
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on thatangle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, lookwhere I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in thebrickwork.
It is absolutely impossible, I answered.
Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here wholowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing oneend of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you were an activeman, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, ofcourse, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope, untie itfrom the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in theway that he originally came. As a minor point, it may be noted, hecontinued, fingering the rope, that our wooden-legged friend, though afair climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands were far from horny.
My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especially towards the endof the rope, from which I gather that he slipped down with such velocitythat he took the skin off his hands.
This is all very well, said I; but the thing becomes moreunintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came heinto the room?
Yes, the ally! repeated Holmes pensively. There are features ofinterest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of thecommonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals ofcrime in this countryCthough parallel cases suggest themselves from Indiaand, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.
How came he, then? I reiterated. The door is locked; the window isinaccessible. Was it through the chimney?
The grate is much too small, he answered. I had already consideredthat possibility.
How, then? I persisted.
You will not apply my precept, he said, shaking his head. How oftenhave I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible,whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know thathe did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We alsoknow that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is noconcealment possible. When, then, did he come?
He came through the hole in the roof! I cried.
Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the kindnessto hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the roomaboveCthe secret room in which the treasure was found.
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swunghimself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down forthe lamp and held it while I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one wayand six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath andplaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam to beam.
The roof ran up to an apex and was evidently the inner shell of the trueroof of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulateddust of years lay thick upon the floor.
Here you are, you see, said Sherlock Holmes, putting his handagainst the [112] sloping wall. This is a trapdoor which leads out on tothe roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentleangle. This, then, is the way by which Number One entered. Let us see ifwe can find some other traces of his individuality?
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for thesecond time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face. Formyself, as I followed his gaze, my skin was cold under my clothes. Thefloor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked footCclear, welldefined,perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinaryman.
Holmes, I said in a whisper, a child has done this horrid thing.
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant.
I was staggered for the moment, he said, but the thing is quitenatural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it.
There is nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down.
What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks? I asked eagerlywhen we had regained the lower room once more.
My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself, said he with a touch ofimpatience. You know my methods. Apply them, and it will beinstructive to compare results.
I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts, I answered.
It will be clear enough to you soon, he said, in an offhand way. Ithink that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look.
He whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried about the roomon his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin noseonly a few inches from the planks and his beady eyes gleaming and deepsetlike those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements,like those of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent, that I could not butthink what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned hisenergy and sagacity against the law instead of exerting them in itsdefence. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally hebroke out into a loud crow of delight.
We are certainly in luck, said he. We ought to have very littletrouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote.
You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side ofthis evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked, you see, and thestuff has leaked out.
What then? I asked.
Why, we have got him, thats all, said he.
I know a dog that would follow that scent to the worlds end. If a packcan track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially trainedhound follow so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the ruleof three. The answer should give us theC C But hallo! here are theaccredited representatives of the law.
Heavy steps and the clamour of loud voices were audible from below,and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
Before they come, said Holmes, just put your hand here on this poorfellows arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?
The muscles are as hard as a board, I answered.
Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding theusual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, thisHippocratic smile, or risus sardonicus, as the old writers called it, whatconclusion would it suggest to your mind?
[113] Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid, I answered,some strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus.
That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawnmuscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for themeans by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, Idiscovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force intothe scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would beturned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in his chair.
Now examine this thorn.
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was long,sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though somegummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed androunded off with a knife.
Is that an English thorn? he asked.
No, it certainly is not.
With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference.
But here are the regulars, so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat.
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudlyon the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavilyinto the room. He was red-faced, burly, and plethoric, with a pair of verysmall twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen andpuffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in uniform andby the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
Heres a business! he cried in a muffled, husky voice. Heres apretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as fullas a rabbit-warren!
I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones, said Holmesquietly.
Why, of course I do! he wheezed. Its Mr. Sherlock Holmes, thetheorist. Remember you! Ill never forget how you lectured us all oncauses and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. Its trueyou set us on the right track; but youll own now that it was more by goodluck than good guidance.
It was a piece of very simple reasoning.
Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is allthis? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts hereCno room for theories.
How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another case! I wasat the station when the message arrived. What dyou think the man diedof?
Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over, said Holmes dryly.
No, no. Still, we cant deny that you hit the nail on the headsometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half amillion missing. How was the window?
Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.
Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do withthe matter. Thats common sense. Man might have died in a fit; but thenthe jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon meat times.C Just step outside, Sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friendcan remain.C What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his ownconfession, with his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on whichSholto walked off with the treasure? Hows that?
On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the dooron the inside.
Hum! Theres a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter.
This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel: so muchwe know. [114] The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much alsowe know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. Hisbed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed stateof mind. His appearance is Cwell, not attractive. You see that I amweaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close upon him.
You are not quite in possession of the facts yet, said Holmes. Thissplinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned,was in the mans scalp where you still see the mark; this card, inscribed asyou see it, was on the table, and beside it lay this rather curious stoneheadedinstrument. How does all that fit into your theory?
Confirms it in every respect, said the fat detective pompously.
House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and if thissplinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use ofit as any other man. The card is some hocus-pocusCa blind, as like as not.
The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole inthe roof.
With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps andsqueezed through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heardhis exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trapdoor.
He can find something, remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders;he has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il ny a pas des sots siincommodes que ceux qui ont de lesprit!
You see! said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again;facts are better than theories, after all. My view of the case is confirmed.
There is a trapdoor communicating with the roof, and it is partly open.
It was I who opened it.
Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then? He seemed a little crestfallen atthe discovery. Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman gotaway. Inspector!
Yes, sir, from the passage.
Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.CMr. Sholto, it is my duty to informyou that anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrestyou in the Queens name as being concerned in the death of your brother.
There, now! Didnt I tell you! cried the poor little man, throwing outhis hands and looking from one to the other of us.
Dont trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto, said Holmes; I think thatI can engage to clear you of the charge.
Dont promise too much, Mr. Theorist, dont promise too much!
snapped the detective. You may find it a harder matter than you think.
Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free presentof the name and description of one of the two people who were in thisroom last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is JonathanSmall. He is a poorly educated man, small, active, with his right leg off,and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the inner side.
His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron band round theheel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict.
These few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with thefact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his hand.
The other manC C
Ah! the other man? asked Athelney Jones in a sneering voice, butimpressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of theothers manner.
[115] Is a rather curious person, said Sherlock Holmes, turning uponhis heel. I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair ofthem. A word with you, Watson.
He led me out to the head of the stair.
This unexpected occurrence, he said, has caused us rather to losesight of the original purpose of our journey.
I have just been thinking so, I answered; it is not right that MissMorstan should remain in this stricken house.
No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester inLower Camberwell, so it is not very far. I will wait for you here if youwill drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?
By no means. I dont think I could rest until I know more of thisfantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life, but Igive you my word that this quick succession of strange surprises to-nighthas shaken my nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the matterthrough with you, now that I have got so far.
Your presence will be of great service to me, he answered. We shallwork the case out independently and leave this fellow Jones to exult overany mares-nest which he may choose to construct. When you havedropped Miss Morstan, I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, downnear the waters edge at Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand sideis a bird-stuffers; Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel holding ayoung rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up and tell him, with mycompliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby back in thecab with you.
A dog, I suppose.
Yes, a queer mongrel with a most amazing power of scent. I wouldrather have Tobys help than that of the whole detective force of London.
I shall bring him then, said I. It is one now. I ought to be backbefore three if I can get a fresh horse.
And I, said Holmes, shall see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstoneand from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tells me, sleeps in thenext garret. Then I shall study the great Joness methods and listen to hisnot too delicate sarcasms.Wir sind gewohnt, da. die Menschen verh.hnen was sie nichtverstehen.
Goethe is always pithy.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 7The Sign of FourChapter 7THE EPISODE OF THE BARRELTHE police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted MissMorstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she hadborne trouble with a calm face as long as there was someone weaker thanherself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the side of thefrightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first turned faint andthen burst into a passion of weepingCso sorely had she been tried by theadventures of the night. She has told me since that [116] she thought mecold and distant upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle withinmy breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. Mysympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in thegarden. I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach meto know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strangeexperiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words ofaffection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind andnerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her atsuch a time. Worse still, she was rich. If Holmess researches weresuccessful, she would be an heiress. Was it fair, was it honourable, that ahalf-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which chancehad brought about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortuneseeker?
I could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind.
This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two oclock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forresters. Theservants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so interestedby the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that she had satup in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a middle-aged,graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stoleround the others waist and how motherly was the voice in which shegreeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant but an honouredfriend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to stepin and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the importance of myerrand and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which wemight make with the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and Istill seem to see that little group on the stepCthe two graceful, clingingfigures, the half-opened door, the hall-light shining through stained glass,the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to catch even thatpassing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the midst of the wild, darkbusiness which had absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker itgrew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I rattledon through the silent, gas-lit streets. There was the original problem: thatat least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sendingof the pearls, the advertisement, the letterCwe had had light upon all thoseevents. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragicmystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstansbaggage, the strange scene at Major Sholtos death, the rediscovery of thetreasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the verysingular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkableweapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those uponCaptain Morstans chartChere was indeed a labyrinth in which a man lesssingularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of everfinding the clue.
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby, two-storied brick houses in thelower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before Icould make any impression. At last, however, there was the glint of acandle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.
Go on, you drunken vagabond, said the face. If you kick up anymore row, Ill open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you.
If youll let one out, its just what I have come for, said I.
Go on! yelled the voice. So help me gracious, I have a wiper in thisbag, and Ill drop it on your ead if you dont hook it!
But I want a dog, I cried.
[117] I wont be argued with! shouted Mr. Sherman. Now standclear; for when I say three, down goes the wiper.
Mr. Sherlock HolmesC C I began; but the words had a most magicaleffect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute thedoor was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man,with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.
A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome, said he. Step in, sir.
Keep clear of the badger, for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty; would youtake a nip at the gentleman? This to a stoat which thrust its wicked headand red eyes between the bars of its cage. Dont mind that, sir; its only aslowworm. It haint got no fangs, so I gives it the run o the room, for itkeeps the beetles down. You must not mind my bein just a little short wi
you at first, for Im guyed at by the children, and theres many a one justcomes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr. SherlockHolmes wanted, sir?
He wanted a dog of yours.
Ah! that would be Toby.
Yes, Toby was the name.
Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here.
He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animalfamily which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy lightI could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peepingdown at us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above ourheads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight fromone leg to the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spanieland half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a very clumsy, waddlinggait. It accepted, after some hesitation, a lump of sugar which the oldnaturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followedme to the cab and made no difficulties about accompanying me. It hadjust struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself back once moreat Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, beenarrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marchedoff to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but theyallowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detectives name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets,smoking his pipe.
Ah, you have him there! said he. Good dog, then! Athelney Joneshas gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. Hehas arrested not only friend Thaddeus but the gatekeeper, thehousekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves butfor a sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up.
We tied Toby to the hall table and reascended the stairs. The room wasas we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the central figure.
A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner.
Lend me your bulls eye, Sergeant, said my companion. Now tiethis bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you.
Now I must kick off my boots and stockings. Just you carry them downwith you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip myhandkerchief into the creosote. That will do. Now come up into the garretwith me for a moment.
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once moreupon the footsteps in the dust.
[118] I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks, he said. Doyou observe anything noteworthy about them?
They belong, I said, to a child or a small woman.
Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?
They appear to be much as other footmarks.
Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the dust. NowI make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief difference?
Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toedistinctly divided.
Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you kindlystep over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the woodwork? I shallstay over here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand.
I did as he directed and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell.
That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him, Ishould think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run downstairs, loosethe dog, and look out for Blondin.
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on theroof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling veryslowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, buthe presently reappeared and then vanished once more upon the oppositeside. When I made my way round there I found him seated at one of thecorner eaves.
That you, Watson? he cried.
Yes.
This is the place. What is that black thing down there?
A water-barrel.
Top on it?
Yes.
No sign of a ladder?
No.
Confound the fellow! Its a most breakneck place. I ought to be able tocome down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty firm.
Here goes, anyhow.
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadilydown the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to thebarrel, and from there to the earth.
It was easy to follow him, he said, drawing on his stockings andboots. Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he haddropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it.
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch wovenout of coloured grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. Inshape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozenspines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like thatwhich had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
They are hellish things, said he. Look out that you dont prickyourself. Im delighted to have them, for the chances are that they are allhe has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in our skin beforelong. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are you game for a sixmiletrudge, Watson?
Certainly, I answered.
Your leg will stand it?
[119] Oh, yes.
Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it! Hepushed the creosote handkerchief under the dogs nose, while the creaturestood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical cock to itshead, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmesthen threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to themongrels collar, and led him to the foot of the water-barrel. The creatureinstantly broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps and, with hisnose on the ground and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at apace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see somedistance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its black,empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behindus. Our course led right across the grounds, in and out among the trenchesand pits with which they were scarred and intersected. The whole place,with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, illomenedlook which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung overit.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by ayoung beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had beenloosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon thelower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmesclambered up, and taking the dog from me he dropped it over upon theother side.
Theres the print of Wooden-legs hand, he remarked as I mountedup beside him. You see the slight smudge of blood upon the whiteplaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain sinceyesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-andtwentyhours start.
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the greattraffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My fearswere soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved butwaddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly the pungent smell ofthe creosote rose high above all other contending scents.
Do not imagine, said Holmes, that I depend for my success in thiscase upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot inthe chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to tracethem in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest, and, sincefortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected it. Ithas, however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty littleintellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. There mighthave been some credit to be gained out of it but for this too palpable clue.
There is credit, and to spare, said I. I assure you, Holmes, that Imarvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case evenmore than I did in the Jefferson Hope murder. The thing seems to me tobe deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describewith such confidence the wooden-legged man?
Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I dont wish to betheatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are incommand of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buriedtreasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named JonathanSmall. You remember that we saw the name upon the [120] chart inCaptain Morstans possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself andhis associatesCthe sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called it.
Aided by this chart, the officersCor one of themCgets the treasure andbrings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some condition underwhich he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did not Jonathan Smallget the treasure himself? The answer is obvious. The chart is dated at atime when Morstan was brought into close association with convicts.
Jonathan Small did not get the treasure because he and his associates werethemselves convicts and could not get away.
But this is mere speculation, said I.
It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the facts.
Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto remains at peacefor some years, happy in the possession of his treasure. Then he receives aletter from India which gives him a great fright. What was that?
A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free.
Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have knownwhat their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surprise tohim. What does he do then? He guards himself against a wooden-leggedmanCa white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for himand actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white mans name is onthe chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans. There is no otherwhite man. Therefore we may say with confidence that the woodenleggedman is identical with Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning strikeyou as being faulty?
No: it is clear and concise.
Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let uslook at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the doubleidea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of havinghis revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out whereSholto lived, and very possibly he established communications withsomeone inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom we havenot seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character. Smallcould not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one everknew save the major and one faithful servant who had died. SuddenlySmall learns that the major is on his deathbed. In a frenzy lest the secretof the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes hisway to the dying mans window, and is only deterred from entering by thepresence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however, against the dead man,he enters the room that night, searches his private papers in the hope ofdiscovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leavesa memento of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He haddoubtless planned beforehand that, should he slay the major, he wouldleave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a commonmurder but, from the point of view of the four associates, something inthe nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kindare common enough in the annals of crime and usually afford valuableindications as to the criminal. Do you follow all this?
Very clearly.
Now what could Jonathan small do? He could only continue to keep asecret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he leavesEngland and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the discovery ofthe garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace the presenceof some confederate in the household. Jonathan, with his wooden leg, isutterly unable to reach the lofty [121] room of Bartholomew Sholto. Hetakes with him, however, a rather curious associate, who gets over thisdifficulty but dips his naked foot into creosote, whence come Toby, and asix-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendo Achillis.
But it was the associate and not Jonathan who committed the crime.
Quite so. And rather to Jonathans disgust, to judge by the way hestamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge againstBartholomew Sholto and would have preferred if he could have beensimply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.
There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his companionhad broken out, and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan Small lefthis record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground, and followed ithimself. That was the train of events as far as I can decipher them. Ofcourse, as to his personal appearance, he must be middle-aged and mustbe sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the Andamans. Hisheight is readily calculated from the length of his stride, and we know thathe was bearded. His hairiness was the one point which impressed itselfupon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at the window. I dont know thatthere is anything else.
The associate?
Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all aboutit soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one littlecloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the redrim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on agood many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand thanyou and I. How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in thepresence of the great elemental forces of Nature! Are you well up in yourJean Paul?
Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle.
That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes onecurious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of mans realgreatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you see, apower of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof ofnobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You have not a pistol,have you?
I have my stick.
It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get totheir lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns nasty I shallshoot him dead.
He took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two of thechambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down thehalf-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now, however,we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where labourersand dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were taking downshutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped corner publichousesbusiness was just beginning, and rough-looking men wereemerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their morningwet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as wepassed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the leftbut trotted onward with his nose to the ground and an occasional eagerwhine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now foundourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the side streetsto the east of the [122] Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed to havetaken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of escapingobservation. They had never kept to the main road if a parallel side streetwould serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington Lane they had edgedaway to the left through Bond Street and Miles Street. Where the latterstreet turns into Knights Place, Toby ceased to advance but began to runbackward and forward with one ear cocked and the other drooping, thevery picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles,looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in hisembarrassment.
What the deuce is the matter with the dog? growled Holmes. Theysurely would not take a cab or go off in a balloon.
Perhaps they stood here for some time, I suggested.
Ah! its all right. Hes off again, said my companion in a tone ofrelief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made uphis mind and darted away with an energy and determination such as hehad not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before, forhe had not even to put his nose on the ground but tugged at his leash andtried to break into a run. I could see by the gleam in Holmess eyes that hethought we were nearing the end of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick andNelsons large timber-yard just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the dog,frantic with excitement, turned down through the side gate into theenclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog racedthrough sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, betweentwo wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang upon a largebarrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had beenbrought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes Toby stood upon the cask,looking from one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. Thestaves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a darkliquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creosote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other and then burstsimultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 8The Sign of FourChapter 8THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARSWHAT now? I asked. Toby has lost his character for infallibility.
He acted according to his lights, said Holmes, lifting him down fromthe barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. If you consider howmuch creosote is carted about London in one day, it is no great wonderthat our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now, especiallyfor the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame.
We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.
Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently whatpuzzled the dog at the corner of Knights Place was that there were twodifferent trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one. Itonly remains to follow the other.
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place wherehe [123] had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finallydashed off in a fresh direction.
We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place wherethe creosote-barrel came from, I observed.
I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true scentnow.
It tended down towards the riverside, running through Belmont Placeand Princes Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to thewaters edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to thevery edge of this and there stood whining, looking out on the dark currentbeyond.
We are out of luck, said Holmes. They have taken to a boat here.
Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on theedge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but though hesniffed earnestly he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a woodenplacard slung out through the second window. Mordecai Smith wasprinted across it in large letters, and, underneath, Boats to hire by thehour or day. A second inscription above the door informed us that asteam launch was keptCa statement which was confirmed by a great pileof coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and hisface assumed an ominous expression.
This looks bad, said he. These fellows are sharper than I expected.
They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, beenpreconcerted management here.
He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a littlecurly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish, redfacedwoman with a large sponge in her hand.
You come back and be washed, Jack, she shouted. Come back, youyoung imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that hell letus hear of it.
Dear little chap! said Holmes strategically. What a rosy-cheekedyoung rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?
The youth pondered for a moment.
Id like a shillin, said he.
Nothing you would like better?
Id like two shillin better, the prodigy answered after some thought.
Here you are, then! Catch!CA fine child, Mrs. Smith!
Lor bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets amost too muchfor me to manage, specially when my man is away days at a time.
Away, is he? said Holmes in a disappointed voice. I am sorry forthat, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith.
Hes been away since yesterday mornin, sir, and, truth to tell, I ambeginnin to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat, sir,maybe I could serve as well.
I wanted to hire his steam launch.
Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone. Thatswhat puzzles me; for I know there aint more coals in her than would takeher to about Woolwich and back. If hes been away in the barge Id ha
thought nothin; for many a time a job has taken him as far as Gravesend,and then if there was much doin there he might ha stayed over. But whatgood is a steam launch without coals?
[124] He might have bought some at a wharf down the river.
He might, sir, but it werent his way. Many a time Ive heard him callout at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I dont like thatwooden-legged man, wi his ugly face and outlandish talk. What did hewant always knockin about here for?
A wooden-legged man? said Holmes with bland surprise.
Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap thats called moren once formy old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, whats more,my man knew he was comin, for he had steam up in the launch. I tell youstraight, sir, I dont feel easy in my mind about it.
But, my dear Mrs. Smith, said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, youare frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell that itwas the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I dont quiteunderstand how you can be so sure.
His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o thick and foggy. Hetapped at the winderCabout three it would be. Show a leg, matey, sayshe: time to turn out guard. My old man woke up JimCthats myeldestCand away they went without so much as a word to me. I could hearthe wooden leg clackin on the stones.
And was this wooden-legged man alone?
Couldnt say, I am sure, sir. I didnt hear no one else.
I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heardgood reports of theC C Let me see, what is her name?
The Aurora, sir.
Ah! Shes not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad inthe beam?
No, indeed. Shes as trim a little thing as any on the river. Shes beenfresh painted, black with two red streaks.
Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am goingdown the river, and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall let himknow that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?
No, sir. Black with a white band.
Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.
Smith. There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take itand cross the river.
The main thing with people of that sort, said Holmes as we sat in thesheets of the wherry, is never to let them think that their information canbe of the slightest importance to you. If you do they will instantly shut uplike an oyster. If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you are verylikely to get what you want.
Our course now seems pretty clear, said I.
What would you do, then?
I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of theAurora.
My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched atany wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.
Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. Itwould take you days and days to exhaust them if you set about it alone.
Employ the police, then.
No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He isnot a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would injurehim professionally. [125] But I have a fancy for working it out myself,now that we have gone so far.
Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?
Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at theirheels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are likelyenough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly safe they willbe in no hurry. Joness energy will be of use to us there, for his view ofthe case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways willthink that everyone is off on the wrong scent.
What are we to do, then? I asked as we landed near MillbankPenitentiary.
Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hourssleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again. Stop ata telegraph office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to usyet.
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street Post-Office, and Holmesdispatched his wire.
Whom do you think that is to? he asked as we resumed our journey.
I am sure I dont know.
You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police forcewhom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?
Well, said I, laughing.
This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail I haveother resources, but I shall try them first. That wire was to my dirty littlelieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang will be with usbefore we have finished our breakfast.
It was between eight and nine oclock now, and I was conscious of astrong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limpand weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not theprofessional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I lookat the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the death ofBartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him and could feelno intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was adifferent matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan.
While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my life tothe one object. True, if I found it, it would probably put her foreverbeyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would beinfluenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find thecriminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find thetreasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me upwonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laidand Holmes pouring out the coffee.
Here it is, said he, laughing and pointing to an open newspaper. Theenergetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up betweenthem. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your ham andeggs first.
I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headedMysterious Business at Upper Norwood.
About twelve oclock last night [said the Standard] Mr.
Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, wasfound dead in his room under circumstances which point to foulplay. As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence werefound upon Mr. Sholtos person, but a valuable collection ofIndian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited [126]
from his father has been carried off. The discovery was first madeby Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at thehouse with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By asingular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the wellknownmember of the detective police force, happened to be at theNorwood police station and was on the ground within half an hourof the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were atonce directed towards the detection of the criminals, with thegratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has alreadybeen arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, anIndian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, namedMcMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were wellacquainted with the house, for Mr. Joness well-known technicalknowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabledhim to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not haveentered by the door or by the window but must have made theirway across the roof of the building, and so through a trapdoor intoa room which communicated with that in which the body wasfound. This fact, which has been very clearly made out, provesconclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The promptand energetic action of the officers of the law shows the greatadvantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorousand masterful mind. We cannot but think that it supplies anargument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized,and so brought into closer and more effective touchwith the cases which it is their duty to investigate.
Isnt it gorgeous! said Holmes, grinning over his coffee cup. Whatdo you think of it?
I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested forthe crime.
So do I. I wouldnt answer for our safety now if he should happen tohave another of his attacks of energy.
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs.
Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation anddismay.
By heavens, Holmes, I said, half rising, I believe that they are reallyafter us.
No, its not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial forceCthe BakerStreet irregulars.
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs,a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little streetArabs. There was some show of discipline among them, despite theirtumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing uswith expectant faces. One of their number, taller and older than the others,stood forward with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny insuch a disreputable little scarecrow.
Got your message, sir, said he, and brought em on sharp. Three boband a tanner for tickets.
Here you are, said Holmes, producing some silver. In future theycan report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the houseinvaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all hearthe instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch calledthe Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnelblack with a white band. She is down the river somewhere. I want oneboy to be at Mordecai Smiths landing-stage opposite [127] Millbank tosay if the boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves anddo both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Isthat all clear?
Yes, guvnor, said Wiggins.
The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.
Heres a day in advance. Now off you go!
He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs,and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.
If the launch is above water they will find her, said Holmes as he rosefrom the table and lit his pipe. They can go everywhere, see everything,overhear everyone. I expect to hear before evening that they have spottedher. In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results. We cannotpick up the broken trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. MordecaiSmith.
Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,Holmes?
No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never rememberfeeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I amgoing to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fairclient has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours oughtto be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, Ishould think, be absolutely unique.
That other man again!
I have no wish to make a mystery of him to you, anyway. But youmust have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.
Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stoneheadedwooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do youmake of all this?
A savage! I exclaimed. Perhaps one of those Indians who were theassociates of Jonathan Small.
Hardly that, said he. When first I saw signs of strange weapons Iwas inclined to think so, but the remarkable character of the footmarkscaused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the IndianPeninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as that. TheHindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedanhas the great toe well separated from the others because the thong iscommonly passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot inone way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find oursavage?
South America, I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up and took down a bulky volume from the shelf.
This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published. Itmay be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here?
Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra,in the Bay of Bengal.
Hum! hum! Whats all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, PortBlair, convict barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoodsC C Ah, here we are!
The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim thedistinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though someanthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indiansof America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average height israther below four feet, although many full-grown adults may befound who are very much smaller than this. [128] They are a fierce,morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming mostdevoted friendships when their confidence has once been gained.
Mark that, Watson. Now, then listen to this.
They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads,small fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands,however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they,that all the efforts of the British officials have failed to win themover in any degree. They have always been a terror to shipwreckedcrews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs orshooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres areinvariably concluded by a cannibal feast.
Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his ownunaided devices, this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. Ifancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not tohave employed him.
But how came he to have so singular a companion?
Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had alreadydetermined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so verywonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall knowall about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Liedown there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep.
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out hebegan to play some low, dreamy, melodious airChis own, no doubt, for hehad a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance ofhis gaunt limbs, his earnest face and the rise and fall of his bow. Then Iseemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound until Ifound myself in dreamland, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan lookingdown upon me.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 9The Sign of FourChapter 9A BREAK IN THE CHAINIT WAS late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed.
Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had laidaside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me as Istirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.
You have slept soundly, he said. I feared that our talk would wakeyou.
I heard nothing, I answered. Have you had fresh news, then?
Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. Iexpected something definite by this time. Wiggins has just been up toreport. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a provokingcheck, for every hour is of importance.
Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready foranother nights outing.
No; we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves themessage might [129] come in our absence and delay be caused. You cando what you will, but I must remain on guard.
Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. CecilForrester. She asked me to, yesterday.
On Mrs. Cecil Forrester? asked Holmes with the twinkle of a smile inhis eyes.
Well, of course on Miss Morstan, too. They were anxious to hear whathappened.
I would not tell them too much, said Holmes. Women are never tobe entirely trustedCnot the best of them.
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.
I shall be back in an hour or two, I remarked.
All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you mayas well return Toby, for I dont think it is at all likely that we shall haveany use for him now.
I took our mongrel accordingly and left him, together with a halfsovereign,at the old naturalists in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell I foundMiss Morstan a little weary after her nights adventures but very eager tohear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them allthat we had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of thetragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr. Sholtos death, I said nothing ofthe exact manner and method of it. With all my omissions, however, therewas enough to startle and amaze them.
It is a romance! cried Mrs. Forrester. An injured lady, half a millionin treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. They take theplace of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.
And two knight-errants to the rescue, added Miss Morstan with abright glance at me.
Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I dontthink that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it must be tobe so rich and to have the world at your feet!
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no signof elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of her proudhead, as though the matter were one in which she took small interest.
It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious, she said. Nothingelse is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindlyand honourably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful andunfounded charge.
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time Ireached home. My companions book and pipe lay by his chair, but hehad disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but therewas none.
I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out, I said to Mrs.
Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir, sinking hervoice into an impressive whisper, I am afraid for his health.
Why so, Mrs. Hudson?
Well, hes that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and hewalked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound ofhis footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering, and everytime the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with What is that, Mrs.
Hudson? And now he has slammed off to his room, but I can hear himwalking away the same as ever. I [130] hope hes not going to be ill, sir. Iventured to say something to him about cooling medicine, but he turnedon me, sir, with such a look that I dont know how ever I got out of theroom.
I dont think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson, Ianswered. I have seen him like this before. He has some small matterupon his mind which makes him restless.
I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was myselfsomewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to timeheard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen spirit waschafing against this involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck offeverish colour upon either cheek.
You are knocking yourself up, old man, I remarked. I heard youmarching about in the night.
No, I could not sleep, he answered. This infernal problem isconsuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle, whenall else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch, everything; andyet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at work and used everymeans at my disposal. The whole river has been searched on either side,but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband. I shallcome to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the craft. But thereare objections to that.
Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent.
No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there is alaunch of that description.
Could it have gone up the river?
I have considered that possibility, too, and there is a search-party whowill work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day I shall start offmyself to-morrow and go for the men rather than the boat. But surely,surely, we shall hear something.
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins orfrom the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers uponthe Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to theunfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found, however,in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the followingday. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report our ill-successto the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and somewhatmorose. He would hardly reply to my questions and busied himself all theevening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much heating ofretorts and distilling of vapours, ending at last in a smell which fairlydrove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours of the morning Icould hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told me that he was stillengaged in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start and was surprised to find himstanding by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket and acoarse red scarf round his neck.
I am off down the river, Watson, said he. I have been turning it overin my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth trying, at allevents.
Surely I can come with you, then? said I.
No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as myrepresentative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that somemessage may come during [131] the day, though Wiggins was despondentabout it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to acton your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?
Most certainly.
I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly tellyet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not be goneso very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I get back.
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast time. On opening the Standard,however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business.
With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy [it remarked] wehave reason to believe that the matter promises to be even morecomplex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Freshevidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. ThaddeusSholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. Heand the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both releasedyesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police have aclue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr.
Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energyand sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any moment.
That is satisfactory so far as it goes, thought I. Friend Sholto is safe,at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be, though it seems to be astereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder.
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eyecaught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:
LOSTCWhereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son Jim, leftSmiths Wharf at or about three oclock last Tuesday morning inthe steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel blackwith a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to anyonewho can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smiths Wharf, or at221B, Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said MordecaiSmith and the launch Aurora.
This was clearly Holmess doing. The Baker Street address was enoughto prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious because it might be read bythe fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of awife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door or a sharpstep passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes returning oran answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts wouldwander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pairwhom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered, some radical flawin my companions reasoning? Might he not be suffering from some hugeself-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mindhad built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never knownhim to be wrong, and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally bedeceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through the overrefinementof his logicChis preference for a subtle and bizarre explanationwhen a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, onthe other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard thereasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain ofcurious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves but all tendingin the same direction, I could not [132] disguise from myself that even ifHolmess explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outreand startling.
At three oclock on the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, anauthoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person thanMr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he, however,from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who hadtaken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression wasdowncast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.
Good-day, sir; good-day, said he. Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, Iunderstand.
Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps youwould care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.
Thank you; I dont mind if I do, said he, mopping his face with a redbandanna handkerchief.
And a whisky and soda?
Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year, and I have had agood deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this Norwoodcase?
I remember that you expressed one.
Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightlyround Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle ofit. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From thetime that he left his brothers room he was never out of sight of someoneor other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and throughtrapdoors. Its a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake. Ishould be very glad of a little assistance.
We all need help sometimes, said I.
Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man, sir, said he ina husky and confidential voice. Hes a man who is not to be beat. I haveknown that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw thecase yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in hismethods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on thewhole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I dontcare who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by which Iunderstand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business. Here is hismessage.
He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me. It wasdated from Poplar at twelve oclock.
Go to Baker Street at once [it said]. If I have not returned, wait for me.
I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-nightif you want to be in at the finish.
This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again, said I.
Ah, then he has been at fault too, exclaimed Jones with evidentsatisfaction. Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course thismay prove to be a false alarm but it is my duty as an officer of the law toallow no chance to slip. But there is someone at the door. Perhaps this ishe.
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing andrattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or twicehe stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last hemade his way to our door and entered. His appearance corresponded tothe sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad in seafaringgarb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. His back wasbowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was [133] painfullyasthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heavedin the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a coloured scarf roundhis chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes,overhung by bushy white brows and long gray side-whiskers. Altogetherhe gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had falleninto years and poverty.
What is it, my man? I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here? said he.
No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you havefor him.
It was to him himself I was to tell it, said he.
But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai Smithsboat?
Yes. I knows well where it is. An I knows where the men he is afterare. An I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it.
Then tell me, and I shall let him know.
It was to him I was to tell it, he repeated with the petulant obstinacyof a very old man.
Well, you must wait for him.
No, no; I aint goin to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.
Holmes aint here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. Idont care about the look of either of you, and I wont tell a word.
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.
Wait a bit, my friend, said he. You have important information, andyou must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not, untilour friend returns.
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jonesput his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness ofresistance.
Pretty sort o treatment this! he cried, stamping his stick. I comehere to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seizeme and treat me in this fashion!
You will be none the worse, I said. We shall recompense you for theloss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have long towait.
He came across sullenly enough and seated himself with his faceresting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.
Suddenly, however, Holmess voice broke in upon us.
I think that you might offer me a cigar too, he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to uswith an air of quiet amusement.
Holmes! I exclaimed. You here! But where is the old man?
Here is the old man, said he, holding out a heap of white hair. Herehe isCwig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was prettygood, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.
Ah, you rogue! cried Jones, highly delighted. You would have madean actor and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and thoseweak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glintof your eye, though. You didnt get away from us so easily, you see.
I have been working in that get-up all day, said he, lighting his cigar.
You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to knowmeCespecially since our friend here took to publishing some of my cases:
so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like this.
You got my wire?
[134] Yes; that was what brought me here.
How has your case prospered?
It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my prisoners,and there is no evidence against the other two.
Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. Butyou must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all theofficial credit, but you must act on the lines that I point out. Is thatagreed?
Entirely, if you will help me to the men.
Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boatCa steamlaunchCto be at the Westminster Stairs at seven oclock.
That is easily managed. There is always one about there, but I can stepacross the road and telephone to make sure.
Then I shall want two staunch men in case of resistance.
There will be two or three in the boat. What else?
When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that itwould be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the younglady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first to open it.
Eh, Watson?
It would be a great pleasure to me.
Rather an irregular proceeding, said Jones, shaking his head.
However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at it.
The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities until afterthe official investigation.
Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much liketo have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan Smallhimself. You know I like to work the details of my cases out. There is noobjection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here in myrooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?
Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of theexistence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him, I dontsee how I can refuse you an interview with him.
That is understood, then?
Perfectly. Is there anything else?
Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half anhour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little choicein white wines.CWatson, you have never yet recognized my merits as ahousekeeper.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 10The Sign of FourChapter 10THE END OF THE ISLANDEROUR meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when hechose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state ofnervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on aquick succession of subjectsCon miracle plays, on mediaeval pottery, onStradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships ofthe futureChandling each as though he had made a special study of it. Hisbright humour marked the reaction from his black depression of thepreceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hoursof relaxation and faced his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For myself,I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and Icaught [135] something of Holmess gaiety. None of us alluded duringdinner to the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared Holmes glanced at his watch and filled upthree glasses with port.
One bumper, said he, to the success of our little expedition. Andnow it is high time we were off. Have you a pistol, Watson?
I have my old service-revolver in my desk.
You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that the cab isat the door. I ordered it for half-past six.
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf andfound our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.
Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?
Yes, that green lamp at the side.
Then take it off.
The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes werecast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at therudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward.
Where to? asked Jones.
To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite to Jacobsons Yard.
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines ofloaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled withsatisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.
We ought to be able to catch anything on the river, he said.
Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us.
We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being aclipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect howannoyed I was at being baulked by so small a thing?
Yes.
Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemicalanalysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work isthe best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbonwhich I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the Sholtos, andthought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up the river anddown the river without result. The launch was not at any landing-stage orwharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hidetheir traces, though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if allelse failed. I knew that this man Small had a certain degree of lowcunning, but I did not think him capable of anything in the nature ofdelicate finesse. That is usually a product of higher education. I thenreflected that since he had certainly been in London some timeCas we hadevidence that he maintained a continual watch over PondicherryLodgeChe could hardly leave at a moments notice, but would need somelittle time, if it were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was thebalance of probability, at any rate.
It seems to me to be a little weak, said I; it is more probable that hehad arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his expedition.
No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a retreat incase of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he could dowithout it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan Small musthave felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much hemay have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and possibly beassociated with this Norwood tragedy. He was [136] quite sharp enough tosee that. They had started from their headquarters under cover ofdarkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad light. Now, itwas past three oclock, according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat.
It would be quite bright, and people would be about in an hour or so.
Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They paid Smith well tohold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final escape, and hurried totheir lodgings with the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they hadtime to see what view the papers took, and whether there was anysuspicion, they would make their way under cover of darkness to someship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had alreadyarranged for passages to America or the Colonies.
But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings.
Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite ofits invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small and looked at it as aman of his capacity would. He would probably consider that to send backthe launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the policedid happen to get on his track. How, then, could he conceal the launchand yet have her at hand when wanted? I wondered what I should domyself if I were in his shoes. I could only think of one way of doing it. Imight hand the launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, withdirections to make a trifling change in her. She would then be removed tohis shed or yard, and so be effectually concealed, while at the same time Icould have her at a few hours notice.
That seems simple enough.
It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to beoverlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at once inthis harmless seamans rig and inquired at all the yards down the river. Idrew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenthCJacobsonsCI learned that theAurora had been handed over to them two days ago by a wooden-leggedman, with some trivial directions as to her rudder. There aint naughtamiss with her rudder, said the foreman. There she lies, with the redstreaks. At that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, themissing owner. He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, ofcourse, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name ofhis launch. I want her to-night at eight oclock, said heCeight oclocksharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who wont be kept waiting. Theyhad evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chuckingshillings about to the men. I followed him some distance, but he subsidedinto an alehouse; so I went back to the yard, and, happening to pick upone of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch.
He is to stand at the waters edge and wave his handkerchief to us whenthey start. We shall be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strangething if we do not take men, treasure, and all.
You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men ornot, said Jones; but if the affair were in my hands I should have had abody of police in Jacobsons Yard and arrested them when they camedown.
Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewdfellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made himsuspicious he would lie snug for another week.
But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to theirhiding-place, said I.
In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a hundred toone against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he has liquor andgood pay, [137] why should he ask questions? They send him messageswhat to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and this is the best.
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting thelong series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City thelast rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St. Pauls.
It was twilight before we reached the Tower.
That is Jacobsons Yard, said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of mastsand rigging on the Surrey side. Cruise gently up and down here undercover of this string of lighters. He took a pair of night-glasses from hispocket and gazed some time at the shore. I see my sentry at his post, heremarked, but no sign of a handkerchief.
Suppose we go downstream a short way and lie in wait for them, saidJones eagerly.
We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and stokers, whohad a very vague idea of what was going forward.
We have no right to take anything for granted, Holmes answered. Itis certainly ten to one that they go downstream, but we cannot be certain.
From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they can hardlysee us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We must stay where weare. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the gaslight.
They are coming from work in the yard.
Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some littleimmortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look atthem. There is no a priori probability about it. A strange enigma is man!
Someone calls him a soul concealed in an animal, I suggested.
Winwood Reade is good upon the subject, said Holmes. He remarksthat, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate hebecomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretellwhat any one man will do, but you can say with precision what anaverage number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages remainconstant. So says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief? Surelythere is a white flutter over yonder.
Yes, it is your boy, I cried. I can see him plainly.
And there is the Aurora, exclaimed Holmes, and going like thedevil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the yellowlight. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves to have theheels of us!
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed betweentwo or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before wesaw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore, goingat a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his head.
She is very fast, he said. I doubt if we shall catch her.
We must catch her! cried Holmes between his teeth. Heap it on,stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have them!
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerfulengines whizzed and clanked like a great metallic heart. Her sharp, steepprow cut through the still river-water and sent two rolling waves to rightand to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and quiveredlike a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows threw a long,flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon thewater showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behindher spoke of the pace at which she was going. We flashed [138] pastbarges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this one and roundthe other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but still the Aurorathundered on, and still we followed close upon her track.
Pile it on, men, pile it on! cried Holmes, looking down into theengine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,aquiline face. Get every pound of steam you can.
I think we gain a little, said Jones with his eyes on the Aurora.
I am sure of it, said I. We shall be up with her in a very fewminutes.
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug withthree barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting ourhelm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could roundthem and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hundredyards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky, uncertaintwilight was settling into a clear, starlit night. Our boilers were strained totheir utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierceenergy which was driving us along. We had shot through the pool, pastthe West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again afterrounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us resolved itself nowclearly into the dainty Aurora. Jones turned our searchlight upon her, sothat we could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat by thestern, with something black between his knees, over which he stooped.
Beside him lay a dark mass, which looked like a Newfoundland dog. Theboy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I could seeold Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. Theymay have had some doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuingthem, but now as we followed every winding and turning which they tookthere could no longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we wereabout three hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not havebeen more than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures inmany countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give mesuch a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadilywe drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we couldhear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the sternstill crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though hewere busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure witha glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and nearer.
Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boats-lengthsbehind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear reachof the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the melancholyPlumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the stern sprangup from the deck and shook his two clenched fists at us, cursing the whilein a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized, powerful man, and as hestood poising himself with legs astride I could see that from the thighdownward there was but a wooden stump upon the right side. At thesound of his strident, angry cries, there was movement in the huddledbundle upon the deck. It straightened itself into a little black manCthesmallest I have ever seenCwith a great, misshapen head and a shock oftangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and Iwhipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature. He waswrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his faceexposed, but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night. Neverhave I seen features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. Hissmall eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips werewrithed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with halfanimal fury.
[139] Fire if he raises his hand, said Holmes quietly.
We were within a boats-length by this time, and almost within touch ofour quarry. I can see the two of them now as they stood, the white manwith his legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarfwith his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in thelight of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked heplucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like aschool-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out together. Hewhirled round, threw up his arms, and, with a kind of choking cough, fellsideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of his venomous,menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At the same momentthe wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put it harddown, so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank, while weshot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We were round afterher in an instant, but she was already nearly at the bank. It was a wild anddesolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse of marshland,with pools of stagnant water and beds of decaying vegetation. Thelaunch, with a dull thud, ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in theair and her stern flush with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but hisstump instantly sank its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain hestruggled and writhed. Not one step could he possibly take either forwardor backward. He yelled in impotent rage and kicked frantically into themud with his other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden pin thedeeper into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch alongside hewas so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing the end of a ropeover his shoulders that we were able to haul him out and to drag him, likesome evil fish, over our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenlyin their launch but came aboard meekly enough when commanded. TheAurora herself we hauled off and made fast to our stern. A solid ironchest of Indian workmanship stood upon the deck. This, there could be noquestion, was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure of theSholtos. There was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so wetransferred it carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed slowlyupstream again, we flashed our searchlight in every direction, but therewas no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom ofthe Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores.
See here, said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. We werehardly quick enough with our pistols. There, sure enough, just behindwhere we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts whichwe knew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant we fired.
Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion, but Iconfess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible death which hadpassed so close to us that night.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 11The Sign of FourChapter 11THE GREAT AGRA TREASUREOUR captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had doneso much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned reckless-eyedfellow, with a network of lines and wrinkles all over his mahoganyfeatures, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was a singularprominence about his bearded chin which marked a man [140] who wasnot to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have been fifty orthereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His facein repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows andaggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression whenmoved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, andhis head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen, twinklingeyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings. It seemed tome that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and containedcountenance. Once he looked up at me with a gleam of something likehumour in his eyes.
Well, Jonathan Small, said Holmes, lighting a cigar, I am sorry thatit has come to this.
And so am I, sir, he answered frankly. I dont believe that I canswing over the job. I give you my word on the book that I never raisedhand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hell-hound, Tonga, who shotone of his cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir. I was as grieved asif it had been my blood-relation. I welted the little devil with the slack endof the rope for it, but it was done, and I could not undo it again.
Have a cigar, said Holmes; and you had best take a pull out of myflask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small and weak aman as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto and hold him while youwere climbing the rope?
You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. The truthis that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habits of the house prettywell, and it was the time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to hissupper. I shall make no secret of the business. The best defence that I canmake is just the simple truth. Now, if it had been the old major I wouldhave swung for him with a light heart. I would have thought no more ofknifing him than of smoking this cigar. But its cursed hard that I shouldbe lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had no quarrel whatever.
You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard. Heis going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for a trueaccount of the matter. You must make a clean breast of it, for if you do Ihope that I may be of use to you. I think I can prove that the poison actsso quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached the room.
That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when I saw himgrinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbed through thewindow. It fairly shook me, sir. Id have half killed Tonga for it if he hadnot scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his club, and some ofhis darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say helped to put you on ourtrack; though how you kept on it is more than I can tell. I dont feel nomalice against you for it. But it does seem a queer thing, he added with abitter smile, that I, who have a fair claim to half a million of money,should spend the first half of my life building a breakwater in theAndamans, and am like to spend the other half digging drains atDartmoor. It was an evil day for me when first I clapped eyes upon themerchant Achmet and had to do with the Agra treasure, which neverbrought anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. To him itbrought murder, to Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it hasmeant slavery for life.
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavyshoulders into the tiny cabin.
Quite a family party, he remarked. I think I shall have a pull at thatflask, [141] Holmes. Well, I think we may all congratulate each other. Pitywe didnt take the other alive, but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, youmust confess that you cut it rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaulher.
All is well that ends well, said Holmes. But I certainly did not knowthat the Aurora was such a clipper.
Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that if hehad had another man to help him with the engines we should never havecaught her. He swears he knew nothing of this Norwood business.
Neither he did, cried our prisonerCnot a word. I chose his launchbecause I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing; but we paidhim well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached ourvessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils.
Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes tohim. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick incondemning them. It was amusing to notice how the consequential Joneswas already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of the capture.
From the slight smile which played over Sherlock Holmess face, I couldsee that the speech had not been lost upon him.
We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently, said Jones, and shall landyou, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell you that I amtaking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing this. It is mostirregular, but of course an agreement is an agreement. I must, however, asa matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you have so valuable acharge. You will drive, no doubt?
Yes, I shall drive.
It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first. Youwill have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?
At the bottom of the river, said Small shortly.
Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. Wehave had work enough already through you. However, Doctor, I need notwarn you to be careful. Bring the box back with you to the Baker Streetrooms. You will find us there, on our way to the station.
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff,genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hours drive broughtus to Mrs. Cecil Forresters. The servant seemed surprised at so late avisitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she explained, andlikely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in the drawing-room;so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving the obliginginspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of whitediaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and waist.
The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned back in thebasket chair, playing over her sweet grave face, and tinting with a dull,metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. One white arm andhand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole pose and figurespoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the sound of my footfall she sprangto her feet, however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasurecoloured her pale cheeks.
I heard a cab drive up, she said. I thought that Mrs. Forrester hadcome back very early, but I never dreamed that it might be you. Whatnews have you brought me?
I have brought something better than news, said I, putting down thebox upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though myheart was heavy [142] within me. I have brought you something which isworth all the news in the world. I have brought you a fortune.
She glanced at the iron box.
Is that the treasure then? she asked, coolly enough.
Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours and half isThaddeus Sholtos. You will have a couple of hundred thousand each.
Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds. There will be fewricher young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?
I think I must have been rather over-acting my delight, and that shedetected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her eyebrows risea little, and she glanced at me curiously.
If I have it, said she, I owe it to you.
No, no, I answered, not to me but to my friend Sherlock Holmes.
With all the will in the world, I could never have followed up a cluewhich has taxed even his analytical genius. As it was, we very nearly lostit at the last moment.
Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson, said she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her last. Holmessnew method of search, the discovery of the Aurora, the appearance ofAthelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and the wild chase downthe Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining eyes to my recitalof our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which had so narrowlymissed us, she turned so white that I feared that she was about to faint.
It is nothing, she said as I hastened to pour her out some water. I amall right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed my friends insuch horrible peril.
That is all over, I answered. It was nothing. I will tell you no moregloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the treasure.
What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it with me, thinkingthat it would interest you to be the first to see it.
It would be of the greatest interest to me, she said. There was noeagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that it mightseem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize which had costso much to win.
What a pretty box! she said, stooping over it. This is Indian work, Isuppose?
Yes; it is Benares metal-work.
And so heavy! she exclaimed, trying to raise it. The box alone mustbe of some value. Where is the key?
Small threw it into the Thames, I answered. I must borrow Mrs.
Forresters poker.
There was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the image ofa sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end of the poker and twisted itoutward as a lever. The hasp sprang open with a loud snap. Withtrembling fingers I flung back the lid. We both stood gazing inastonishment. The box was empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The ironwork was two-thirds of an inchthick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chestconstructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb ofmetal or jewellery lay within it. It was absolutely and completely empty.
The treasure is lost, said Miss Morstan calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadowseemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure hadweighed me down [143] until now that it was finally removed. It wasselfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save that thegolden barrier was gone from between us.
Thank God! I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile.
Why do you say that? she asked.
Because you are within my reach again, I said, taking her hand. Shedid not withdraw it. Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a manloved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Nowthat they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said,Thank God.
Then I say Thank God, too, she whispered as I drew her to my side.
Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained one.
David Soucek, 1998Chapter 12The Sign of FourChapter 12THE STRANGE STORYOF JONATHAN SMALLA VERY patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary timebefore I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him theempty box.
There goes the reward! said he gloomily. Where there is no moneythere is no pay. This nights work would have been worth a tenner each toSam Brown and me if the treasure had been there.
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man, I said; he will see that you arerewarded, treasure or no.
The inspector shook his head despondently, however.
Its a bad job, he repeated; and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think.
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank enoughwhen I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They had onlyjust arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had changed theirplans so far as to report themselves at a station upon the way. Mycompanion lounged in his armchair with his usual listless expression,while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his wooden leg cocked overhis sound one. As I exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chairand laughed aloud.
This is your doing, Small, said Athelney Jones angrily.
Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it, hecried exultantly. It is my treasure, and if I cant have the loot Ill takedarned good care that no one else does. I tell you that no living man hasany right to it, unless it is three men who are in the Andaman convictbarracksand myself. I know now that I cannot have the use of it, and Iknow that they cannot. I have acted all through for them as much as formyself. Its been the sign of four with us always. Well, I know that theywould have had me do just what I have done, and throw the treasure intothe Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of Sholto or Morstan. It wasnot to make them rich that we did for Achmet. Youll find the treasurewhere the key is and where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launchmust catch us, I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no rupees foryou this journey.
You are deceiving us, Small, said Athelney Jones sternly; if you hadwished [144] to throw the treasure into the Thames, it would have beeneasier for you to have thrown box and all.
Easier for me to throw and easier for you to recover, he answeredwith a shrewd, side-long look. The man that was clever enough to huntme down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a river.
Now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a harder job.
It went to my heart to do it though. I was half mad when you came upwith us. However, theres no good grieving over it. Ive had ups in mylife, and Ive had downs, but Ive learned not to cry over spilled milk.
This is a very serious matter, Small, said the detective. If you hadhelped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would have had abetter chance at your trial.
Justice! snarled the ex-convict. A pretty justice! Whose loot is this,if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should give it up to those whohave never earned it? Look how I have earned it! Twenty long years inthat fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove-tree, allnight chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten by mosquitoes, rackedwith ague, bullied by every cursed black-faced policeman who loved totake it out of a white man. That was how I earned the Agra treasure, andyou talk to me of justice because I cannot bear to feel that I have paid thisprice only that another may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score oftimes, or have one of Tongas darts in my hide, than live in a convictscell and feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the moneythat should be mine.
Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this came out in a wildwhirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the handcuffs clanked togetherwith the impassioned movement of his hands. I could understand, as I sawthe fury and the passion of the man, that it was no groundless or unnaturalterror which had possessed Major Sholto when he first learned that theinjured convict was upon his track.
You forget that we know nothing of all this, said Holmes quietly.
We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice mayoriginally have been on your side.
Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I can see thatI have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my wrists. Still, I bearno grudge for that. It is all fair and above-board. If you want to hear mystory, I have no wish to hold it back. What I say to you is Gods truth,every word of it. Thank you, you can put the glass beside me here, andIll put my lips to it if I am dry.
I am a Worcestershire man myself, born near Pershore. I dare say youwould find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were to look. I haveoften thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is that I was nevermuch of a credit to the family, and I doubt if they would be so very gladto see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk, small farmers, wellknown and respected over the countryside, while I was always a bit of arover. At last, however, when I was about eighteen, I gave them no moretrouble, for I got into a mess over a girl and could only get out of it againby taking the Queens shilling and joining the Third Buffs, which was juststarting for India.
I wasnt destined to do much soldiering, however. I had just got pastthe goose-step and learned to handle my musket, when I was fool enoughto go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, my company sergeant,John Holder, was in [145] the water at the same time, and he was one ofthe finest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me just as I washalfway across and nipped off my right leg as clean as a surgeon couldhave done it, just above the knee. What with the shock and the loss ofblood, I fainted, and should have been drowned if Holder had not caughthold of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in hospital over it,and when at last I was able to limp out of it with this timber toe strappedto my stump, I found myself invalided out of the Army and unfitted forany active occupation.
I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for Iwas a useless cripple, though not yet in my twentieth year. However, mymisfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. A man named AbelWhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an overseerto look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He happened tobe a friend of our colonels, who had taken an interest in me since theaccident. To make a long story short, the colonel recommended mestrongly for the post, and, as the work was mostly to be done onhorseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough thigh left tokeep a good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to ride over theplantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked, and to report theidlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable quarters, and altogether I wascontent to spend the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr. AbelWhite was a kind man, and he would often drop into my little shanty andsmoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there feel their hearts warm toeach other as they never do here at home.
Well, I was never in lucks way long. Suddenly, without a note ofwarning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay as still andpeaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the next there were twohundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was a perfecthell. Of course you know all about it, gentlemenCa deal more than I do,very like, since reading is not in my line. I only know what I saw with myown eyes. Our plantation was at a place called Muttra, near the border ofthe Northwest Provinces. Night after night the whole sky was alight withthe burning bungalows, and day after day we had small companies ofEuropeans passing through our estate with their wives and children, ontheir way to Agra, where were the nearest troops. Mr. Abel White was anobstinate man. He had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated,and that it would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he saton his veranda, drinking whisky-pegs and smoking cheroots, while thecountry was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by him, I andDawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the managing.
Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been away on a distant plantationand was riding slowly home in the evening, when my eye fell uponsomething all huddled together at the bottom of a steep nullah. I rodedown to see what it was, and the cold struck through my heart when Ifound it was Dawsons wife, all cut into ribbons, and half eaten by jackalsand native dogs. A little further up the road Dawson himself was lying onhis face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand, and four sepoyslying across each other in front of him. I reined up my horse, wonderingwhich way I should turn; but at that moment I saw thick smoke curling upfrom Abel Whites bungalow and the flames beginning to burst throughthe roof. I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but wouldonly throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From where Istood I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their [146] red coatsstill on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. Someof them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head: so Ibroke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safewithin the walls at Agra.
As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. Thewhole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English couldcollect in little bands they held just the ground that their gunscommanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a fightof the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of it was thatthese men that we fought against, foot, horse, and gunners, were our ownpicked troops, whom we had taught and trained, handling our ownweapons and blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra there were the ThirdBengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery ofartillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been formed, andthis I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to meet the rebels atShahgunge early in July, and we beat them back for a time, but ourpowder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the city.
Nothing but the worst news came to us from every sideCwhich is notto be wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see that we wereright in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles tothe east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south. From every point on thecompass there was nothing but torture and murder and outrage.
The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fiercedevil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among thenarrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the river, therefore, andtook up his position in the old fort of Agra. I dont know if any of yougentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old fort. It is a veryqueer placeCthe queerest that ever I was in, and I have been in some rumcorners, too. First of all it is enormous in size. I should think that theenclosure must be acres and acres. There is a modern part, which took allour garrison, women, children, stores, and everything else, with plenty ofroom over. But the modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter,where nobody goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and thecentipedes. It is all full of great deserted halls, and winding passages, andlong corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for folk to getlost in it. For this reason it was seldom that anyone went into it, thoughnow and again a party with torches might go exploring.
The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects it, buton the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had to beguarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which was actuallyheld by our troops. We were short-handed, with hardly men enough toman the angles of the building and to serve the guns. It was impossible forus, therefore, to station a strong guard at every one of the innumerablegates. What we did was to organize a central guard-house in the middle ofthe fort, and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man andtwo or three natives. I was selected to take charge during certain hours ofthe night of a small isolated door upon the south-west side of the building.
Two Sikh troopers were placed under my command, and I was instructedif anything went wrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon helpcoming at once from the central guard. As the guard was a good twohundred paces away, however, and as the space between was cut up into alabyrinth of passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to whether theycould arrive in time to be of any use in case of an actual attack.
[147] Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command given me,since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. For two nights Ikept the watch with my Punjabees. They were tall, fierce-looking chaps,Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting men, whohad borne arms against us at Chilian Wallah. They could talk Englishpretty well, but I could get little out of them. They preferred to standtogether, and jabber all night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I usedto stand outside the gateway, looking down on the broad, winding riverand on the twinkling lights of the great city. The beating of drums, therattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opiumand with bang, were enough to remind us all night of our dangerousneighbours across the stream. Every two hours the officer of the nightused to come round to all the posts to make sure that all was well.
The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small drivingrain. It was dreary work standing in the gateway hour after hour in suchweather. I tried again and again to make my Sikhs talk, but without muchsuccess. At two in the morning the rounds passed and broke for a momentthe weariness of the night. Finding that my companions would not be ledinto conversation, I took out my pipe and laid down my musket to strikethe match. In an instant the two Sikhs were upon me. One of themsnatched my firelock up and levelled it at my head, while the other held agreat knife to my throat and swore between his teeth that he would plungeit into me if I moved a step.
My first thought was that these fellows were in league with the rebels,and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our door were in thehands of the sepoys the place must fall, and the women and children betreated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen think that I amjust making out a case for myself, but I give you my word that when Ithought of that, though I felt the point of the knife at my throat, I openedmy mouth with the intention of giving a scream, if it was my last one,which might alarm the main guard. The man who held me seemed toknow my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it, he whispered:
Dont make a noise. The fort is safe enough. There are no rebel dogs onthis side of the river. There was the ring of truth in what he said, and Iknew that if I raised my voice I was a dead man. I could read it in thefellows brown eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was thatthey wanted from me.
Listen to me, sahib, said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the onewhom they called Abdullah Khan. You must either be with us now, oryou must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a one for us tohesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross ofthe Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into the ditch, andwe shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel army. There is no middleway. Which is it to beCdeath or life? We can only give you three minutesto decide, for the time is passing, and all must be done before the roundscome again.
How can I decide? said I. You have not told me what you want ofme. But I tell you now that if it is anything against the safety of the fort Iwill have no truck with it, so you can drive home your knife andwelcome.
It is nothing against the fort, said he. We only ask you to do thatwhich your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you to be rich. Ifyou will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon the nakedknife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever known to break,that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A quarter of the treasureshall be yours. We can say no fairer.
[148] But what is the treasure then? I asked. I am as ready to be richas you can be if you will but show me how it can be done.
You will swear, then, said he, by the bones of your father, by thehonour of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no hand andspeak no word against us, either now or afterwards?
I will swear it, I answered, provided that the fort is not endangered.
Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarter ofthe treasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.
There are but three, said I.
No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to you whilewe wait them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and give noticeof their coming. The thing stands thus, sahib, and I tell it to you because Iknow that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that we may trust you.
Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you had sworn by all the gods intheir false temples, your blood would have been upon the knife and yourbody in the water. But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and theEnglishman knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to say.
There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth,though his lands are small. Much has come to him from his father, andmore still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and hoards hisgold rather than spend it. When the troubles broke out he would befriends both with the lion and the tigerCwith the sepoy and with theCompanys raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that the white mens daywas come, for through all the land he could hear of nothing but of theirdeath and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made such plansthat, come what might, half at least of his treasure should be left to him.
That which was in gold and silver he kept by him in the vaults of hispalace, but the most precious stones and the choicest pearls that he had heput in an iron box and sent it by a trusty servant, who, under the guise of amerchant, should take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the land is atpeace. Thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if theCompany conquered, his jewels would be saved to him. Having thusdivided his hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the sepoys, sincethey were strong upon his borders. By his doing this, mark you, sahib, hisproperty becomes the due of those who have been true to their salt.
This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet, isnow in the city of Agra and desires to gain his way into the fort. He haswith him as travelling-companion my foster-brother Dost Akbar, whoknows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him to a sideposternof the fort, and has chosen this one for his purpose. Here he willcome presently, and here he will find Mahomet Singh and myselfawaiting him. The place is lonely, and none shall know of his coming.
The world shall know the merchant Achmet no more, but the greattreasure of the rajah shall be divided among us. What say you to it, sahib?
In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred thing;but it is very different when there is fire and blood all round you, and youhave been used to meeting death at every turn. Whether Achmet themerchant lived or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talkabout the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of what I might doin the old country with it, and how my folk would stare when they sawtheir neer-do-well coming back with his pockets full of gold moidores. Ihad, therefore, already made up my mind. [149] Abdullah Khan, however,thinking that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.
Consider, sahib, said he, that if this man is taken by thecommandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by thegovernment, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. Now,since we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well? Thejewels will be as well with us as in the Companys coffers. There will beenough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No one canknow about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men. What couldbe better for the purpose? Say again, then, sahib, whether you are with us,or if we must look upon you as an enemy.
I am with you heart and soul, said I.
It is well, he answered, handing me back my firelock. You see thatwe trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We have nowonly to wait for my brother and the merchant.
Does your brother know, then, of what you will do? I asked.
The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate and sharethe watch with Mahomet Singh.
The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning of thewet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky, and it washard to see more than a stonecast. A deep moat lay in front of our door,but the water was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed.
It was strange to me to be standing there with those two wild Punjabeeswaiting for the man who was coming to his death.
Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other sideof the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and then appeared againcoming slowly in our direction.
Here they are! I exclaimed.
You will challenge him, sahib, as usual, whispered Abdullah. Givehim no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do the rest whileyou stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to uncover, that we maybe sure that it is indeed the man.
The light had flickered onward, now stopping and now advancing,until I could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. I letthem scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and climbhalfway up to the gate before I challenged them.
Who goes there? said I in a subdued voice.
Friends, came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw a floodof light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh with a black beardwhich swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I havenever seen so tall a man. The other was a little fat, round fellow with agreat yellow turban and a bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl. Heseemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands twitched as if he hadthe ague, and his head kept turning to left and right with two bright littletwinkling eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from his hole. It gaveme the chills to think of killing him, but I thought of the treasure, and myheart set as hard as a flint within me. When he saw my white face he gavea little chirrup of joy and came running up towards me.
Your protection, sahib, he panted, your protection for the unhappymerchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana, that I might seekthe shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed and beaten and abusedbecause I have been the [150] friend of the Company. It is a blessed nightthis when I am once more in safetyCI and my poor possessions.
What have you in the bundle? I asked.
An iron box, he answered, which contains one or two little familymatters which are of no value to others but which I should be sorry tolose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you, young sahib, and yourgovernor also if he will give me the shelter I ask.
I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The more Ilooked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we shouldslay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over.
Take him to the main guard, said I. The two Sikhs closed in uponhim on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched inthrough the dark gateway. Never was a man so compassed round withdeath. I remained at the gateway with the lantern.
I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding throughthe lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices and a scuffle,with the sound of blows. A moment later there came, to my horror, a rushof footsteps coming in my direction, with a loud breathing of a runningman. I turned my lantern down the long straight passage, and there wasthe fat man, running like the wind, with a smear of blood across his face,and close at his heels, bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh,with a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run so fast asthat little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that if heonce passed me and got to the open air he would save himself yet. Myheart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hardand bitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he raced past, and herolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his feet theSikh was upon him and buried his knife twice in his side. The man neveruttered moan nor moved muscle but lay where he had fallen. I thinkmyself that he may have broken his neck with the fall. You see,gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am telling you every word ofthe business just exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favour or not.
He stopped and held out his manacled hands for the whisky and waterwhich Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had nowconceived the utmost horror of the man not only for this cold-bloodedbusiness in which he had been concerned but even more for the somewhatflippant and careless way in which he narrated it. Whatever punishmentwas in store for him, I felt that he might expect no sympathy from me.
Sherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeplyinterested in the story but with the same disgust written upon their faces.
He may have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in his voiceand manner as he proceeded.
It was all very bad, no doubt, said he. I should like to know howmany fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot whenthey knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains. Besides,it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. If he had got out, thewhole business would come to light, and I should have been courtmartialledand shot as likely as not; for people were not very lenient at atime like that.
Go on with your story, said Holmes shortly.
Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weight hewas, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left to guard thedoor. We took [151] him to a place which the Sikhs had already prepared.
It was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to a great emptyhall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces. The earth floorhad sunk in at one place, making a natural grave, so we left Achmet themerchant there, having first covered him over with loose bricks. Thisdone, we all went back to the treasure.
It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. The boxwas the same which now lies open upon your table. A key was hung by asilken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We opened it, and the lightof the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have read ofand thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was blinding tolook upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them all out andmade a list of them. There were one hundred and forty-three diamonds ofthe first water, including one which has been called, I believe, the GreatMogul, and is said to be the second largest stone in existence. Then therewere ninety-seven very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventyrubies, some of which, however, were small. There were forty carbuncles,two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity ofberyls, onyxes, cats-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names ofwhich I did not know at the time, though I have become more familiarwith them since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very finepearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these lasthad been taken out of the chest, and were not there when I recovered it.
After we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chestand carried them to the gateway to show them to Mahomet Singh. Thenwe solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to oursecret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the countryshould be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among ourselves.
There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of such value werefound upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was no privacy in thefort nor any place where we could keep them. We carried the box,therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the body, and there,under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall, we made a hollow and putour treasure. We made careful note of the place, and next day I drew fourplans, one for each of us, and put the sign of the four of us at the bottom,for we had sworn that we should each always act for all, so that nonemight take advantage. That is an oath that I can put my hand to my heartand swear that I have never broken.
Well, theres no use my telling you gentlemen what came of theIndian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknowthe back of the business was broken. Fresh troops came pouring in, andNana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column underColonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies away fromit. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we four werebeginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might safely go offwith our shares of the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes wereshattered by our being arrested as the murderers of Achmet.
It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels into the handsof Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man. They aresuspicious folk in the East, however: so what does this rajah do but take asecond even more trusty servant and set him to play the spy upon the first.
This second man was ordered never to let Achmet out of his sight, and hefollowed him like his shadow. He went after him that night and saw himpass through the doorway. Of course [152] he thought he had taken refugein the fort and applied for admission there himself next day, but couldfind no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange that he spokeabout it to a sergeant of guides, who brought it to the ears of thecommandant. A thorough search was quickly made, and the body wasdiscovered. Thus at the very moment that we thought that all was safe wewere all four seized and brought to trial on a charge of murder Cthree ofus because we had held the gate that night, and the fourth because he wasknown to have been in the company of the murdered man. Not a wordabout the jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed anddriven out of India: so no one had any particular interest in them. Themurder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain that we mustall have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal servitude for life,and I was condemned to death, though my sentence was afterwardscommuted to the same as the others.
It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then. Therewe were all four tied by the leg and with precious little chance of evergetting out again, while we each held a secret which might have put eachof us in a palace if we could only have made use of it. It was enough tomake a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick and the cuff ofevery petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat and water to drink, when thatgorgeous fortune was ready for him outside, just waiting to be picked up.
It might have driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so Ijust held on and bided my time.
At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agra toMadras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are veryfew white convicts at this settlement, and, as I had behaved well from thefirst, I soon found myself a sort of privileged person. I was given a hut inHope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of Mount Harriet, and Iwas left pretty much to myself. It is a dreary, fever-stricken place, and allbeyond our little clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives, whowere ready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance.
There was digging and ditching and yam-planting, and a dozen otherthings to be done, so we were busy enough all day; though in the eveningwe had a little time to ourselves. Among other things, I learned todispense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of hisknowledge. All the time I was on the lookout for a chance to escape; butit is hundreds of miles from any other land, and there is little or no windin those seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get away.
The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and theother young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and playcards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was next to hissitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome, Iused to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then, standing there, I couldhear their talk and watch their play. I am fond of a hand at cards myself,and it was almost as good as having one to watch the others. There wasMajor Sholto, Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, whowere in command of the native troops, and there was the surgeon himself,and two or three prison-officials, crafty old hands who played a nice slysafe game. A very snug little party they used to make.
Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that wasthat the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. Mind, Idont say there was anything unfair, but so it was. These prison-chaps haddone little else than play cards ever since they had been at the Andamans,and they knew each others [153] game to a point, while the others justplayed to pass the time and threw their cards down anyhow. Night afternight the soldiers got up poorer men, and the poorer they got the morekeen they were to play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to payin notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand and for bigsums. He sometimes would win for a few deals just to give him heart, andthen the luck would set in against him worse than ever. All day he wouldwander about as black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal morethan was good for him.
One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sitting in my hutwhen he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the way to theirquarters. They were bosom friends, those two, and never far apart. Themajor was raving about his losses.
Its all up, Morstan, he was saying as they passed my hut. I shallhave to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.
Nonsense, old chap! said the other, slapping him upon the shoulder.
Ive had a nasty facer myself, butC C That was all I could hear, but itwas enough to set me thinking.
A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach: so Itook the chance of speaking to him.
I wish to have your advice, Major, said I.
Well, Small, what is it? he asked, taking his cheroot from his lips.
I wanted to ask you, sir, said I, who is the proper person to whomhidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half a million worthlies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that Icould do would be to hand it over to the proper authorities, and thenperhaps they would get my sentence shortened for me.
Half a million, Small? he gasped, looking hard at me to see if I wasin earnest.
Quite that, sirCin jewels and pearls. It lies there ready for anyone.
And the queer thing about it is that the real owner is outlawed and cannothold property, so that it belongs to the first comer.
To government, Small, he stammered, to government. But he saidit in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had got him.
You think, then, sir, that I should give the information to thegovernor-general? said I quietly.
Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might repent.
Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.
I told him the whole story, with small changes, so that he could notidentify the places. When I had finished he stood stock still and full ofthought. I could see by the twitch of his lip that there was a struggle goingon within him.
This is a very important matter, Small, he said at last. You must notsay a word to anyone about it, and I shall see you again soon.
Two nights later he and his friend, Captain Morstan, came to my hutin the dead of the night with a lantern.
I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story from your ownlips, Small, said he.
I repeated it as I had told it before.
It rings true, eh? said he. Its good enough to act upon?
Captain Morstan nodded.
Look here, Small, said the major. We have been talking it over, myfriend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that this secret ofyours is hardly a [154] government matter, after all, but is a privateconcern of your own, which of course you have the power of disposing ofas you think best. Now the question is, What price would you ask for it?
We might be inclined to take it up, and at least look into it, if we couldagree as to terms. He tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyeswere shining with excitement and greed.
Why, as to that, gentlemen, I answered, trying also to be cool butfeeling as excited as he did, there is only one bargain which a man in myposition can make. I shall want you to help me to my freedom, and to helpmy three companions to theirs. We shall then take you into partnershipand give you a fifth share to divide between you.
Hum! said he. A fifth share! That is not very tempting.
It would come to fifty thousand apiece, said I.
But how can we gain your freedom? You know very well that youask an impossibility.
Nothing of the sort, I answered. I have thought it all out to the lastdetail. The only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat fit for thevoyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time. There are plenty oflittle yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would serve our turnwell. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to get aboard her by night,and if you will drop us on any part of the Indian coast you will have doneyour part of the bargain.
If there were only one, he said.
None or all, I answered. We have sworn it. The four of us mustalways act together.
You see, Morstan, said he, Small is a man of his word. He does notflinch from his friends. I think we may very well trust him.
Its a dirty business, the other answered. Yet, as you say, the moneywill save our commissions handsomely.
Well, Small, said the major, we must, I suppose, try and meet you.
We must first, of course, test the truth of your story. Tell me where thebox is hid, and I shall get leave of absence and go back to India in themonthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.
Not so fast, said I, growing colder as he got hot. I must have theconsent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is four or none with us.
Nonsense! he broke in. What have three black fellows to do withour agreement?
Black or blue, said I, they are in with me, and we all go together.
Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which MahometSingh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talked thematter over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. We were toprovide both the officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort, and markthe place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to goto India to test our story. If he found the box he was to leave it there, tosend out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was to lie offRutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and finally toreturn to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for leave ofabsence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a final division ofthe treasure, he taking the majors share as well as his own. All this wesealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind could think or the lipsutter. I sat up all night with paper and ink, and by the morning I had thetwo charts all ready, signed with the sign of fourCthat is, of Abdullah,Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.
[155] Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I knowthat my friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey.
Ill make it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went off to India, but henever came back again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among alist of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards. Hisuncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the Army; yet hecould stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan went over toAgra shortly afterwards and found, as we expected, that the treasure wasindeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all without carrying out one ofthe conditions on which we had sold him the secret. From that I lived onlyfor vengeance. I thought of it by day and I nursed it by night. It becamean overpowering, absorbing passion with me. I cared nothing for thelawCnothing for the gallows. To escape, to track down Sholto, to have myhand upon his throatCthat was my one thought. Even the Agra treasurehad come to be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto.
Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and never onewhich I did not carry out. But it was weary years before my time came. Ihave told you that I had picked up something of medicine. One day whenDr. Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander waspicked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick to death and hadgone to a lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he was asvenomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months I got him allright and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and wouldhardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut. Ilearned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him all the fonder ofme.
TongaCfor that was his nameCwas a fine boatman and owned a big,roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to me andwould do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked itover with him. He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an oldwharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. I gavehim directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of yams,cocoanuts, and sweet potatoes.
He was staunch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had a morefaithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at the wharf. As itchanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down thereCa vilePathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring me. I hadalways vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as if fate hadplaced him in my way that I might pay my debt before I left the island. Hestood on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. Ilooked about for a stone to beat out his brains with, but none could I see.
Then a queer thought came into my head and showed me where Icould lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the darkness andunstrapped my wooden leg. With three long hops I was on him. He puthis carbine to his shoulder, but I struck him full, and knocked the wholefront of his skull in. You can see the split in the wood now where I hithim. We both went down together, for I could not keep my balance; butwhen I got up I found him still lying quiet enough. I made for the boat,and in an hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had brought all his earthlypossessions with him, his arms and his gods. Among other things, he hada long bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoanut matting, with which Imade a sort of a sail. For ten days we were beating about, trusting to luck,and on the eleventh we were picked up by a trader which was going fromSingapore to Jiddah with a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rumcrowd, and Tonga and I soon [156] managed to settle down among them.
They had one very good quality: they let you alone and asked noquestions.
Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum and Iwent through, you would not thank me, for I would have you here untilthe sun was shining. Here and there we drifted about the world,something always turning up to keep us from London. All the time,however, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto atnight. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last, however,some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England. I had nogreat difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to work todiscover whether he had realized on the treasure, or if he still had it. Imade friends with someone who could help meCI name no names, for Idont want to get anyone else in a holeCand I soon found that he still hadthe jewels. Then I tried to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty slyand had always two prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar, onguard over him.
One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried at once tothe garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that, and,looking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed, with his sons oneach side of him. Id have come through and taken my chance with thethree of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped, and I knewthat he was gone. I got into his room that same night, though, and Isearched his papers to see if there was any record of where he had hiddenour jewels. There was not a line, however, so I came away, bitter andsavage as a man could be. Before I left I bethought me that if I ever metmy Sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know that I had leftsome mark of our hatred; so I scrawled down the sign of the four of us, asit had been on the chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was too muchthat he should be taken to the grave without some token from the menwhom he had robbed and befooled.
We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairsand other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat anddance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a dayswork. I still heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and for someyears there was no news to hear, except that they were hunting for thetreasure. At last, however, came what we had waited for so long. Thetreasure had been found. It was up at the top of the house in Mr.
Bartholomew Sholtos chemical laboratory. I came at once and had a lookat the place, but I could not see how, with my wooden leg, I was to makemy way up to it. I learned, however, about a trapdoor in the roof, and alsoabout Mr. Sholtos supper-hour. It seemed to me that I could manage thething easily through Tonga. I brought him out with me with a long ropewound round his waist. He could climb like a cat, and he soon made hisway through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholtowas still in the room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done somethingvery clever in killing him, for when I came up by the rope I found himstrutting about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was he when Imade at him with the ropes end and cursed him for a little bloodthirstyimp. I took the treasure box and let it down, and then slid down myself,having first left the sign of the four upon the table to show that the jewelshad come back at last to those who had most right to them. Tonga thenpulled up the rope, closed the window, and made off the way that he hadcome.
I dont know that I have anything else to tell you. I had heard awaterman speak of the speed of Smiths launch, the Aurora, so I thoughtshe would be a handy craft [157] for our escape. I engaged with old Smith,and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew, nodoubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our secrets. Allthis is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentlemen, it is not to amuseyouCfor you have not done me a very good turnCbut it is because I believethe best defence I can make is just to hold back nothing, but let all theworld know how badly I have myself been served by Major Sholto, andhow innocent I am of the death of his son.
A very remarkable account, said Sherlock Holmes. A fitting windupto an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me in thelatter part of your narrative except that you brought your own rope. That Idid not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had lost all his darts;yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat.
He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe atthe time.
Ah, of course, said Holmes. I had not thought of that.
Is there any other point which you would like to ask about? asked theconvict affably.
I think not, thank you, my companion answered.
Well, Holmes, said Athelney Jones, you are a man to be humoured,and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime; but duty is duty, andI have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend asked me. I shallfeel more at ease when we have our story-teller here safe under lock andkey. The cab still waits, and there are two inspectors downstairs. I ammuch obliged to you both for your assistance. Of course you will bewanted at the trial. Good-night to you.
Good-night, gentlemen both, said Jonathan Small.
You first, Small, remarked the wary Jones as they left the room. Illtake particular care that you dont club me with your wooden leg,whatever you may have done to the gentleman at the Andaman Isles.
Well, and there is the end of our little drama, I remarked, after wehad sat some time smoking in silence. I fear that it may be the lastinvestigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods.
Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband inprospective.
He gave a most dismal groan.
I feared as much, said he. I really cannot congratulate you.
I was a little hurt.
Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice? I asked.
Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I evermet and might have been most useful in such work as we have beendoing. She had a decided genius that way; witness the way in which shepreserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But loveis an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that truecold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself,lest I bias my judgment.
I trust, said I, laughing, that my judgment may survive the ordeal.
But you look weary.
Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for aweek.
Strange, said I, how terms of what in another man I should calllaziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour.
Yes, he answered, there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer,and also of a pretty spry sort of a fellow. I often think of those lines of oldGoethe:
[158] Schade, da. die Natur nur einen Mensch aus dir schuf,Denn zum wrdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
By the way, apropos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as Isurmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than LalRao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of havingcaught one fish in his great haul.
The division seems rather unfair, I remarked. You have done all thework in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, praywhat remains for you?
For me, said Sherlock Holmes, there still remains the cocainebottle.
And he stretched his long white hand up for it.
David Soucek, 1998The Adventures of Sherlock HolmesThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMESFirst edition of The Adventures, 1892A Scandal in BohemiaFirst published in the Strand Magazine, July 1891, with 10 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Red-headed LeagueFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Aug. 1891, with 10 illustrations bySidney Paget.
A Case of IdentityFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Sept. 1891, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Boscombe Valley MysteryFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Oct. 1891, with 10 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Five Orange PipsFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Nov. 1891, with 6 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Man with the Twisted LipFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1891, with 10 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Blue CarbuncleFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1892, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Speckled BandFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Feb. 1892, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Engineer's ThumbFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Mar. 1892, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Noble BachelorFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Apr. 1892, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Beryl CoronetFirst published in the Strand Magazine, May 1892, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Copper BeechesFirst published in the Strand Magazine, June 1892, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The whole collection was first published on 14 Oct. 1892 by G. Newnes Ltd in anedition of 10,000 copies.
David Soucek, 1998The Adventures of Sherlock HolmesA SCANDAL IN BOHEMIATO SHERLOCK HOLMES she is always the woman. I have seldom heardhim mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses andpredominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotionakin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, wereabhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I takeit, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world hasseen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. Henever spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. Theywere admirable things for the observerCexcellent for drawing the veilfrom mens motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admitsuch intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament wasto introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all hismental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his ownhigh-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion ina nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and thatwoman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us awayfrom each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centredinterests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master ofhis own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, whileHolmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemiansoul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his oldbooks, 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 occupiedhis immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation infollowing out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had beenabandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heardsome vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the caseof the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of theAtkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which hehad accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family ofHolland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merelyshared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my formerfriend and companion.
One nightCit was on the twentieth of March, 1888CI was returning froma journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when myway led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door,which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and withthe dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desireto see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing hisextraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I lookedup, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against theblind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk uponhis chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his everymood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was atwork again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hotupon the scent of [162] some new problem. I rang the bell and was shownup 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, tosee me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved meto an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit caseand a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked meover in his singular introspective fashion.
Wedlock suits you, he remarked. I think, Watson, that you have puton 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 youintended to go into harness.
Then, how do you know?
I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been gettingyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and carelessservant girl?
My dear Holmes, said I, this is too much. You would certainly havebeen burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had acountry walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as Ihave changed my clothes I cant imagine how you deduce it. As to MaryJane, 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 ofyour left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored bysix almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someonewho has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order toremove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction thatyou had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularlymalignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to yourpractice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, witha black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge onthe right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted hisstethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be anactive member of the medical profession.
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained hisprocess of deduction. When I hear you give your reasons, I remarked,the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I couldeasily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning Iam baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyesare as good as yours.
Quite so, he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himselfdown into an armchair. You see, but you do not observe. The distinctionis clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead upfrom the hall to this room.
Frequently.
How often?
Well, some hundreds of times.
Then how many are there?
How many? I dont know.
Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is justmy point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have bothseen and [163] observed. By the way, since you are interested in theselittle problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two ofmy trifling experiences, you may be interested in this. He threw over asheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon thetable. 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 oclock[it said], a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter ofthe very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royalhouses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely betrusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardlybe exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quartersreceived. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take itamiss if your visitor wear a mask.
This is indeed a mystery, I remarked. What do you imagine that itmeans?
I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one hasdata. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead oftheories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from it?
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it waswritten.
The man who wrote it was presumably well to do, I remarked,endeavouring to imitate my companions processes. Such paper couldnot be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong andstiff.
PeculiarCthat is the very word, said Holmes. It is not an Englishpaper 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, whichis 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 ourContinental Gazetteer. He took down a heavy brown volume from hisshelves. Eglow, EglonitzChere we are, Egria. It is in a German-speakingcountryCin Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. Remarkable as being thescene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factoriesand paper-mills. Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that? His eyessparkled, 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 notethe peculiar construction of the sentenceCThis account of you we havefrom all quarters received. A Frenchman or Russian could not havewritten that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It onlyremains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writesupon 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 gratingwheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmeswhistled.
A pair, by the sound, said he. Yes, he continued, glancing out ofthe window. A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundredand fifty guineas apiece. Theres money in this case, Watson, if there isnothing else.
[164] 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 clientC C
Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here hecomes. 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 thepassage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud andauthoritative tap.
Come in! said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inchesin height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich witha richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste.
Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts ofhis double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrownover his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at theneck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Bootswhich extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at thetops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulencewhich was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broadbrimmedhat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face,extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he hadapparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it ashe entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man ofstrong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chinsuggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
You had my note? he asked with a deep harsh voice and a stronglymarked German accent. I told you that I would call. He looked fromone 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. Whomhave I the honour to address?
You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemiannobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man ofhonour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the mostextreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate withyou alone.
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me backinto my chair. It is both, or none, said he. You may say before thisgentleman 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 thattime the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much tosay that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon Europeanhistory.
I promise, said Holmes.
And I.
You will excuse this mask, continued our strange visitor. The augustperson who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and Imay confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is notexactly my own.
I was aware of it, said Holmes drily.
The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has tobe taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal andseriously compromise [165] one of the reigning families of Europe. Tospeak plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein,hereditary kings of Bohemia.
I was also aware of that, murmured Holmes, settling himself down inhis 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 themost incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmesslowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
If your Majesty would condescend to state your case, he remarked, Ishould be better able to advise you.
The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room inuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore themask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. You are right, hecried; I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?
Why, indeed? murmured Holmes. Your Majesty had not spokenbefore I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismondvon Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King ofBohemia.
But you can understand, said our strange visitor, sitting down oncemore and passing his hand over his high white forehead, you canunderstand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my ownperson. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to anagent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito fromPrague 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 visitto Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, IreneAdler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.
Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor, murmured Holmes withoutopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketingall paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to namea 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 aHebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written amonograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
Let me see! said Holmes. Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year1858. ContraltoChum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera ofWarsawCyes! Retired from operatic stageCha! Living in LondonCquite so!
Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person,wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of gettingthose letters back.
Precisely so. But howC C
Was there a secret marriage?
None.
No legal papers or certificates?
None.
Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person shouldproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she toprove their authenticity?
There is the writing.
Pooh, pooh! Forgery.
My private note-paper.
Stolen.
My own seal.
[166] Imitated.
My photograph.
Bought.
We were both in the photograph.
Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed anindiscretion.
I was madCinsane.
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 ransackedher house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice shehas 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 theKing 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 myconduct would bring the matter to an end.
And Irene Adler?
Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know thatshe will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She hasthe face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the mostresolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are nolengths to which she would not goCnone.
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 thebetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.
Oh, then we have three days yet, said Holmes with a yawn. That isvery fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look intojust at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for thepresent?
Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of theCount 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.
[167] Absolutely?
I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom tohave that photograph.
And for present expenses?
The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak andlaid 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 itto him.
And Mademoiselles address? he asked.
Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. Johns Wood.
Holmes took a note of it. One other question, said he. Was thephotograph a cabinet?
It was.
Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon havesome good news for you. And good-night, Watson, he added, as thewheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. If you will be goodenough to call to-morrow afternoon at three oclock I should like to chatthis little matter over with you.
2At three oclock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yetreturned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortlyafter eight oclock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however,with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I wasalready deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded bynone of the grim and strange features which were associated with the twocrimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and theexalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. Indeed, apartfrom the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, therewas something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisivereasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work,and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled themost inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariablesuccess that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into myhead.
It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-lookinggroom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face anddisreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to myfriends amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three timesbefore I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into thebedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited andrespectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched outhis legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.
Well, really! he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until hewas obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.
What is it?
Its quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employedmy morning, or what I ended by doing.
I cant imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, andperhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.
Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. Ileft the house a little after eight oclock this morning in the character of agroom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonryamong horsy men. Be one [168] of them, and you will know all that thereis to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden atthe back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubblock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, withlong windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous English windowfasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable,save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coachhouse.
I walked round it and examined it closely from every point ofview, but without noting anything else of interest.
I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there wasa mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent theostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchangetwopence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as muchinformation as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half adozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the leastinterested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to.
And what of Irene Adler? I asked.
Oh, she has turned all the mens heads down in that part. She is thedaintiest 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, andoften twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See theadvantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home adozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I hadlistened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near BrionyLodge 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 betweenthem, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, hisfriend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred thephotograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue ofthis question depended whether I should continue my work at BrionyLodge, or turn my attention to the gentlemans chambers in the Temple. Itwas a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that Ibore 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 droveup to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkablyhandsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustachedCevidently the man ofwhom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to thecabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with theair of a man who was thoroughly at home.
He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses ofhim in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talkingexcitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently heemerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to thecab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly,Drive like the devil, he shouted, first to Gross & Hankeys in RegentStreet, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half aguinea if you do it in twenty minutes!
Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not dowell to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, thecoachman with his [169] coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear,while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadntpulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only caught aglimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a facethat a man might die for.
The Church of St. Monica, John, she cried, and half a sovereign ifyou reach it in twenty minutes.
This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whetherI should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when acab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabbyfare, 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 wastwenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough whatwas in the wind.
My cabby drove fast. I dont think I ever drove faster, but the otherswere there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horseswere in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried intothe church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followedand 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 upthe 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, andGodfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.
Thank God, he cried. Youll do. Come! Come!
What then? I asked.
Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it wont be legal.
I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was Ifound myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, andvouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting inthe 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 onthe one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on mein front. It was the most preposterous position in which I ever foundmyself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing justnow. It seems that there had been some informality about their license,that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness ofsome sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom fromhaving to sally out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gaveme a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory ofthe 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 pairmight take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt andenergetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, theyseparated, he driving back to the temple, and she to her own house. Ishall drive out in the park at five as usual, she said as she left him. Iheard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I went off tomake my own arrangements.
Which are?
Some cold beef and a glass of beer, he answered, ringing the bell. Ihave been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still thisevening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your cooperation.
I shall be delighted.
You dont mind breaking the law?
Not in the least.
[170] 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 landladyhad provided, I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It isnearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action. MissIrene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. We must be atBriony 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 smallunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed intothe house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window willopen. 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 handCsoCyou will throw into the room what Igive you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. Youquite follow me?
Entirely.
It is nothing very formidable, he said, taking a long cigar-shaped rollfrom his pocket. It is an ordinary plumbers smoke-rocket, fitted with acap 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 ofpeople. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin youin ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?
I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and atthe signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to waityou 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 forthe new role I have to play.
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in thecharacter of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman.
His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympatheticsmile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such asMr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmeschanged his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed tovary 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 incrime.
It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wantedten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. Itwas already [171] dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we pacedup and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of itsoccupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from SherlockHolmess succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less privatethan I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quietneighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group ofshabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissorsgrinderwith his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nursegirl,and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up anddown with cigars in their mouths.
You see, remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of thehouse, this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomesa double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averseto its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming tothe eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find thephotograph?
Where, indeed?
It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet size.
Too large for easy concealment about a womans dress. She knows thatthe King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two attempts ofthe sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that she does notcarry it about with her.
Where, then?
Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I aminclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like todo their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else? Shecould trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect orpolitical influence might be brought to bear upon a business man.
Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. Itmust 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 hercarriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.
As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round thecurve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to thedoor of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at thecorner 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 thesame intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by thetwo guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by thescissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow wasstruck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, wasthe centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who strucksavagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into thecrowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry anddropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. Athis fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungersin the other, while a number of better-dressed people, who had watchedthe scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in [172] to help the lady andto attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, hadhurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb figureoutlined 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, theres life in him! shouted another. But hell be gonebefore you can get him to hospital.
Hes a brave fellow, said a woman. They would have had the ladyspurse and watch if it hadnt been for him. They were a gang, and a roughone, too. Ah, hes breathing now.
He cant 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 inthe principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post bythe window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, sothat I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know whetherhe was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he wasplaying, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself inmy life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I wasconspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon theinjured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes todraw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened myheart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, Ithought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from injuringanother.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a manwho 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 myrocket into the room with a cry of Fire! The word was no sooner out ofmy mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed andillCgentlemen, ostlers, and servant-maidsCjoined in a general shriek ofFire! Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at theopen window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment laterthe 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 thestreet, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friends arm in mine,and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and insilence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the quietstreets which lead towards the Edgeware Road.
You did it very nicely, Doctor, he remarked. Nothing could havebeen 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 wasperfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was anaccomplice. 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 palmof my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face,and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.
[173] That also I could fathom.
Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What elsecould she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room whichI suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined tosee which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they werecompelled 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 aperfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once takenadvantage of it. In the case of the Darlington substitution scandal it was ofuse to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married womangrabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now itwas clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house moreprecious 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 wereenough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. Thephotograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bellpull.
She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she halfdrewit 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 hersince. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitatedwhether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachmanhad 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 thesitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comesshe may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction tohis 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 aclear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean acomplete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King withoutdelay.
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He wassearching 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 greetingappeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.
Ive heard that voice before, said Holmes, staring down the dimly litstreet. Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.
3I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toastand coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into theroom.
You have really got it! he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by eithershoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
Not yet.
But you have hopes?
I have hopes.
[174] 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 oncemore 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. Ifthe lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she doesnot love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere withyour Majestys plan.
It is true. And yetC C 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 uponthe steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from thebrougham.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe? said she.
I am Mr. Holmes, answered my companion, looking at her with aquestioning and rather startled gaze.
Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left thismorning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for theContinent.
What! Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin andsurprise. 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 drawingroom,followed by the King and myself. The furniture was scattered aboutin every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if thelady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushed at thebell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand,pulled out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adlerherself 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 threeread it together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran inthis way:
MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Untilafter the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when Ifound how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had beenwarned against you months ago. I had been told that if the Kingemployed an agent it would certainly be you. And your addresshad been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal whatyou wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found ithard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, youknow, I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume [175]
is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom whichit gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, gotinto my walking-clothes, as I call them, and came down just as youdeparted.
Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I wasreally an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started forthe Temple to see my husband.
We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued byso formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty whenyou call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest inpeace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King maydo what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruellywronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve aweapon which will always secure me from any steps which hemight take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might careto possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,Very truly yours,IRENE NORTON, ne ADLER.
What a womanCoh, what a woman! cried the King of Bohemia, whenwe had all three read this epistle. Did I not tell you how quick andresolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it nota pity that she was not on my level?
From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a verydifferent level to your Majesty, said Holmes coldly. I am sorry that Ihave not been able to bring your Majestys business to a more successfulconclusion.
On the contrary, my dear sir, cried the King; nothing could be moresuccessful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now assafe 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 canreward you. This ringC C He slipped an emerald snake ring from hisfinger 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.
Irenes photograph! he cried. Certainly, if you wish it.
I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. Ihave the honour to wish you a very good-morning. He bowed, and,turning away without observing the hand which the King had stretchedout to him, he set off in my company for his chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom ofBohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten bya womans wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, butI have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, orwhen he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable titleof the woman.
David Soucek, 1998 The Red-headed LeagueThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE RED-HEADED LEAGUEI HAD called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in theautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology formy intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptlyinto 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 andhelper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that hewill be of the utmost use to me in yours also.
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob ofgreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small, fatencircledeyes.
Try the settee, said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and puttinghis finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. Iknow, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre andoutside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You haveshown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you tochronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish somany 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 wentinto the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that forstrange 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 yourreason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now,Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me thismorning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the mostsingular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard meremark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connectednot with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed,where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has beencommitted. As far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whetherthe present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events iscertainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps,Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence yournarrative. I ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has notheard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the storymakes 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 amable to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occurto my [177] memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that thefacts are, to the best of my belief, unique.
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some littlepride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket ofhis great-coat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with hishead thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took agood look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of mycompanion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dressor appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor boreevery mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherds checktrousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and adrab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bitof metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a fadedbrown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the mansave his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin anddiscontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmess quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook hishead with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. Beyond theobvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takessnuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he hasdone a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon thepaper, 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 manuallabour? Its as true as gospel, for I began as a ships carpenter.
Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger thanyour left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.
Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?
I wont insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arcand-compass breastpin.
Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?
What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for fiveinches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where yourest it upon the desk?
Well, but China?
The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wristcould only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoomarks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trickof 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 thoughtat first that you had done something clever, but I see that there wasnothing in it, after all.
I begin to think, Watson, said Holmes, that I make a mistake inexplaining. Omne ignotum pro magnifico, you know, and my poor littlereputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can younot find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?
[178] Yes, I have got it now, he answered with his thick red fingerplanted 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, ofLebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancyopen which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 4 aweek for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who aresound in body and mind, and above the age of twenty-one years,are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven oclock, toDuncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Popes Court, FleetStreet.
What on earth does this mean? I ejaculated after I had twice readover the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when inhigh spirits. It is a little off the beaten track, isnt it? said he. And now,Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, yourhousehold, and the effect which this advertisement had upon yourfortunes. 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, saidJabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; I have a small pawnbrokersbusiness at Coburg Square, near the City. Its not a very large affair, andof late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to beable to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have ajob to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learnthe business.
What is the name of this obliging youth? asked Sherlock Holmes.
His name is Vincent Spaulding, and hes not such a youth, either. Itshard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes; andI know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I amable to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas inhis head?
Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee whocomes under the full market price. It is not a common experience amongemployers in this age. I dont know that your assistant is not asremarkable as your advertisement.
Oh, he has his faults, too, said Mr. Wilson. Never was such a fellowfor photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to beimproving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit intoits hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the wholehes a good worker. Theres 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 cookingand keeps the place cleanCthats all I have in the house, for I am awidower and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three ofus; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothingmore.
The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, hecame down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paperin his hand, and he says:
I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.
[179] Why that? I asks.
Why, says he, heres another vacancy on the League of the RedheadedMen. Its worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and Iunderstand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that thetrustees are at their wits end what to do with the money. If my hair wouldonly change colour, heres 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 verystay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my havingto go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over thedoor-mat. In that way I didnt 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? heasked with his eyes open.
Never.
Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of thevacancies.
And what are they worth? I asked.
Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and itneed not interfere very much with ones other occupations.
Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for thebusiness has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple ofhundred would have been very handy.
Tell me all about it, said I.
Well, said he, showing me the advertisement, you can see foryourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address whereyou should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League wasfounded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was verypeculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a greatsympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died it was found that hehad left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions toapply the interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is ofthat 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 wouldapply.
Not so many as you might think, he answered. You see it is reallyconfined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had startedfrom London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town agood turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hairis 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; butperhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of theway for the sake of a few hundred pounds.
Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that myhair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there wasto be any competition in the matter I stood as good a chance as any manthat I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about itthat I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up theshutters for the day and to come right away with me. He was very willingto have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for theaddress that was given us in the advertisement.
I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. Fromnorth, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hairhad tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street waschoked with red-headed folk, and Popes Court looked like a costersorange barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in thewhole country as were brought together by that single [180] advertisement.
Every shade of colour they wereCstraw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter,liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the realvivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I wouldhave given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How hedid it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until hegot me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to theoffice. 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 couldand soon found ourselves in the office.
Your experience has been a most entertaining one, remarked Holmesas 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 adeal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redderthan mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and thenhe always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualifythem. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, afterall. However, when our turn came the little man was much morefavourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as weentered, so that he might have a private word with us.
This is Mr. Jabez Wilson, said my assistant, and he is willing to filla vacancy in the League.
And he is admirably suited for it, the other answered. He has everyrequirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine. He took astep backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until Ifelt 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 amsure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution. With that he seized myhair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. There iswater in your eyes, said he as he released me. I perceive that all is as itshould be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived bywigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobblers wax whichwould disgust you with human nature. He stepped over to the windowand 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 troopedaway in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seenexcept my own and that of the manager.
My name, said he, is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of thepensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a marriedman, 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 tohear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spreadof the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedinglyunfortunate that you should be a bachelor.
My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not tohave the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes hesaid that it would be all right.
In the case of another, said he, the objection might be fatal, but wemust 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?
[181] Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already, said I.
Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson! said Vincent Spaulding. Ishould be able to look after that for you.
What would be the hours? I asked.
Ten to two.
Now a pawnbrokers business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.
Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before payday;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 toanything that turned up.
That would suit me very well, said I. And the pay?
Is 4 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, thewhole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The willis very clear upon that point. You dont comply with the conditions if youbudge from the office during that time.
Its only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving, said I.
No excuse will avail, said Mr. Duncan Ross; neither sickness norbusiness 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 volumeof 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 oncemore on the important position which you have been fortunate enough togain. 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 goodfortune.
Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in lowspirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair mustbe some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could notimagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such awill, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple ascopying out the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what hecould to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of thewhole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at itanyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and sevensheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Popes 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 seethat I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then heleft me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was rightwith me. At two oclock he bade me good-day, complimented me uponthe 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 managercame in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my weeks work. Itwas the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning Iwas there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. DuncanRoss took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, hedid not come in at all. Still, of course, I [182] never dared to leave theroom for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billetwas such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the lossof it.
Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots andArchery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped withdiligence that I might get on to the Bs before very long. It cost mesomething in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with mywritings. 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 atten oclock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboardhammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, andyou can read for yourself.
He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet of notepaper.
It read in this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUEISDISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the ruefulface behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completelyovertopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar oflaughter.
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 betterthan laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.
No, no, cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which hehad half risen. I really wouldnt miss your case for the world. It is mostrefreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so,something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take whenyou found the card upon the door?
I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at theoffices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the groundfloor,and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the RedheadedLeague. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then Iasked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name wasnew 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 andwas using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premiseswere ready. He moved out yesterday.
Where could I find him?
Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 KingEdward Street, near St. Pauls.
I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was amanufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard ofeither Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.
And what did you do then? asked Holmes.
[183] I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of myassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if Iwaited 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 hadheard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were inneed of it, I came right away to you.
And you did very wisely, said Holmes. Your case is an exceedinglyremarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you havetold me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it thanmight at first sight appear.
Grave enough! said Mr. Jabez Wilson. Why, I have lost four pounda week.
As far as you are personally concerned, remarked Holmes, I do notsee that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On thecontrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some 30, to say nothing ofthe minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject whichcomes 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 whattheir object was in playing this prankCif it was a prankCupon me. It was apretty 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 ortwo questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called yourattention to the advertisementChow 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, thoughhes not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead.
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. I thought asmuch, said he. Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced forearrings?
Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was alad.
Hum! said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. He is still withyou?
Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.
And has your business been attended to in your absence?
Nothing to complain of, sir. Theres never very much to do of amorning.
That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion uponthe subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hopethat by Monday we may come to a conclusion.
Well, Watson, said Holmes when our visitor had left us, what doyou make of it all?
I make nothing of it, I answered frankly. It is a most mysteriousbusiness.
As a rule, said Holmes, the more bizarre a thing is the lessmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimeswhich are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficultto identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.
[184] What are you going to do, then? I asked.
To smoke, he answered. It is quite a three pipe problem, and I begthat you wont speak to me for fifty minutes. He curled himself up in hischair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he satwith his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill ofsome strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had droppedasleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out ofhis chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put hispipe down upon the mantelpiece.
Sarasate plays at the St. Jamess Hall this afternoon, he remarked.
What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a fewhours?
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, andwe can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal ofGerman music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste thanItalian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Comealong!
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walktook us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which wehad 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 smallrailed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps offaded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden anduncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with JABEZWILSON in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the placewhere our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmesstopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, withhis eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowlyup the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at thehouses. Finally he returned to the pawnbrokers, and, having thumpedvigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he wentup 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 wouldgo from here to the Strand.
Third right, fourth left, answered the assistant promptly, closing thedoor.
Smart fellow, that, observed Holmes as we walked away. He is, inmy judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am notsure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of himbefore.
Evidently, said I, Mr. Wilsons assistant counts for a good deal inthis mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired yourway 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 arespies in an enemys country. We know something of Saxe-CoburgSquare. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the cornerfrom the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it asthe front of a [185] picture does to the back. It was one of the main arterieswhich conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadwaywas blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a doubletide inward and outward, while the foot-paths were black with thehurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize as we looked atthe line of fine shops and stately business premises that they reallyabutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which wehad just quitted.
Let me see, said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing alongthe line, I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It isa hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There isMortimers, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branchof the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, andMcFarlanes carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the otherblock. And now, Doctor, weve done our work, so its time we had someplay. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, whereall is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headedclients to vex us with their conundrums.
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a verycapable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoonhe sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently wavinghis long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling faceand his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuthhound,Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent,as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual naturealternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astutenessrepresented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic andcontemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The swingof his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, asI 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 hisblack-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenlycome upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to thelevel of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methodswould look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that ofother mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the musicat St. Jamess Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon thosewhom 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. Thisbusiness at Coburg Square is serious.
Why serious?
A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason tobelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturdayrather 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, sokindly put your army revolver in your pocket. He waved his hand, turnedon his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was alwaysoppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with SherlockHolmes. Here I had [186] heard what he had heard, I had seen what he hadseen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not onlywhat had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the wholebusiness was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my housein Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the redheadedcopier of the Encyclopaedia down to the visit to Saxe-CoburgSquare, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. Whatwas this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where werewe going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that thissmooth-faced pawnbrokers assistant was a formidable manCa man whomight play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despairand set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my wayacross the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Twohansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heardthe sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found Holmes inanimated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as PeterJones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-facedman, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
Ha! our party is complete, said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacketand taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. Watson, I think youknow Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.
Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-nights adventure.
Were hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see, said Jones in hisconsequential way. Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting achase. 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 thepolice agent loftily. He has his own little methods, which are, if he wontmind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has themakings 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 hasbeen more nearly correct than the official force.
Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right, said the stranger withdeference. Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first Saturdaynight 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 ahigher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play willbe more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish tolay your hands.
John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. Hes a youngman, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and Iwould rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London.
Hes a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royalduke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunningas his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we neverknow where to find the man himself. Hell crack a crib in Scotland oneweek, and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.
Ive 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. Ivehad one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with youthat he is [187] at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, andquite time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watsonand I will follow in the second.
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long driveand lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in theafternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets untilwe emerged into Farrington Street.
We are close there now, my friend remarked. This fellowMerryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. Ithought 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 hisclaws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us.
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had foundourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following theguidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage andthrough a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a smallcorridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened,and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at anotherformidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and thenconducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening athird door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round withcrates and massive boxes.
You are not very vulnerable from above, Holmes remarked as heheld up the lantern and gazed about him.
Nor from below, said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon theflags which lined the floor. Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow! heremarked, 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. MightI beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of thoseboxes, and not to interfere?
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with avery injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his kneesupon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began toexamine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficedto satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in hispocket.
We have at least an hour before us, he remarked, for they can hardlytake any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they willnot lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time theywill have for their escape. We are at present, DoctorCas no doubt youhave divinedCin the cellar of the City branch of one of the principalLondon banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he willexplain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals ofLondon should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present.
It is our French gold, whispered the director. We have had severalwarnings that an attempt might be made upon it.
Your French gold?
Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resourcesand borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France.
It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack themoney, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sitcontains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserveof bullion is much larger at present than is [188] usually kept in a singlebranch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.
Which were very well justified, observed Holmes. And now it is timethat we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters willcome to a head. In the meantime, Mr. Merryweather, we must put thescreen over that dark lantern.
And sit in the dark?
I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and Ithought that, as we were a partie carree, you might have your rubber afterall. But I see that the enemys preparations have gone so far that wecannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose ourpositions. These are daring men, and though we shall take them at adisadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shallstand 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 behindwhich I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern andleft us in pitch darknessCsuch an absolute darkness as I have never beforeexperienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the lightwas still there, ready to flash out at a moments notice. To me, with mynerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was somethingdepressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air ofthe vault.
They have but one retreat, whispered Holmes. That is back throughthe house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what Iasked 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 andwait.
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but anhour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almostgone, 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 thehighest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not onlyhear the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish thedeeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note ofthe bank director. From my position I could look over the case in thedirection 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 itlengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without anywarning 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 oflight. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protrudedout of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and allwas dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink betweenthe stones.
Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side andleft a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern.
Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenlyabout it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itselfshoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. Inanother instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him acompanion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock ofvery red hair.
[189] Its all clear, he whispered. Have you the chisel and the bags?
Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and Ill 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 asJones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of arevolver, but Holmess hunting crop came down on the mans wrist, andthe pistol clinked upon the stone floor.
Its no use, John Clay, said Holmes blandly. You have no chance atall.
So I see, the other answered with the utmost coolness. I fancy thatmy 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 mustcompliment you.
And I you, Holmes answered. Your red-headed idea was very newand effective.
Youll see your pal again presently, said Jones. Hes quicker atclimbing 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 ourprisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. You may not beaware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, whenyou address me always to say sir and please.
All right, said Jones with a stare and a snigger. Well, would youplease, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highnessto the police-station?
That is better, said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow tothe three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.
Really, Mr. Holmes, said Mr. Merryweather as we followed themfrom 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 mostcomplete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robberythat have ever come within my experience.
I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. JohnClay, 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 amplyrepaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, andby hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.
You see, Watson, he explained in the early hours of the morning aswe sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, it was perfectlyobvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantasticbusiness of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of theEncyclopaedia, must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of theway for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of managingit, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was nodoubt suggested to Clays ingenious mind by the colour of hisaccomplices hair. The 4 a week was a lure which must draw him, andwhat was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in theadvertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incitesthe man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absenceevery morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistanthaving come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strongmotive for securing the situation.
[190] But how could you guess what the motive was?
Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a merevulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The mansbusiness was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which couldaccount for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as theywere at. It must, then, be something out of the house. What could it be? Ithought of the assistants fondness for photography, and his trick ofvanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangledclue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that Ihad to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London.
He was doing something in the cellarCsomething which took many hoursa day for months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think ofnothing 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 surprisedyou by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertainingwhether 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 havehad some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. Ihardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You mustyourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. Theyspoke of those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was whatthey were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City andSuburban Bank abutted on our friends premises, and felt that I hadsolved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I called uponScotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with theresult 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 theycared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilsons presenceCin other words, thatthey had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should useit 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 themtwo days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to cometo-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 feelit closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape fromthe 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 littleuse, he remarked. Lhomme cest rienCloeuvre cest tout, as GustaveFlaubert wrote to George Sand.
David Soucek, 1998 A Case of IdentityThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesA CASE OF IDENTITYMY DEAR fellow, said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of thefire in his lodgings at Baker Street, life is infinitely stranger thananything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare toconceive the things which are [191] really mere commonplaces ofexistence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover overthis great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer thingswhich are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the crosspurposes,the wonderful chains of events, working through generations,and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with itsconventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.
And yet I am not convinced of it, I answered. The cases which cometo light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. Wehave in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet theresult is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.
A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realisticeffect, remarked Holmes. This is wanting in the police report, wheremore stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate thanupon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of thewhole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as thecommonplace.
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 toeverybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, youare brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But hereCIpicked up the morning paper from the groundClet us put it to a practicaltest. Here is the first heading upon which I come. A husbands cruelty tohis wife. There is half a column of print, but I know without reading itthat 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 orlandlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.
Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument, saidHolmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. This is theDundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing upsome small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler,there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that hehad drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his falseteeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an actionlikely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinchof snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in yourexample.
He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centreof the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways andsimple 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 alittle souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in thecase of the Irene Adler papers.
And the ring? I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant whichsparkled upon his finger.
It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in whichI 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 littleproblems.
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, Ihave found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field forthe observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which givesthe charm to an investigation. [192] The larger crimes are apt to be thesimpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is themotive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has beenreferred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents anyfeatures of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have somethingbetter before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, orI 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 hisshoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large womanwith a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in abroad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess ofDevonshire fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply shepeeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her bodyoscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glovebuttons. 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 hiscigarette into the fire. Oscillation upon the pavement always means anaffaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter isnot too delicate for communication. And yet even here we maydiscriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man sheno longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Herewe may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not somuch angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person toresolve our doubts.
As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons enteredto announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behindhis small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilotboat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which hewas remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into anarmchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashionwhich was peculiar to him.
Do you not find, he said, that with your short sight it is a little tryingto do so much typewriting?
I did at first, she answered, but now I know where the letters arewithout looking. Then, suddenly realizing the full purport of his words,she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment uponher broad, good-humoured face. Youve heard about me, Mr. Holmes,
she cried, else how could you know all that?
Never mind, said Holmes, laughing; it is my business to knowthings. 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, whosehusband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given himup for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. Imnot rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides thelittle that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what hasbecome of Mr. Hosmer Angel.
Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry? askedSherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of MissMary Sutherland. Yes, I did bang out of the house, she said, for itmade me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. WindibankCthat is, myfatherCtook it all. He would not [193] go to the police, and he would notgo to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying thatthere was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on with my thingsand came right away to you.
Your father, said Holmes, your stepfather, surely, since the name isdifferent.
Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, forhe is only five years and two months older than myself.
And your mother is alive?
Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasnt best pleased, Mr. Holmes,when she married again so soon after fathers death, and a man who wasnearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in theTottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, whichmother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibankcame he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being atraveller in wines. They got 4700 for the goodwill and interest, whichwasnt near as much as father could have got if he had been alive.
I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this ramblingand inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened withthe 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 inAuckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4. per cent. Two thousandfive hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest.
You interest me extremely, said Holmes. And since you draw solarge a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, youno doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that asingle lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60.
I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understandthat as long as I live at home I dont wish to be a burden to them, and sothey have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Ofcourse, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interestevery quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do prettywell with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and Ican often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.
You have made your position very clear to me, said Holmes. This ismy friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as beforemyself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. HosmerAngel.
A flush stole over Miss Sutherlands face, and she picked nervously atthe 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 afterwardsthey remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did notwish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quitemad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time Iwas set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent? Hesaid the folk were not fit for us to know, when all fathers friends were tobe there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purpleplush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last, whennothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of thefirm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be ourforeman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.
I suppose, said Holmes, that when Mr. Windibank came back fromFrance he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.
[194] Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember,and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anythingto a woman, for she would have her way.
I see. Then at the gasfitters ball you met, as I understand, a gentlemancalled Mr. Hosmer Angel.
Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we hadgot home all safe, and after that we met himCthat is to say, Mr. Holmes, Imet 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 didnt like anything of the sort. He wouldnthave any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a womanshould be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say tomother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not gotmine yet.
But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to seeyou?
Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmerwrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other untilhe had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write everyday. I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father toknow.
Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?
Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that wetook. HosmerCMr. AngelCwas a cashier in an office in LeadenhallStreetCandC C
What office?
Thats the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I dont know.
Where did he live, then?
He slept on the premises.
And you dont know his address?
NoCexcept 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 saidthat if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the otherclerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them,like he did his, but he wouldnt have that, for he said that when I wrotethem they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten healways felt that the machine had come between us. That will just showyou how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that hewould think of.
It was most suggestive, said Holmes. It has long been an axiom ofmine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can youremember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?
He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me inthe evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to beconspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice wasgentle. Hed had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, hetold me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating,whispering fashion of speech. He was always well dressed, very neat andplain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glassesagainst 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 weshould marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest andmade me swear, with [195] my hands on the Testament, that whateverhappened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right tomake me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all inhis 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 aboutfather; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell himafterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. I didntquite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, ashe was only a few years older than me; but I didnt want to do anythingon the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has itsFrench offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of thewedding.
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 theFriday. Was it to be in church?
Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviours, near KingsCross, 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 usboth into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened tobe the only other cab in the street. We got to the church first, and whenthe 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 noone there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had becomeof him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was lastFriday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then tothrow any light upon what became of him.
It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated, saidHolmes.
Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all themorning 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 wasalways to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claimhis 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 someunforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?
Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would nothave 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 couldanyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leavingme? Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and gotmy money settled on him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer wasvery independent about money and never would look at a shilling ofmine. And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write?
Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I cant sleep a wink at night.
She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavilyinto it.
I shall glance into the case for you, said Holmes, rising, and I haveno doubt [196] that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight ofthe matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon itfurther. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from yourmemory, as he has done from your life.
Then you dont think Ill see him again?
I fear not.
Then what has happened to him?
You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an accuratedescription of him and any letters of his which you can spare.
I advertised for him in last Saturdays Chronicle, said she. Here isthe slip and here are four letters from him.
Thank you. And your address?
No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.
Mr. Angels address you never had, I understand. Where is yourfathers place of business?
He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers ofFenchurch Street.
Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You willleave 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 yourlife.
You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true toHosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.
For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was somethingnoble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. Shelaid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with apromise to come again whenever she might be summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his finger-tips stillpressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gazedirected upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the oldand oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, heleaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning upfrom him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.
Quite an interesting study, that maiden, he observed. I found hermore interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather atrite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, inAndover in 77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague lastyear. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details whichwere new to me. But the maiden herself was most instructive.
You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisibleto 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 realizethe importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the greatissues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you gather fromthat womans appearance? Describe it.
Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with afeather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewnupon 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 andsleeves. Her gloves were grayish and were worn through at the rightforefinger. Her boots I didnt observe. She had [197] small round, hanginggold 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 havereally done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything ofimportance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eyefor colour. Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrateyourself upon details. My first glance is always at a womans sleeve. In aman it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As youobserve, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most usefulmaterial 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 onthe left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of beingright 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 aremark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her.
It surprised me.
But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and interestedon glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she waswearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the onehaving a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. One wasbuttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at thefirst, third, and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwiseneatly 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 myfriends incisive reasoning.
I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home butafter being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn atthe forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and fingerwere stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped herpen too deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would notremain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though ratherelementary, but I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mindreading 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 gentlemannamed Hosmer Angel. About five feet seven inches in height;strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in thecentre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses,slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in blackfrock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, andgray Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sidedboots. Known to have been employed in an office in LeadenhallStreet. Anybody bringingCC
That will do, said Holmes. As to the letters, he continued, glancingover them, they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them toMr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkablepoint, 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[198] Hosmer Angel at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but nosuperscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The pointabout the signature is very suggestiveCin fact, we may call it conclusive.
Of what?
My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bearsupon the case?
I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to denyhis signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.
No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, whichshould settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to theyoung ladys stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he couldmeet us here at six oclock to-morrow evening. It is just as well that weshould do business with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can donothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our littleproblem upon the shelf for the interim.
I had had so many reasons to believe in my friends subtle powers ofreasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must havesome solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which hetreated 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 Bohemiaand of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weirdbusiness of The Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstancesconnected with A Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strangetangle indeed which he could not unravel.
I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the convictionthat when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held inhis hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of thedisappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.
A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention atthe time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of thesufferer. It was not until close upon six oclock that I found myself freeand was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraidthat I might be too late to assist at the denouement of the little mystery. Ifound Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thinform curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array ofbottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloricacid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was sodear 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. Therewas never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some ofthe 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 MissSutherland?
The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yetopened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passageand a tap at the door.
This is the girls stepfather, Mr. James Windibank, said Holmes. Hehas 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 thirtyyears of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuatingmanner, and a pair [199] of wonderfully sharp and penetrating gray eyes.
He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat uponthe sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.
Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank, said Holmes. I think that thistypewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment withme for six oclock?
Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my ownmaster, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you aboutthis little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort inpublic. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a veryexcitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easilycontrolled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did notmind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but itis not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad.
Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find thisHosmer Angel?
On the contrary, said Holmes quietly; I have every reason to believethat I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.
Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. I amdelighted to hear it, he said.
It is a curious thing, remarked Holmes, that a typewriter has reallyquite as much individuality as a mans handwriting. Unless they are quitenew, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn thanothers, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note ofyours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring overof the e, and a slight defect in the tail of the r. There are fourteen othercharacteristics, but those are the more obvious.
We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and nodoubt it is a little worn, our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmeswith 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 littlemonograph 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 herefour letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are alltypewritten. In each case, not only are the es slurred and the rs
tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, thatthe fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there aswell.
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. I cannotwaste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes, he said. If youcan catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it.
Certainly, said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in thedoor. I let you know, then, that I have caught him!
What! where? shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips andglancing about him like a rat in a trap.
Oh, it wont doCreally it wont, said Holmes suavely. There is nopossible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and itwas a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for meto solve so simple a question. Thats right! Sit down and let us talk itover.
[200] Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitterof moisture on his brow. ItCits 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 wayas 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 hisbreast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on thecorner 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 hermoney, said he, and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter aslong as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in theirposition, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It wasworth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, amiabledisposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it wasevident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, shewould not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage wouldmean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfatherdo to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home andforbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. But soon hefound that that would not answer forever. She became restive, insistedupon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to acertain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives anidea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the connivanceand assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyeswith tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushywhiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doublysecure on account of the girls short sight, he appears as Mr. HosmerAngel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself.
It was only a joke at first, groaned our visitor. We never thought thatshe would have been so carried away.
Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was verydecidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that herstepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instantentered her mind. She was flattered by the gentlemans attentions, and theeffect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother.
Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should bepushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. Therewere meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girlsaffections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could notbe kept up forever. These pretended journeys to France were rathercumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end insuch a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression uponthe young ladys mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitorfor some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon aTestament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of somethinghappening on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wishedMiss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as tohis fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen toanother man. As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as hecould go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick [201]
of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I thinkthat that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!
Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmeshad been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer uponhis pale face.
It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes, said he, but if you are sovery sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who arebreaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable fromthe first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open toan action for assault and illegal constraint.
The law cannot, as you say, touch you, said Holmes, unlocking andthrowing open the door, yet there never was a man who deservedpunishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought tolay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove! he continued, flushing up atthe sight of the bitter sneer upon the mans face, it is not part of myduties to my client, but heres a hunting crop handy, and I think I shalljust treat myself toC C He took two swift steps to the whip, but before hecould grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavyhall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr. JamesWindibank running at the top of his speed down the road.
Theres a cold-blooded scoundrel! said Holmes, laughing, as hethrew himself down into his chair once more. That fellow will rise fromcrime 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. HosmerAngel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it wasequally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as faras we could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men werenever together, but that the one always appeared when the other wasaway, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicionswere all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature,which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her thatshe would recognize even the smallest sample of it. You see all theseisolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the samedirection.
And how did you verify them?
Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knewthe firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description,I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguiseCthewhiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a requestthat they would inform me whether it answered to the description of anyof 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 hewould come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealedthe same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me aletter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that thedescription tallied in every respect with that of their employee, JamesWindibank. Voila tout!
And Miss Sutherland?
If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the oldPersian saying, There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, anddanger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman. There is asmuch sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world.
David Soucek, 1998 The Boscombe Valley MysteryThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERYWE WERE seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maidbrought 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 forfrom the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valleytragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and sceneryperfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.
What do you say, dear? said my wife, looking across at me. Willyou go?
I really dont know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present.
Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking alittle pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you arealways so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmess cases.
I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through oneof them, I answered. But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I haveonly half an hour.
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect ofmaking 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, rattlingaway to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and downthe platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by hislong gray travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
It is really very good of you to come, Watson, said he. It makes aconsiderable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I canthoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. Ifyou will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of paperswhich Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged andread, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were pastReading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossedthem 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 beenlooking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. Itseems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are soextremely difficult.
That sounds a little paradoxical.
But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. Themore featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is tobring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very seriouscase 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 Ihave the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the stateof things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very fewwords.
[203] Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, inHerefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. JohnTurner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago tothe old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was letto Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men hadknown each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that whenthey 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 butstill remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they werefrequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turnerhad an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wivesliving. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouringEnglish families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthyswere fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of theneighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servantsCa man and a girl. Turner hada considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much asI have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.
On June 3d, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house atHatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the BoscombePool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the streamwhich runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his servingmanin 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 thatappointment he never came back alive.
From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of amile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was anold woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was WilliamCrowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both thesewitnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The gamekeeperadds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass hehad seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gununder his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight atthe time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of thematter 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 thicklywooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. Agirl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeperof 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 andclose by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to behaving a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using verystrong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if tostrike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran awayand told her mother when she reached home that she had left the twoMcCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid thatthey 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 hisfather dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. Hewas much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right handand sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On followinghim they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside thepool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy andblunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been [204]
inflicted by the butt-end of his sons gun, which was found lying on thegrass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances theyoung man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of wilful murder havingbeen returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday broughtbefore the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the nextassizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before thecoroner and the police-court.
I could hardly imagine a more damning case, I remarked. If evercircumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.
Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing, answered Holmesthoughtfully. It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if youshift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in anequally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It mustbe confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against theyoung man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There areseveral people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them MissTurner, the daughter of the neighbouring land-owner, who believe in hisinnocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect inconnection with A Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his interest.
Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it isthat two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hourinstead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.
I am afraid, said I, that the facts are so obvious that you will findlittle 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 factswhich may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You knowme too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall eitherconfirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable ofemploying, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, Ivery clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the righthandside, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have notedeven so self-evident a thing as that.
How on earthC C
My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness whichcharacterizes you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shaveby the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we getfarther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we getround the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is lessilluminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habitslooking 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 mtier, and it is just possible that it may be of someservice in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or twominor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worthconsidering.
What are they?
It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the returnto Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him thathe was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, andthat it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had thenatural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remainedin the minds of the coroners jury.
It was a confession, I ejaculated.
No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.
[205] Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was atleast a most suspicious remark.
On the contrary, said Holmes, it is the brightest rift which I can atpresent see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not besuch an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were veryblack against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feignedindignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious,because such surprise or anger would not be natural under thecircumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a schemingman. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either aninnocent 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 youconsider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there isno doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as tobandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whoseevidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The selfreproachand contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me tobe the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one.
I shook my head. Many men have been hanged on far slighterevidence, I remarked.
So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.
What is the young mans own account of the matter?
It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though thereare one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, andmay 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 whichthe unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what hadoccurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read itvery carefully. It ran in this way:
Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was thencalled and gave evidence as follows: I had been away from homefor three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon themorning of last Monday, the 3d. My father was absent from homeat the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that hehad driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly aftermy return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, lookingout of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of theyard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. Ithen took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the BoscombePool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-warren which is uponthe other side. On my way I saw William Crowder, the gamekeeper,as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken inthinking that I was following my father. I had no idea that he wasin front of me. When about a hundred yards from the pool I hearda cry of Cooee! which was a usual signal between my father andmyself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by thepool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked merather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensuedwhich led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was aman of a very violent temper. Seeing that his passion wasbecoming ungovernable, I left him and returned towards HatherleyFarm. I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, [206] when Iheard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run backagain. I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his headterribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but healmost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for some minutes, andthen made my way to Mr. Turners lodge-keeper, his house beingthe nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my fatherwhen I returned, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries.
He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding inhis manners; but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. Iknow nothing further of the matter.
The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you beforehe died?
Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch someallusion to a rat.
The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he wasdelirious.
The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and yourfather 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 assureyou 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 outto you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your caseconsiderably in any future proceedings which may arise.
Witness: I must still refuse.
The Coroner: I understand that the cry of Cooee was acommon signal between you and your father?
Witness: It was.
The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he sawyou, 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 suspicionswhen you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatallyinjured?
Witness: Nothing definite.
The Coroner: What do you mean?
Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into theopen, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I havea vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon theground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something gray incolour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose frommy 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 dozenyards of it?
[207] 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 hisconcluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He callsattention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father havingsignalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of hisconversation with his father, and his singular account of his fathers dyingwords. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son.
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon thecushioned seat. Both you and the coroner have been at some pains, saidhe, to single out the very strongest points in the young mans favour.
Dont you see that you alternately give him credit for having too muchimagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause ofquarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if heevolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dyingreference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shallapproach this case from the point of view that what this young man saysis true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And nowhere is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this caseuntil we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see thatwe shall be there in twenty minutes.
It was nearly four oclock when we at last, after passing through thebeautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, foundourselves 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 ofthe light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deferenceto his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, ofScotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a roomhad already been engaged for us.
I have ordered a carriage, said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. Iknew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until youhad been on the scene of the crime.
It was very nice and complimentary of you, Holmes answered. It isentirely 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 thesky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofais very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do notthink that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night.
Lestrade laughed indulgently. You have, no doubt, already formedyour conclusions from the newspapers, he said. The case is as plain as apikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, ofcourse, one cant refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She hadheard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told herthat 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 mostlovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyesshining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of hernatural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.
[208] Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes! she cried, glancing from one to theother of us, and finally, with a womans quick intuition, fastening uponmy companion, I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down totell you so. I know that James didnt do it. I know it, and I want you tostart upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon thatpoint. We have known each other since we were little children, and Iknow his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt afly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.
I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner, said Sherlock Holmes. Youmay 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 thathe is innocent?
I think that it is very probable.
There, now! she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantlyat Lestrade. You hear! He gives me hopes.
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. I am afraid that my colleague hasbeen a little quick in forming his conclusions, he said.
But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. Andabout his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he wouldnot 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 manydisagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that thereshould be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved eachother as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen verylittle of life yet, andC andCwell, he naturally did not wish to do anythinglike 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 favourof it. A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot oneof his keen, questioning glances at her.
Thank you for this information, said he. May I see your father if Icall to-morrow?
I am afraid the doctor wont allow it.
The doctor?
Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for yearsback, 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 isshattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad inthe 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 madehis 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 willgo to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him thatI 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 leavehim. [209] Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking. She hurriedfrom the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheelsof her carriage rattle off down the street.
I am ashamed of you, Holmes, said Lestrade with dignity after a fewminutes silence. Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound todisappoint? 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 stilltime 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 Ishall only be away a couple of hours.
I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through thestreets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay uponthe sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The punyplot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deepmystery through which we were groping, and I found my attentionwander so continually from the fiction to the fact, that I at last flung itacross the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of theevents of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young mans story wereabsolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen andextraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when heparted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams,he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. Whatcould it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to mymedical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper,which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeonsdeposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal boneand the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blowfrom a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly sucha blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent infavour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face withhis father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might haveturned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to callHolmess attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to arat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from asudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likelyto be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could itindicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. Andthen the incident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that weretrue the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumablyhis overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return andto carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his backturned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries andimprobabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestradesopinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmess insight that Icould not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen hisconviction of young McCarthys innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, forLestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
The glass still keeps very high, he remarked as he sat down. It is of[210] importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over theground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenestfor such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by along 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 haddone it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he isas puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, thoughcomely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart.
I cannot admire his taste, I remarked, if it is indeed a fact that hewas averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this MissTurner.
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, andbefore he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boardingschool,what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid inBristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of thematter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to beupbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but whathe knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sortwhich made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at theirlast interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On theother hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, whowas by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterlyhad he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent thelast three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Markthat point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, forthe barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble andlikely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him tosay that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that thereis really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoledyoung 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 thepool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son wasaway, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that themurdered man was heard to cry Cooee! before he knew that his son hadreturned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. Andnow let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leaveall minor matters until to-morrow.
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning brokebright and cloudless. At nine oclock Lestrade called for us with thecarriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.
There is serious news this morning, Lestrade observed. It is said thatMr. 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 avery bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthys, and, I mayadd, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave himHatherley Farm rent free.
[211] Indeed! That is interesting, said Holmes.
Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody abouthere 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 suchobligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turnersdaughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a verycocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all elsewould follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himselfwas averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deducesomething 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, withoutflying away after theories and fancies.
You are right, said Holmes demurely; you do find it very hard totackle the facts.
Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult toget hold of, replied Lestrade with some warmth.
And that isC C
That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that alltheories 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 thegray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gaveit a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy uponit. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmess request, showed usthe boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pairof the sons, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measuredthese very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desiredto be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding trackwhich led to Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scentas this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of BakerStreet would have failed to recognize him. His face flushed and darkened.
His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone outfrom beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, hisshoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out likewhipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with apurely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutelyconcentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fellunheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatientsnarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track whichran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the BoscombePool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there weremarks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass whichbounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimesstop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.
Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent andcontemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprangfrom the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards adefinite end.
[212] The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water somefifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farmand the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods whichlined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles whichmarked the site of the rich land-owners dwelling. On the Hatherley sideof the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt ofsodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and thereeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which thebody had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I couldplainly 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 manyother things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like adog 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 orother trace. But how on earthC C
Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inwardtwist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishesamong the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been herebefore they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here iswhere the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered alltracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separatetracks of the same feet. He drew out a lens and lay down upon hiswaterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himselfthan to us. These are young McCarthys feet. Twice he was walking, andonce he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heelshardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father onthe ground. Then here are the fathers 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, quiteunusual boots! They come, they go, they come againCof course that wasfor the cloak. Now where did they come from? He ran up and down,sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well withinthe edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largesttree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side ofthis 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 driedsticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope andexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the treeas far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, andthis also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathwaythrough the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
It has been a case of considerable interest, he remarked, returning tohis natural manner. I fancy that this gray house on the right must be thelodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhapswrite 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 backinto Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had pickedup in the wood.
This may interest you, Lestrade, he remarked, holding it out. Themurder was done with it.
I see no marks.
[213] 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 correspondswith 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-soledshooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigarholder,and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several otherindications, 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-headedBritish jury.
Nous verrons, answered Holmes calmly. You work your ownmethod, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shallprobably 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 populousneighbourhood.
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. I am a practical man, he said, and Ireally cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handedgentleman with a game-leg. I should become the laughing-stock ofScotland Yard.
All right, said Holmes quietly. I have given you the chance. Hereare 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 wefound lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought witha pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in aperplexing position.
Look here, Watson, he said when the cloth was cleared; just sitdown in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I dont know quitewhat to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let meexpound.
Pray do so.
Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about youngMcCarthys narrative which struck us both instantly, although theyimpressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that hisfather should, according to his account, cry Cooee! before seeing him.
The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled severalwords, you understand, but that was all that caught the sons ear. Nowfrom this double point our research must commence, and we will begin itby 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, asfar as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was withinearshot. The Cooee! was meant to attract the attention of whoever it wasthat he had the appointment with. But Cooee is a distinctly Australiancry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strongpresumption that the person whom [214] McCarthy expected to meet himat 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 itout on the table. This is a map of the Colony of Victoria, he said. Iwired 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 sononly caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of hismurderer. So and so, of Ballarat.
It is wonderful! I exclaimed.
It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field downconsiderably. The possession of a gray garment was a third point which,granting the sons statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have comenow out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australianfrom Ballarat with a gray cloak.
Certainly.
And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only beapproached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardlywander.
Quite so.
Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of theground 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 hisstride. 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 limpedChe was lame.
But his left-handedness.
You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by thesurgeon 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 aleft-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interviewbetween the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash ofa cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me topronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted someattention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found theash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss wherehe had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled inRotterdam.
And the cigar-holder?
I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used aholder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a cleanone, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.
Holmes, I said, you have drawn a net round this man from which hecannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as ifyou had cut the [215] cord which was hanging him. I see the direction inwhich all this points. The culprit isC C
Mr. John Turner, cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of oursitting-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 limbsshowed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and ofcharacter. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, droopingeyebrows 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 hisnostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glancethat 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 seeme 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 companionwith despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was alreadyanswered.
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 Iwould not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word thatI 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 wouldbreak her heartCit 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 whorequired my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. YoungMcCarthy must be got off, however.
I am a dying man, said old Turner. I have had diabetes for years. Mydoctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I wouldrather die under my own roof than in a jail.
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and abundle of paper before him. Just tell us the truth, he said. I shall jotdown the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then Icould produce your confession at the last extremity to save youngMcCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutelyneeded.
Its as well, said the old man; its a question whether I shall live tothe Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice theshock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long timein the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
You didnt know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. Itell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. Hisgrip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. Illtell you first how I came to be in his power.
It was in the early 60s at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hotbloodedand reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among badcompanions, took [216] to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to thebush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highwayrobber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking upa station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to thediggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our partyis still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, andwe 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 firstvolley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. Iput my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very manMcCarthy. 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 toremember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthymen, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There Iparted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet andrespectable 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 theway in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife diedyoung she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby herwee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had everdone. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up forthe 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 RegentStreet with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
Here we are, Jack, says he, touching me on the arm; well be asgood as a family to you. Theres two of us, me and my son, and you canhave the keeping of us. If you dontCits a fine, law-abiding country isEngland, and theres always a policeman within hail.
Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking themoff, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. Therewas no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, therewas his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grewup, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of thepolice. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave himwithout question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing whichI could not give. He asked for Alice.
His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I wasknown to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his ladshould step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would nothave his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to thelad, 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 atthe pool midway between our houses to talk it over.
When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smokeda cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listenedto 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 whatshe might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me madto think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of sucha man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and adesperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knewthat my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could besaved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. [217] Iwould do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdomto atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same mesheswhich held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with nomore 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 inmy 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 mansigned the statement which had been drawn out. I pray that we maynever 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 willsoon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. Iwill keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall beforced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and yoursecret, 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 youhave given to mine. Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, hestumbled slowly from the room.
God help us! said Holmes after a long silence. Why does fate playsuch tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as thisthat I do not think of Baxters words, and say, There, but for the grace ofGod, goes Sherlock Holmes.
James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of anumber of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes andsubmitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven monthsafter our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect thatthe son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance ofthe black cloud which rests upon their past.
David Soucek, 1998 The Five Orange PipsThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE FIVE ORANGE PIPSWHEN I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes casesbetween the years 82 and 90, I am faced by so many which presentstrange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which tochoose and which to leave. Some, however, have already gained publicitythrough the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiarqualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it isthe object of these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled hisanalytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without anending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have theirexplanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on thatabsolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is, however, oneof these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in itsresults that I am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact thatthere are points in connection with it which never have been, andprobably never will be, entirely cleared up.
[218] The year 87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater orless interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headings under thisone twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the ParadolChamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious clubin the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected withthe loss of the British bark Sophy Anderson, of the singular adventures ofthe Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwellpoisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmeswas able, by winding up the dead mans watch, to prove that it had beenwound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone tobed within that timeCa deduction which was of the greatest importance inclearing up the case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, butnone of them present such singular features as the strange train ofcircumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.
It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had setin with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rainhad 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 fromthe routine of life, and to recognize the presence of those great elementalforces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilization, likeuntamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew higher andlouder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney.
Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexinghis records of crime, while I at the other was deep in one of ClarkRussells fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemedto blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into thelong swash of the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mothers, andfor a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at BakerStreet.
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 encouragevisitors.
A client, then?
If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out on sucha day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more likely to be somecrony of the landladys.
Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there camea step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He stretched out his longarm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chairupon 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 delicacyin his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and hislong shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he hadcome. He looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and Icould see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a manwho is weighed down with some great anxiety.
I owe you an apology, he said, raising his golden pince-nez to hiseyes. I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have brought some tracesof the storm and rain into your snug chamber.
Give me your coat and umbrella, said Holmes. They may rest hereon the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from the southwest,I see.
Yes, from Horsham.
[219] That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps isquite 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 howyou 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 timesCthree times by men, and once by awoman.
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 withsome 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 everlistened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than thosewhich have happened in my own family.
You fill me with interest, said Holmes. Pray give us the essentialfacts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as tothose details which seem to me to be most important.
The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towardsthe blaze.
My name, said he, is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have, asfar as I can understand, little to do with this awful business. It is ahereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, I must goback to the commencement of the affair.
You must know that my grandfather had two sonsCmy uncle Elias andmy father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry, which heenlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He was a patentee ofthe Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such successthat 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 andbecame a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done verywell. At the time of the war he fought in Jacksons army, and afterwardsunder Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laid down his armsmy uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or fouryears. About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe and took a smallestate in Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very considerable fortunein the States, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to thenegroes, and his dislike of the Republican policy in extending thefranchise 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 inthe town. He had a garden and two or three fields round his house, andthere he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end hewould never leave his room. He drank [220] a great deal of brandy andsmoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want anyfriends, not even his own brother.
He didnt mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time whenhe saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be in theyear 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in England. He beggedmy 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 anddraughts with me, and he would make me his representative both with theservants and with the tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen Iwas quite master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where Iliked 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, alumber-room up among the attics, which was invariably locked, andwhich he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. With aboys curiosity I have peeped through the keyhole, but I was never able tosee more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would beexpected in such a room.
One dayCit was in March, 1883Ca letter with a foreign stamp lay uponthe table in front of the colonels plate. It was not a common thing for himto receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had nofriends of any sort. From India! said he as he took it up, Pondicherrypostmark! What can this be? Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped fivelittle dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began tolaugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of hisface. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour ofputty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his tremblinghand, K. K. K.! he shrieked, and then, My God, my God, my sins haveovertaken 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 sawscrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter Kthree times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips.
What could be the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the breakfasttable,and as I ascended the stair I met him coming down with an oldrusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a smallbrass box, like a cashbox, in the other.
They may do what they like, but Ill checkmate them still, said hewith an oath. Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, andsend down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.
I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to stepup to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was amass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stoodopen 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 morningupon the envelope.
I wish you, John, said my uncle, to witness my will. I leave myestate, 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 itin 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 twoedgedthing, but I cant say what turn things are going to take. Kindlysign 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 impressionupon me, and [221] I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mindwithout being able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off thevague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew lesskeen as the weeks passed, and nothing happened to disturb the usualroutine of our lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drankmore than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most ofhis time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon theinside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy andwould burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver inhis hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was notto be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hotfits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door andlock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longeragainst the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I haveseen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it werenew raised from a basin.
Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuseyour patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunkensallies from which he never came back. We found him, when we went tosearch for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which layat the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the waterwas but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his knowneccentricity, brought in a verdict of suicide. But I, who knew how hewinced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myselfthat 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,which lay to his credit at the bank.
One moment, Holmes interposed, your statement is, I foresee, oneof the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have thedate of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of hissupposed suicide.
The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weekslater, upon the night of May 2d.
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 lockedup. We found the brass box there, although its contents had beendestroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials ofK. K. K. repeated upon it, and Letters, memoranda, receipts, and aregister written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of thepapers which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest,there was nothing of much importance in the attic save a great manyscattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncles life in America.
Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had done his dutywell and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a dateduring the reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostlyconcerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part inopposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from theNorth.
Well, it was the beginning of 84 when my father came to live atHorsham, 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 ofsurprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sittingwith a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips inthe outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what hecalled my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but [222] he looked veryscared 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 veryletters. 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 papersmust be those that are destroyed.
Pooh! said he, gripping hard at his courage. We are in a civilizedland here, and we cant have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does thething come from?
From Dundee, I answered, glancing at the postmark.
Some preposterous practical joke, said he. What have I to do withsundials 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 wont have a fuss made about such nonsense.
It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. Iwent about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.
On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went fromhome to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command ofone of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad that he should go, for itseemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away fromhome. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the second day of hisabsence I received a telegram from the major, imploring me to come atonce. My father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which aboundin the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. Ihurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered hisconsciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from Fareham in thetwilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pitunfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of deathfrom accidental causes. Carefully as I examined every fact connectedwith his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggest the ideaof murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, norecord of strangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need nottell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nighcertain that some foul plot had been woven round him.
In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why Idid not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well convinced that ourtroubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncles 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 yearsand eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have livedhappily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passedaway from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. I hadbegun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fellin the very shape in which it had come upon my father.
The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, andturning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.
This is the envelope, he continued. The postmark is LondonCeastern[223] division. Within are the very words which were upon my fatherslast message: K. K. K.; and then Put the papers on the sundial.
What have you done? asked Holmes.
Nothing.
Nothing?
To tell the truthChe sank his face into his thin, white handsCI havefelt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake iswrithing 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 theinspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes,and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jurystated, and were not to be connected with the warnings.
Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. Incredible imbecility! hecried.
They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in thehouse 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 notcome at once?
I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major Prendergastabout my troubles and was advised by him to come to you.
It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have actedbefore this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which youhave placed before usCno suggestive detail which might help us?
There is one thing, said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coatpocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laidit out upon the table. I have some remembrance, said he, that on theday when my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburnedmargins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I foundthis single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think thatit may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from amongthe others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mentionof pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it is a pagefrom some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncles.
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 abook. It was headed, March, 1869, and beneath were the followingenigmatical notices:
4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.
7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, ofSt. Augustine.
9th. McCauley cleared.
10th. John Swain cleared.
12th. Visited Paramore. All well.
[224] Thank you! said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning itto our visitor. And now you must on no account lose another instant. Wecannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must gethome instantly and act.
What shall I do?
There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must putthis piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which youhave described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other paperswere 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, asdirected. Do you understand?
Entirely.
Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think thatwe 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 thepressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up themystery 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 youadvise.
Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in themeanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you arethreatened 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 maybe 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 thebox and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular. He shookhands with us and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed and therain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild storyseemed to have come to us from amid the mad elementsCblown in uponus like a sheet of sea-weed in a galeCand now to have been reabsorbed bythem once more.
Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunkforward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit hispipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings asthey chased each other up to the ceiling.
I think, Watson, he remarked at last, that of all our cases we havehad none more fantastic than this.
Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.
Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems tome to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos.
But have you, I asked, formed any definite conception as to whatthese 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 pursuethis unhappy family?
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the armsof his chair, with his finger-tips together. The ideal reasoner, heremarked, would, [225] when he had once been shown a single fact in allits bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led upto it but also all the results which would follow from it. As Cuvier couldcorrectly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone,so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series ofincidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both beforeand after. We have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone canattain to. Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled allthose who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. To carry theart, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner shouldbe able to utilize all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and thisin itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge,which, even in these days of free education and encyclopaedias, is asomewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that aman should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him inhis work, and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If I rememberrightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, definedmy 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. Botanyvariable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any regionwithin 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, Ithink, were the main points of my analysis.
Holmes grinned at the last item. Well, he said, I say now, as I saidthen, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all thefurniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in thelumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. Now, forsuch a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we needcertainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K ofthe American Encyclopaedia which stands upon the shelf beside you.
Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may bededuced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumptionthat Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving America.
Men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchangewillingly the charming climate of Florida for the lonely life of an Englishprovincial town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests theidea that he was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as aworking hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drovehim from America. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce thatby considering the formidable letters which were received by himself andhis successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?
The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and thethird 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 theprobabilityCthe strong probabilityCis that the writer was on board of aship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of Pondicherry,seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfillment, in Dundee itwas 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.
[226] Then I do not see the point.
There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man ormen are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always sent their singularwarning or token before them when starting upon their mission. You seehow quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee. Ifthey had come from Pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrivedalmost as soon as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven weekselapsed. I think that those seven weeks represented the difference betweenthe mail-boat which brought the letter and the sailing vessel whichbrought the writer.
It is possible.
More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency ofthis new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow hasalways fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders totravel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore wecannot count upon delay.
Good God! I cried. What can it mean, this relentless persecution?
The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importanceto the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is quite clearthat there must be more than one of them. A single man could not havecarried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroners jury. Theremust have been several in it, and they must have been men of resourceand determination. Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of themwho it may. In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of anindividual and becomes the badge of a society.
But of what society?
Have you neverC said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinkinghis voiceChave 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 resemblanceto the sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secretsociety was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in theSouthern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed localbranches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee,Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was usedfor political purposes, principally for the terrorizing of the negrovoters and the murdering and driving from the country of thosewho were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually precededby a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic butgenerally recognized shapeCa sprig of oak-leaves in some parts,melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this the victimmight either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from thecountry. If he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly comeupon him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. Soperfect was the organization of the society, and so systematic itsmethods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any mansucceeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of itsoutrages were traced home to the perpetrators. For some years theorganization flourished in spite of the efforts of the United Statesgovernment and of the better classes of the community in theSouth. Eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenlycollapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of thesame sort since that date.
[227] You will observe, said Holmes, laying down the volume, thatthe sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with thedisappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may wellhave been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his family havesome of the more implacable spirits upon their track. You can understandthat this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in theSouth, and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until itis recovered.
Then the page we have seenC C
Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, sent the pipsto A, B, and CCthat is, sent the societys warning to them. Then there aresuccessive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country, and finallythat 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 thatthe only chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what Ihave told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, sohand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour themiserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellowmen.
It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subduedbrightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city. SherlockHolmes was already at breakfast when I came down.
You will excuse me for not waiting for you, said he; I have, Iforesee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of youngOpenshaws.
What steps will you take? I asked.
It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I mayhave 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 maidwill bring up your coffee.
As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table andglanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to myheart.
Holmes, I cried, you are too late.
Ah! said he, laying down his cup, I feared as much. How was itdone? He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.
My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading Tragedy NearWaterloo Bridge. Here is the account:
Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of theH Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help anda splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark andstormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it wasquite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, wasgiven, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventuallyrecovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name,as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, wasJohn Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham. It isconjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the lasttrain from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extremedarkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one ofthe small landing-places for river steamboats. The body exhibitedno traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceasedhad been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which [228] shouldhave the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to thecondition of the riverside landing-stages.
We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed andshaken than I had ever seen him.
That hurts my pride, Watson, he said at last. It is a petty feeling, nodoubt, 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 heshould come to me for help, and that I should send him away to hisdeathC C! He sprang from his chair and paced about the room inuncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and anervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.
They must be cunning devils, he exclaimed at last. How could theyhave decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct lineto the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such anight, for their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in thelong run. I am going out now!
To the police?
No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they maytake the flies, but not before.
All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in theevening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not comeback yet. It was nearly ten oclock before he entered, looking pale andworn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf hedevoured 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 sincebreakfast.
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 notlong remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trademarkupon them. It is well thought of!
What do you mean?
He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces hesqueezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrustthem 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, Bark LoneStar, Savannah, Georgia.
That will await him when he enters port, said he, chuckling. It maygive him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a precursor of his fate asOpenshaw 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 datesand names.
I have spent the whole day, said he, over Lloyds registers and filesof the old papers, following the future career of every vessel whichtouched at Pondicherry in January and February in 83. There were thirtysixships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months.
Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantly [229] attracted my attention, since,although it was reported as having cleared from London, the name is thatwhich 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 havean American origin.
What then?
I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the bark LoneStar was there in January, 85, my suspicion became a certainty. I theninquired 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 AlbertDock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tidethis morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Gravesend andlearned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly Ihave no doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and not very far fromthe 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 andGermans. I know, also, that they were all three away from the ship lastnight. I had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. Bythe time that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will havecarried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police ofSavannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a chargeof murder.
There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and themurderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips whichwould show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves,was upon their track. Very long and very severe were the equinoctialgales 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 inthe Atlantic a shattered stern-post of the boat was seen swinging in thetrough of a wave, with the letters L. S. carved upon it, and that is allwhich we shall ever know of the fate of the Lone Star.
David Soucek, 1998 The Man with the Twisted LipThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIPISA WHITNEY, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D. D., Principal of theTheological College of St. Georges, was much addicted to opium. Thehabit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when hewas at college; for having read De Quinceys description of his dreamsand sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attemptto produce the same effects. He found, as so many more have done, thatthe practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years hecontinued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pityto 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 andruin of a noble man.
One nightCit was in June, 89Cthere came a ring to my bell, about thehour [230] when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I satup in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap andmade a little face of disappointment.
A patient! said she. Youll 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 stepsupon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in somedark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.
You will excuse my calling so late, she began, and then, suddenlylosing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wifesneck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. Oh, Im 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 youstartled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in.
I didnt know what to do, so I came straight to you. That was alwaysthe way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a lighthouse.
It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine andwater, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should yourather that I sent James off to bed?
Oh, no, no! I want the doctors advice and help, too. Its about Isa. Hehas 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 husbandstrouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and schoolcompanion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we couldfind. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we couldbring 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 ofthe City. Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and hehad come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. But now the spellhad been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtlessamong the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off theeffects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold, inUpper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a youngand timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husbandout 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, whyshould she come at all? I was Isa Whitneys medical adviser, and as suchI had influence over him. I could manage it better if I were alone. Ipromised her on my word that I would send him home in a cab within twohours if he were indeed at the address which she had given me. And so inten 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 seemedto me at the time, though the future only could show how strange it was tobe.
But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure.
Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharveswhich 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 stepsleading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, I found the den ofwhich I was in search. Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps,worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread [231] of drunken feet; andby the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch andmade my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brownopium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of anemigrant ship.
Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying instrange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back,and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eyeturned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmeredlittle red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poisonwaxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay silent, butsome muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and thensuddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts andpaying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At the farther end was asmall brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged woodenstool 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 forme 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 minehere, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him.
There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peeringthrough the gloom I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staringout at me.
My God! Its Watson, said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction,with every nerve in a twitter. I say, Watson, what oclock is it?
Nearly eleven.
Of what day?
Of Friday, June 19th.
Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. Whatdyou want to frighten the chap for? He sank his face onto his arms andbegan to sob in a high treble key.
I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this twodays for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!
So I am. But youve got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here afew hours, three pipes, four pipesCI forget how many. But Ill go homewith you. I wouldnt frighten KateCpoor 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, andlooking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by thebrazier 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 distinctlyupon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the oldman at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, verywrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between hisknees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I tooktwo steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to preventme from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his backso that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkleswere gone, the [232] dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting bythe fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than SherlockHolmes. He made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, ashe turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into adoddering, 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 wouldhave the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours I shouldbe 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 heappears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend youalso to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you havethrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be with you infive minutes.
It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmess requests, for theywere always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet airof mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was once confined in thecab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, I could notwish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of thosesingular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. Ina few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitneys bill, led him out tothe cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time adecrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking downthe street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with abent back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, hestraightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
I suppose, Watson, said he, that you imagine that I have addedopium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesseson 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 Ihave hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these sots, as Ihave done before now. Had I been recognized in that den my life wouldnot have been worth an hours purchase; for I have used it before now formy own purposes, and the rascally lascar who runs it has sworn to havevengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that building, nearthe corner of Pauls Wharf, which could tell some strange tales of whathas 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 for everypoor devil who has been done to death in that den. It is the vilest murdertrapon the whole riverside, and I fear that Neville St. Clair has entered itnever to leave it more. But our trap should be here. He put his twoforefingers between his teeth and whistled shrillyCa signal which wasanswered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by therattle of wheels and the clink of horses hoofs.
Now, Watson, said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through thegloom, [233] throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its sidelanterns. Youll come with me, wont 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. Clairs house. I am staying there while I conductthe 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. Youll know all about it presently. Jump up here.
All right, John; we shall not need you. Heres half a crown. Look out forme to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her head. So long, then!
He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through theendless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widenedgradually, until we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge, with themurky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyond lay another dullwilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy,regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belatedparty of revellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and astar 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 airof a man who is lost in thought, while I sat beside him, curious to learnwhat 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 drivenseveral miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt ofsuburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and litup his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he isacting for the best.
You have a grand gift of silence, Watson, said he. It makes youquite invaluable as a companion. Pon my word, it is a great thing for meto have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant. Iwas wondering what I should say to this dear little woman to-night whenshe 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 toLee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow, I can get nothing to goupon. Theres plenty of thread, no doubt, but I cant get the end of it intomy hand. Now, Ill 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 agoCto be definite, in May, 1884Cthere came to Lee agentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty ofmoney. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and livedgenerally in good style. By degrees he made friends in theneighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, bywhom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was interestedin 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 isnow thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a goodhusband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with allwho know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, asfar as we have been able to ascertain, amount to [234] 88 10s., while hehas 220 standing to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank. There isno reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighingupon his mind.
Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier thanusual, remarking before he started that he had two important commissionsto 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 sameMonday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect that a small parcelof considerable value which she had been expecting was waiting for herat the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are wellup in your London, you will know that the office of the company is inFresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where youfound me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, didsome shopping, proceeded to the companys office, got her packet, andfound herself at exactly 4:35 walking through Swandam Lane on her wayback 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 shedid not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While she waswalking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard anejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking downat her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floorwindow. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, whichshe describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically toher, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to herthat he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.
One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that althoughhe wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had onneither collar nor necktie.
Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down thestepsC for the house was none other than the opium den in which youfound me to-night Cand running through the front room she attempted toascend 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, whothrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant there, pushedher 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 Streeta 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 thecontinued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to the room inwhich Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no sign of him there. Infact, in the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save acrippled 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 frontroom during the afternoon. So determined was their denial that theinspector 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 boxwhich lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascadeof childrens 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 realize that the matter was serious. The rooms werecarefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. Thefront room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a smallbedroom, which looked out upon [235] the back of one of the wharves.
Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which isdry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feetof water. The bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below.
On examination traces of blood were to be seen upon the window-sill, andseveral scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of thebedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were all theclothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of his coat. His boots,his socks, his hat, and his watchCall were there. There were no signs ofviolence upon any of these garments, and there were no other traces ofMr. Neville St. Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone,for no other exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains uponthe sill gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, forthe tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.
And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicatedin the matter. The lascar was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents,but as, by Mrs. St. Clairs story, he was known to have been at the foot ofthe stair within a very few seconds of her husbands appearance at thewindow, he could hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime.
His defense was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he hadno knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that hecould not account in any way for the presence of the missing gentlemansclothes.
So much for the lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who livesupon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the lasthuman being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His name is HughBoone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man whogoes much to the City. He is a professional beggar, though in order toavoid 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 isthat this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged, with his tiny stock ofmatches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charitydescends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement besidehim. I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought ofmaking his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at theharvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is soremarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. A shock oforange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by itscontraction, 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 contrastto the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowdof mendicants, and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a replyto any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by. Thisis 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 inquest.
But a cripple! said I. What could he have done single-handedagainst a man in the prime of life?
He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in otherrespects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely yourmedical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one limb isoften 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 [236] she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presencecould be of no help to them in their investigations. Inspector Barton, whohad charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises,but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. Onemistake had been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as he wasallowed some few minutes during which he might have communicatedwith his friend the lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he wasseized and searched, without anything being found which couldincriminate him. There were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his rightshirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been cut near thenail, and explained that the bleeding came from there, adding that he hadbeen to the window not long before, and that the stains which had beenobserved there came doubtless from the same source. He deniedstrenuously having ever seen Mr. Neville St. Clair and swore that thepresence of the clothes in his room was as much a mystery to him as tothe police. As to Mrs. St. Clairs assertion that she had actually seen herhusband at the window, he declared that she must have been either mad ordreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, whilethe inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tidemight afford some fresh clue.
And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what theyhad feared to find. It was Neville St. Clairs coat, and not Neville St.
Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you thinkthey found in the pockets?
I cannot imagine.
No, I dont think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with penniesand half-penniesC421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder thatit had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a differentmatter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the house. It seemedlikely enough that the weighted coat had remained when the strippedbody 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 thatthis man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there isno human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do then? Itwould of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of the tell-talegarments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing itout, when it would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He haslittle time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried toforce her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his lascarconfederate that the police are hurrying up the street. There is not aninstant to be lost. He rushes to some secret hoard, where he hasaccumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coins uponwhich he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure of the coatssinking. He throws it out, and would have done the same with the othergarments had not he heard the rush of steps below, and only just had timeto 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 itcould not be shown that there had ever before been anything against him.
He had for years been known as a professional beggar, but his lifeappeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one. There the matterstands at present, and the questions which have to be solvedCwhat NevilleSt. 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 disappearanceC[237] are all as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot recallany case within my experience which looked at the first glance so simpleand yet which presented such difficulties.
While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series ofevents, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town untilthe last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled along witha country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he finished, however, wedrove through two scattered villages, where a few lights still glimmeredin the windows.
We are on the outskirts of Lee, said my companion. We havetouched on three English counties in our short drive, starting inMiddlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See thatlight among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits awoman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught theclink of our horses 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 restassured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend andcolleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of herhusband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!
We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its owngrounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horses head, and springingdown I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led tothe house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little blondewoman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline desoie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stoodwith 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 faceprotruded, 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 mycompanion 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 havehad a long day.
This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me inseveral of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me tobring him out and associate him with this investigation.
I am delighted to see you, said she, pressing my hand warmly. Youwill, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in ourarrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenlyupon us.
My dear madam, said I, I am an old campaigner, and if I were not Ican 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-litdining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, Ishould very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which Ibeg that you will give a plain answer.
Certainly, madam.
[238] Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor givento 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 athim as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
Frankly, then, madam, I do not.
You think that he is dead?
I do.
Murdered?
I dont 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 itis that I have received a letter from him to-day.
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanized.
What! he roared.
Yes, to-day. She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in theair.
May I see it?
Certainly.
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon thetable he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left my chairand was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a very coarseone and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the date ofthat very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably aftermidnight.
Coarse writing, murmured Holmes. Surely this is not yourhusbands writing, madam.
No, but the enclosure is.
I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go andinquire 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 grayish colour, which shows that blotting-paper hasbeen used. If it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none wouldbe of a deep black shade. This man has written the name, and there hasthen been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean thathe was not familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing soimportant as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been anenclosure here!
Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring.
And you are sure that this is your husbands 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 ahuge error which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait inpatience.
NEVILLE.
[239] Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no watermark.
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 aperson who had been chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it isyour husbands hand, madam?
None. Neville wrote those words.
And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair, theclouds 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 onlyposted 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 wellwith him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I should know ifevil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him last he cut himself inthe bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly withthe utmost certainty that something had happened. Do you think that Iwould 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 maybe more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. And inthis letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence tocorroborate your view. But if your husband is alive and able to writeletters, 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 theunexpected 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 thelascar was at the foot of the stairs.
Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinaryclothes on?
But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare throat.
Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?
[240] Never.
Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?
Never.
Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about whichI wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little supper and thenretire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow.
A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at ourdisposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary after mynight of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who, when hehad an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even fora week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at itfrom every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convincedhimself that his data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that hewas now preparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat andwaistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered aboutthe room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa andarmchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon whichhe perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a boxof matches laid out in front of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw himsitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantlyupon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent,motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. Sohe sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculationcaused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun shining into theapartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curledupward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothingremained 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-boysleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out. He chuckled to himself as hespoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the sombrethinker of the previous night.
As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one wasstirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly finished whenHolmes 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. Ithink, Watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of themost absolute fools in Europe. I deserve to be kicked from here toCharing 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, hecontinued, seeing my look of incredulity. I have just been there, and Ihave taken it out, and I have got it in this Gladstone bag. Come on, myboy, and we shall see whether it will not fit the lock.
We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into thebright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap, with thehalf-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both sprang in, and away wedashed down the London Road. A few country carts were stirring, bearingin vegetables to the metropolis, [241] but the lines of villas on either sidewere as silent and lifeless as some city in a dream.
It has been in some points a singular case, said Holmes, flicking thehorse on into a gallop. I confess that I have been as blind as a mole, butit is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all.
In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily fromtheir windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey side. Passingdown the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the river, and dashingup Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves inBow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well known to the force, and the twoconstables at the door saluted him. One of them held the horses headwhile 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 thestone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. I wish tohave 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, anda 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, BooneCthe one who was charged withbeing 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 asblack as a tinkers. Well, when once his case has been settled, he willhave a regular prison bath; and I think, if you saw him, you would agreewith 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 yourbag.
No, I think that Ill 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 awhitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side.
The third on the right is his, said the inspector. Here it is! Hequietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glancedthrough.
He is asleep, said he. You can see him very well.
We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his facetowards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was amiddle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a colouredshirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as theinspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his facecould not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scarran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned upone side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetualsnarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead.
Hes a beauty, isnt he? said the inspector.
[242] He certainly needs a wash, remarked Holmes. I had an ideathat he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me. Heopened 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 veryquietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure.
Well, I dont know why not, said the inspector. He doesnt look acredit 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 thensettled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the waterjug,moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across anddown the prisoners 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 mans face peeled offunder the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse browntint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and thetwisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitchbrought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was apale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned,rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Thensuddenly realizing the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himselfdown with his face to the pillow.
Great heavens! cried the inspector, it is, indeed, the missing man. Iknow him from the photograph.
The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandonshimself to his destiny. Be it so, said he. And pray, what am I chargedwith?
With making away with Mr. Neville St. C C Oh, come, you cant becharged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it, saidthe inspector with a grin. Well, I have been twenty-seven years in theforce, but this really takes the cake.
If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has beencommitted, 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 your wife.
It was not the wife; it was the children, groaned the prisoner. Godhelp me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God! Whatan exposure! What can I do?
Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted himkindly on the shoulder.
If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up, said he, ofcourse you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you convincethe police authorities that there is no possible case against you, I do notknow that there is any reason that the details should find their way intothe papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I am sure, make notes uponanything 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 haveendured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left mymiserable secret as a family blot to my children.
You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was aschool-master in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education. Itravelled in my youth, took [243] to the stage, and finally became areporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor wished tohave a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis, and I volunteeredto supply them. There was the point from which all my adventuresstarted. It was only by trying begging as an amateur that I could get thefacts 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 greenroomfor my skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted myface, and to make myself as pitiable as possible I made a good scar andfixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small slip of fleshcolouredplaster. Then with a red head of hair, and an appropriate dress, Itook my station in the business part of the city, ostensibly as a matchsellerbut really as a beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when Ireturned home in the evening I found to my surprise that I had receivedno less than 26s. 4d.
I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until, sometime later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me for25. I was at my wits end where to get the money, but a sudden ideacame to me. I begged a fortnights grace from the creditor, asked for aholiday from my employers, and spent the time in begging in the Cityunder 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 workat 2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by smearingmy 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 wonat last, and I threw up reporting and sat day after day in the corner which Ihad first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pocketswith coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a lowden in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could everymorning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myselfinto a well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a lascar, was well paidby me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in hispossession.
Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums ofmoney. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could earn700 a yearC which is less than my average takingsCbut I had exceptionaladvantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee,which improved by practice and made me quite a recognized character inthe 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.
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 realoccupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City. She littleknew what.
Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my roomabove the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to myhorror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with hereyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms tocover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the lascar, entreated him toprevent anyone from coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but Iknew that she could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled onthose of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wifes eyescould not pierce so complete a disguise. But then it occurred to me thatthere 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 Ihad [244] inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then Iseized my coat, which was weighted by the coppers which I had justtransferred to it from the leather bag in which I carried my takings. Ihurled it out of the window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The otherclothes would have followed, but at that moment there was a rush ofconstables 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 wasarrested as his murderer.
I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I wasdetermined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence mypreference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would be terriblyanxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the lascar at a momentwhen 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 Ican quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letterunobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, whoforgot all about it for some days.
That was it, said Holmes, nodding approvingly; I have no doubt ofit. 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 hushthis 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 betaken. 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 thematter up. I wish I knew how you reach your results.
I reached this one, said my friend, by sitting upon five pillows andconsuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to BakerStreet we shall just be in time for breakfast.
David Soucek, 1998 The Blue CarbuncleThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE BLUE CARBUNCLEI HAD called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morningafter Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of theseason. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a piperackwithin his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morningpapers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was awooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy anddisreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked inseveral places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chairsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purposeof 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 myresults. The matter is a perfectly trivial oneChe jerked his thumb in thedirection of the old [245] hatCbut there are points in connection with itwhich are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction.
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before hiscrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thickwith the ice crystals. I suppose, I remarked, that, homely as it looks,this thing has some deadly story linked on to itCthat it is the clue whichwill guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment ofsome crime.
No, no. No crime, said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. Only one ofthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have fourmillion human beings all jostling each other within the space of a fewsquare miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm ofhumanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to takeplace, and many a little problem will be presented which may be strikingand bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience ofsuch.
So much so, I remarked, that of the last six cases which I haveadded 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 theman with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter willfall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, thecommissionaire?
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 lookupon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And,first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, incompany with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at thismoment in front of Petersons fire. The facts are these: about four oclockon Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honestfellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making hisway homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, inthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying awhite goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of GoodgeStreet, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs.
One of the latter knocked off the mans hat, on which he raised his stickto defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shopwindow behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the strangerfrom 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 ofsmall streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughshad also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left inpossession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in theshape 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. HenryBaker was printed upon a small card which was tied to the birds left leg,and it is also true that the initials H. B. are legible upon the lining of thishat; but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds ofHenry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property toany one of them.
What, then, did Peterson do?
[246] He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmasmorning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me.
The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, inspite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten withoutunnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil theultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of theunknown 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 gatheryourself 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 muchthe worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good dealdiscoloured. There was no makers name; but, as Holmes had remarked,the initials H. B. were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in thebrim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it wascracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although thereseemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches bysmearing 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 yourinferences.
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 fashionwhich was characteristic of him. It is perhaps less suggestive than itmight have been, he remarked, and yet there are a few inferences whichare very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strongbalance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of courseobvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do withinthe last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He hadforesight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moralretrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seemsto indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. Thismay account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to lovehim.
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 hairwhich he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints withlime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced fromhis hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gaslaid on in his house.
You are certainly joking, Holmes.
Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you theseresults, you are unable to see how they are attained?
I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I amunable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man wasintellectual?
[247] For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came rightover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. It is a questionof cubic capacity, said he; a man with so large a brain must havesomething in it.
The decline of his fortunes, then?
This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came inthen. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silkand the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hatthree years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gonedown in the world.
Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight andthe moral retrogression?
Sherlock Holmes laughed. Here is the foresight, said he, putting hisfinger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. They are neversold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount offoresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against thewind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubledto 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 hasendeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubingthem with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his selfrespect.
Your reasoning is certainly plausible.
The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, thatit has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to begathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. Thelens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of thebarber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour oflime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust of thestreet but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has beenhung up indoors most of the time; while the marks of moisture upon theinside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and couldtherefore, hardly be in the best of training.
But his wifeCyou said that she had ceased to love him.
This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dearWatson, with a weeks accumulation of dust upon your hat, and whenyour wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you alsohave been unfortunate enough to lose your wifes 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 birds leg.
You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deducethat the gas is not laid on in his house?
One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I seeno less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individualmust be brought into frequent contact with burning tallowCwalks upstairsat night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in theother. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are yousatisfied?
Well, it is very ingenious, said I, laughing; but since, as you saidjust now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save theloss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flewopen, and [248] Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartmentwith flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed withastonishment.
The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir! he gasped.
Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off throughthe kitchen window? Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to geta fairer view of the mans excited face.
See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop! He held out hishand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillatingblue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity andradiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of hishand.
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 wereputty.
Its more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.
Not the Countess of Morcars blue carbuncle! I ejaculated.
Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I haveread the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately. It isabsolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the rewardoffered of 1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the marketprice.
A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy! The commissionaireplumped 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 aresentimental considerations in the background which would induce theCountess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem.
It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan, Iremarked.
Precisely so, on December 22d, just five days ago. John Horner, aplumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the ladys jewel-case.
The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred tothe Assizes. I have some account of the matter here, I believe. Herummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last hesmoothed 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 22d inst.,abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar thevaluable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upperattendantat the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he hadshown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcarupon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder thesecond bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained withHorner some little time, but had finally been called away. Onreturning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureauhad been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which,as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keepher jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryderinstantly gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the sameevening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person orin his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed tohaving heard Ryders cry of dismay on discovering the robbery,and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters asdescribed by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division,gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled [249]
frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms.
Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been givenagainst the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily withthe offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shownsigns of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away atthe 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 sequenceof events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of agoose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our littledeductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and lessinnocent aspect. Here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and thegoose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and allthe other characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must setourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining whatpart he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try thesimplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in allthe 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 felthat. Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 thisevening 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, theloss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance inbreaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought ofnothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted theimpulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then, again, the introductionof his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him willdirect his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to theadvertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.
In which, sir?
Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. Jamess, Evening NewsStandard, 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, justbuy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we musthave one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your familyis now devouring.
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and heldit against the light. Its a bonny thing, said he. Just see how it glintsand sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every goodstone is. They are the devils pet baits. In the larger and older jewelsevery facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twentyyears old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern Chinaand is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, savethat it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it hasalready a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriolthrowing,a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake ofthis forty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that sopretty a toy would [250] be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? Illlock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to saythat 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, hadanything to do with the matter?
It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutelyinnocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was ofconsiderably 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 toour advertisement.
And you can do nothing until then?
Nothing.
In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall comeback in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like tosee 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 Ifound myself in Baker Street once more. As I approached the house I sawa tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to hischin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from thefanlight. Just as I arrived the door was opened, and we were shown uptogether to Holmess room.
Mr. Henry Baker, I believe, said he, rising from his armchair andgreeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readilyassume. Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, andI observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than forwinter. 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 abroad, 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 extendedhand, recalled Holmess surmise as to his habits. His rusty black frockcoatwas buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lankwrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spokein a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave theimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had illusageat the hands of fortune.
We have retained these things for some days, said Holmes, becausewe expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. I amat a loss to know now why you did not advertise.
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. Shillings have not been soplentiful with me as they once were, he remarked. I had no doubt thatthe gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and thebird. I did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt atrecovering them.
Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eatit.
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 Ipresume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the sameweight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?
[251] Oh, certainly, certainly, answered Mr. Baker with a sigh ofrelief.
Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your ownbird, so if you wishC C
The man burst into a hearty laugh. They might be useful to me asrelics of my adventure, said he, but beyond that I can hardly see whatuse 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 tothe excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard.
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug ofhis 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 amsomewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better growngoose.
Certainly, sir, said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gainedproperty under his arm. There are a few of us who frequent the AlphaInn, near the MuseumCwe are to be found in the Museum itself during theday, you understand. This year our good host, Windigate by name,instituted a goose club, by which, on consideration of some few penceevery week, we were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence wereduly 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 acomical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strodeoff upon his way.
So much for Mr. Henry Baker, said Holmes when he had closed thedoor behind him. It is quite certain that he knows nothing whateverabout the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?
Not particularly.
Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up thisclue while it is still hot.
By all means.
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravatsabout our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudlesssky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so manypistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swungthrough the doctors quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and sothrough Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour wewere in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at thecorner of one of the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmespushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beerfrom 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, whowas a member of your goose club.
Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, thems 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 dont know him. Well, heres your good health, landlord, andprosperity to your house. Good-night.
[252] Now for Mr. Breckinridge, he continued, buttoning up his coatas we came out into the frosty air. Remember, Watson, that though wehave so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at theother a man who will certainly get seven years penal servitude unless wecan establish his innocence. It is possible that our inquiry may butconfirm his guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of investigation whichhas been missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed inour 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 zigzagof slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore thename of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor, a horsy-looking man,with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers, was helping a boy to put up theshutters.
Good-evening. Its 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 slabsof marble.
Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.
Thats 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 thesalesman.
Now, then, mister, said he, with his head cocked and his armsakimbo, what are you driving at? Lets have it straight, now.
It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geesewhich you supplied to the Alpha.
Well, then, I shant tell you. So now!
Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I dont know why you shouldbe so warm over such a trifle.
Warm! Youd 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 thebusiness; but its Where are the geese? and Who did you sell the geeseto? and What will you take for the geese? One would think they werethe 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 beenmaking inquiries, said Holmes carelessly. If you wont tell us the bet isoff, that is all. But Im always ready to back my opinion on a matter offowls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country bred.
Well, then, youve lost your fiver, for its town bred, snapped thesalesman.
Its nothing of the kind.
I say it is.
I dont believe it.
Dyou think you know more about fowls than I, who have handledthem ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to theAlpha were town bred.
Youll never persuade me to believe that.
[253] Will you bet, then?
Its merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But Illhave 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 greasybackedone, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp.
Now then, Mr. Cocksure, said the salesman, I thought that I was outof geese, but before I finish youll find that there is still one left in myshop. You see this little book?
Well?
Thats the list of the folk from whom I buy. Dyou see? Well, then,here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their namesare where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see thisother page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, lookat that third name. Just read it out to me.
Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton RoadC249, 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, whats the last entry?
 December 22d. 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 fromhis pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of aman whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stoppedunder a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which waspeculiar 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 down in front of him, that man would nothave given me such complete information as was drawn from him by theidea 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 bedetermined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, orwhether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what thatsurly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxiousabout the matter, and I shouldC C
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke outfrom the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a little ratfacedfellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which wasthrown by the swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the salesman, framedin the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
Ive had enough of you and your geese, he shouted. I wish you wereall at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more with yoursilly talk Ill set the dog at you. You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and Illanswer 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.
[254] Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. Ive hadenough of it. Get out of this! He rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirerflitted 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 theflaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touchedhim upon the shoulder. He sprang round, and I could see in the gas-lightthat every vestige of colour had been driven from his face.
Who are you, then? What do you want? he asked in a quaveringvoice.
You will excuse me, said Holmes blandly, but I could not helpoverhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. I thinkthat 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 otherpeople dont know.
But you can know nothing of this?
Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to tracesome geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to asalesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of theAlpha, 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 thelittle fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. I can hardlyexplain to you how interested I am in this matter.
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. In thatcase we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-sweptmarket-place, said he. But pray tell me, before we go farther, who it isthat I have the pleasure of assisting.
The man hesitated for an instant. My name is John Robinson, heanswered with a sidelong glance.
No, no; the real name, said Holmes sweetly. It is always awkwarddoing business with an alias.
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. Well, then, saidhe, my real name is James Ryder.
Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray step intothe cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everything which you wouldwish to know.
The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with halffrightened,half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on theverge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the cab, andin half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothinghad been said during our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our newcompanion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of thenervous tension within him.
Here we are! said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. Thefire 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 settlethis little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what became ofthose geese?
Yes, sir.
Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine, in whichyou were interestedCwhite, with a black bar across the tail.
[255] Ryder quivered with emotion. Oh, sir, he cried, can you tell mewhere it went to?
It came here.
Here?
Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I dont wonder that youshould take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was deadCthe 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 hisright hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the bluecarbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointedradiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether toclaim or to disown it.
The games up, Ryder, said Holmes quietly. Hold up, man, or youllbe into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. Hes notgot blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash ofbrandy. So! Now he looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is, to besure!
For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandybrought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring withfrightened eyes at his accuser.
I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I couldpossibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, that littlemay as well be cleared up to make the case complete. You had heard,Ryder, of this blue stone of the Countess of Morcars?
It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it, said he in a cracklingvoice.
I seeCher ladyships waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of suddenwealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for bettermen 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 inyou. You knew that this man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned insome such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readilyupon him. What did you do, then? You made some small job in my ladysroomCyou and your confederate CusackCand you managed that he shouldbe the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case,raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You thenC C
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at mycompanions knees. For Gods sake, have mercy! he shrieked. Thinkof my father! of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never wentwrong before! I never will again. I swear it. Ill swear it on a Bible. Oh,dont bring it into court! For Christs sake, dont!
Get back into your chair! said Holmes sternly. It is very well tocringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner inthe dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.
I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the chargeagainst him will break down.
Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account ofthe next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came the gooseinto the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope ofsafety.
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. I will tell you it just asit happened, sir, said he. When Horner had been arrested, it seemed tome that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for Idid not know at what moment the police might not take it into their headsto search me and my [256] room. There was no place about the hotelwhere it would be safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I madefor my sisters house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and livedin Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the waythere 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 facebefore I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was thematter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by thejewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked apipe, and wondered what it would be best to do.
I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has justbeen serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell intotalk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what theystole. I knew that he would be true to me, for I knew one or two thingsabout him; so I made up my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where helived, and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turnthe stone into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of theagonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at anymoment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in mywaistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking atthe geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly anidea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the bestdetective that ever lived.
My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick ofher geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she was always as goodas her word. I would take my goose now, and in it I would carry my stoneto Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove oneof the birdsCa 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 fingercould reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along its gulletand down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled, and outcame my sister to know what was the matter. As I turned to speak to herthe brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others.
 Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem? says she.
 Well, said I, you said youd give me one for Christmas, and I wasfeeling which was the fattest.
 Oh, says she, weve set yours aside for youCJems bird, we call it.
Its the big white one over yonder. Theres twenty-six of them, whichmakes 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, Id ratherhave that one I was handling just now.
 The other is a good three pound heavier, said she, and we fattenedit expressly for you.
 Never mind. Ill have the other, and Ill 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 theway to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that itwas easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and wegot a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there wasno sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. Ileft the bird, rushed back to my sisters, and hurried into the back yard.
There was not a bird to be seen there.
[257]  Where are they all, Maggie? I cried.
 Gone to the dealers, Jem.
 Which dealers?
 Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.
 But was there another with a barred tail? I asked, the same as theone I chose?
 Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tellthem apart.
Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feetwould 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 heardhim yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. Mysister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself.
And nowCand now I am myself a branded thief, without ever havingtouched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God helpme! He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing, and bythe measured tapping of Sherlock Holmess finger-tips upon the edge ofthe 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 thestairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from thestreet.
After all, Watson, said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his claypipe, I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. IfHorner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will notappear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I amcommuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. Thisfellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him tojail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season offorgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsicalproblem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodnessto touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which,also a bird will be the chief feature.
David Soucek, 1998 The Speckled BandThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE SPECKLED BANDON GLANCING over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I haveduring the last eight years studied the methods of my friend SherlockHolmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange,but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of hisart than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himselfwith any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and eventhe fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any whichpresented more singular features than that which was associated with thewell-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in[258] question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes,when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possiblethat I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise ofsecrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed duringthe last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge wasgiven. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for Ihave reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death ofDr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terriblethan the truth.
It was early in April in the year 83 that I woke one morning to findSherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was alate riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that itwas only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, andperhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.
Very sorry to knock you up, Watson, said he, but its the commonlot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted uponme, and I on you.
What is it, thenCa fire?
No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerablestate of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in thesitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at thishour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, Ipresume that it is something very pressing which they have tocommunicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I amsure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I shouldcall 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 professionalinvestigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions,and yet always founded on a logical basis, with which he unravelled theproblems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes andwas ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sittingroom. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting inthe window, rose as we entered.
Good-morning, madam, said Holmes cheerily. My name is SherlockHolmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, beforewhom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see thatMrs. 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 areshivering.
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, herface all drawn and gray, with restless, frightened eyes, like those of somehunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty,but her hair was shot with premature gray, and her expression was wearyand haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, allcomprehensiveglances.
You must not fear, said he soothingly, bending forward and pattingher forearm. We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You havecome 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 yourleft [259] glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drivein a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at mycompanion.
There is no mystery, my dear madam, said he, smiling. The left armof your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. Themarks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart whichthrows up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-handside of the driver.
Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct, said she. Istarted from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, andcame in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain nolonger; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn toCnone, saveonly one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. Ihave 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 hadyour address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and atleast 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 amonth or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my ownincome, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small casebook,which he consulted.
Farintosh, said he. Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned withan 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 didto that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; butyou are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the timewhich suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before useverything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.
Alas! replied our visitor, the very horror of my situation lies in thefact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirelyupon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he towhom of all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks uponall that I tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does notsay so, but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But Ihave heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifoldwickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amidthe dangers which encompass me.
I am all attention, madam.
My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who isthe last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, theRoylotts 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 theestates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, andHampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive heirswere of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin waseventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothingwas 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 draggedout his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper;but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to thenew conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled himto take a [260] medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by hisprofessional skill and his force of character, he established a largepractice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which hadbeen perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death andnarrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term ofimprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose anddisappointed man.
When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. Mysister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the timeof my mothers re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of moneyCnotless than 1000 a year Cand this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirelywhile we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sumshould be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly afterour return to England my mother died Cshe was killed eight years ago in arailway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts toestablish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in theold ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had leftwas enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to ourhappiness.
But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Insteadof making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had atfirst been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the oldfamily seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save toindulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violenceof temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of thefamily, and in my stepfathers case it had, I believe, been intensified byhis long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls tookplace, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became theterror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is aman 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 gathertogether that I was able to avert another public exposure. He had nofriends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he would give thesevagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered landwhich represent the family estate, and would accept in return thehospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weekson end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over tohim by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and ababoon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by thevillagers almost as much as their master.
You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I hadno great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for along time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the timeof her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as minehas.
Your sister is dead, then?
She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speakto 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 mothers maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail,who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay shortvisits at this ladys 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 [261] returnedand offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the daywhich had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred whichhas deprived me of my only companion.
Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyesclosed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now andglanced 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 isseared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, veryold, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing areon the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of thebuildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylotts, the second mysisters, 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 fatalnight Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he hadnot retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strongIndian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room,therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chattingabout her approaching wedding. At eleven oclock 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 thedead of the night?
 Never, said I.
 I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in yoursleep?
 Certainly not. But why?
 Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in themorning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it hasawakened me. I cannot tell where it came fromCperhaps from the nextroom, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whetheryou had heard it.
 No, I have not. It must be those wretched gypsies in the plantation.
 Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did nothear it also.
 Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.
 Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate. She smiled back atme, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in thelock.
Indeed, said Holmes. Was it your custom always to lock yourselvesin at night?
Always.
And why?
I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and ababoon. 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 misfortuneimpressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and youknow how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closelyallied. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rainwas beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all thehubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman.
I knew that it was my sisters voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped ashawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I [262] opened my door Iseemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a fewmoments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I randown the passage, my sisters door was unlocked, and revolved slowlyupon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was aboutto issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appearat 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 herand threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed togive way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terriblepain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that shehad not recognized me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out ina 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 havesaid, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of thedoctors room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. Irushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening fromhis room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sisters side she wasunconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent formedical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sankand died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was thedreadful end of my beloved sister.
One moment, said Holmes; are you sure about this whistle andmetallic sound? Could you swear to it?
That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is mystrong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale andthe 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 thecharred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.
Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when thealarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coronercome to?
He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylotts conduct hadlong been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find anysatisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had beenfastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by oldfashionedshutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night.
The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid allround, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the sameresult. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It iscertain, 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, thoughwhat it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.
Were there gypsies in the plantation at the time?
Yes, there are nearly always some there.
Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a bandCa speckledband?
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 tothese very gypsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spottedhandkerchiefs which [263] so many of them wear over their heads mighthave 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 latelylonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I haveknown for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand inmarriage. His name is ArmitageCPercy ArmitageCthe second son of Mr.
Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered noopposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of thespring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of thebuilding, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had tomove into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the verybed 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 thesilence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her owndeath. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in theroom. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and assoon 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 comeon this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking youradvice.
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 fringedthe hand that lay upon our visitors knee. Five little livid spots, the marksof 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 ahard man, she said, and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.
There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin uponhis hands and stared into the crackling fire.
This is a very deep business, he said at last. There are a thousanddetails which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course ofaction. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to StokeMoran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms withoutthe knowledge of your stepfather?
As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some mostimportant business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and thatthere would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, butshe 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 intown. But I shall return by the twelve oclock train, so as to be there intime for your coming.
And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself somesmall business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?
[264] No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I haveconfided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again thisafternoon. She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glidedfrom 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 aresound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then hersister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysteriousend.
What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the verypeculiar words of the dying woman?
I cannot think.
When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of aband of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the factthat we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest inpreventing his stepdaughters marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and,finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, whichmight have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured theshutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground tothink that the mystery may be cleared along those lines.
But what, then, did the gypsies 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 StokeMoran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if theymay be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!
The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact thatour door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framedhimself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of theprofessional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frockcoat,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 markedwith every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while hisdeep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave himsomewhat 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 companionquietly.
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 havetraced 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 mycompanion imperturbably.
Ha! You put me off, do you? said our new visitor, taking a stepforward and shaking his hunting-crop. I know you, you scoundrel! I haveheard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.
[265] 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. Dont you dare to meddle with myaffairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am adangerous 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 thetwisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.
He seems a very amiable person, said Holmes, laughing. I am notquite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that mygrip was not much more feeble than his own. As he spoke he picked upthe steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.
Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the officialdetective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however,and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudencein allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall orderbreakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors Commons, whereI hope to get some data which may help us in this matter.
It was nearly one oclock when Sherlock Holmes returned from hisexcursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over withnotes and figures.
I have seen the will of the deceased wife, said he. To determine itsexact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of theinvestments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at thetime of the wifes death was little short of 1100, is now, through the fallin agricultural prices, not more than 750. Each daughter can claim anincome of 250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if bothgirls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while evenone of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morningswork has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the verystrongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. Andnow, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man isaware 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 obligedif you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eleys No. 2 is anexcellent 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 milesthrough the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sunand a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedgeswere just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of thepleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strangecontrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister questupon 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 [266]
upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, hestarted, 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 intoa grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out thegray 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 thedriver.
There is some building going on there, said Holmes; that is wherewe are going.
Theres the village, said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofssome distance to the left; but if you want to get to the house, youll findit 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 hiseyes. Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.
We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way toLeatherhead.
I thought it as well, said Holmes as we climbed the stile, that thisfellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definitebusiness. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You seethat we have been as good as our word.
Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a facewhich 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 beforeevening.
We have had the pleasure of making the doctors acquaintance, saidHolmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. MissStoner 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. Whatwill he say when he returns?
He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone morecunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from himto-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunts at Harrow.
Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once tothe rooms which we are to examine.
The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a high centralportion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out oneach side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blockedwith 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 wascomparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the bluesmoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where thefamily resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall,and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of anyworkmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and downthe ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of thewindows.
This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, thecentre [267] one to your sisters, and the one next to the main building toDr. Roylotts chamber?
Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.
Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does notseem 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 myroom.
Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runsthe 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 wereunapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to gointo your room and bar your shutters?
Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination throughthe open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, butwithout success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passedto raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were ofsolid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. Hum! said he,scratching his chin in some perplexity, my theory certainly presentssome 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 thethree bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, sowe passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was nowsleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homelylittle room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion ofold country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, anarrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on theleft-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-workchairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wiltoncarpet in the centre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls wereof brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have datedfrom the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairsinto a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round andup and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.
Where does that bell communicate with? he asked at last, pointing toa thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actuallylying upon the pillow.
It goes to the housekeepers 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 wewanted for ourselves.
Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. Youwill 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 andcrawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracksbetween the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work withwhich the chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed andspent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down thewall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.
Why, its a dummy, said he.
[268] Wont it ring?
No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You cansee now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening forthe ventilator is.
How very absurd! I never noticed that before.
Very strange! muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. There are oneor two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool abuilder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with thesame 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 characterCdummy bellropes,and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, MissStoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.
Dr. Grimesby Roylotts chamber was larger than that of hisstepdaughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small woodenshelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside thebed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large ironsafe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowlyround and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.
Whats in here? he asked, tapping the safe.
My stepfathers business papers.
Oh! you have seen inside, then?
Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.
There isnt 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 onthe top of it.
No; we dont 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 ofmilk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is onepoint which I should wish to determine. He squatted down in front of thewooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.
Thank you. That is quite settled, said he, rising and putting his lens inhis pocket. Hello! Here is something interesting!
The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on onecorner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so asto make a loop of whipcord.
What do you make of that, Watson?
Its a common enough lash. But I dont know why it should be tied.
That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! its a wicked world, andwhen a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I thinkthat I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission weshall walk out upon the lawn.
I had never seen my friends face so grim or his brow so dark as it waswhen we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walkedseveral times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myselfliking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from hisreverie.
[269] It is very essential, Miss Stoner, said he, that you shouldabsolutely follow my advice in every respect.
I shall most certainly do so.
The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may dependupon 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 yourroom.
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 innover 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 thenight, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, putyour lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly witheverything which you are likely to want into the room which you used tooccupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could managethere 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 thecause 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 companions sleeve.
Perhaps I have.
Then, for pitys sake, tell me what was the cause of my sisters 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 shedied from some sudden fright.
No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some moretangible 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, andbe brave, for if you will do what I have told you you may rest assured thatwe shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you.
Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom andsitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and fromour window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of theinhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr.
Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the littlefigure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty inundoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctorsvoice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. Thetrap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring upamong the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.
Do you know, Watson, said Holmes as we sat together in thegathering darkness, I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night.
There is a distinct element of danger.
Can I be of assistance?
[270] 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 roomsthan was visible to me.
No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine thatyou saw all that I did.
I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose thatcould 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 asmall opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardlypass through.
I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to StokeMoran.
My dear Holmes!
Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sistercould smell Dr. Roylotts cigar. Now, of course that suggested at oncethat there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could onlybe a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coronersinquiry. I deduced a ventilator.
But what harm can there be in that?
Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator ismade, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not thatstrike 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 thatbefore?
I cannot say that I have.
The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the samerelative position to the ventilator and to the ropeCor 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 areonly just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.
Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong heis the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer andPritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes evendeeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. Butwe shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness sakelet us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to somethingmore cheerful.
About nine oclock the light among the trees was extinguished, and allwas dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowlyaway, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright lightshone out right in front of us.
That is our signal, said Holmes, springing to his feet; it comes fromthe 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 thatit was possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later wewere out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and oneyellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on oursombre errand.
There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepairedbreaches [271] gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among thetrees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through thewindow when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted whatseemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon thegrass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into thedarkness.
My God! I whispered; did you see it?
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a viseupon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put hislips 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 acheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment.
I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmessexample and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom.
My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto thetable, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in thedaytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, hewhispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do todistinguish 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 pistolready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and youin 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 thebed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of acandle. 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, noteven the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat openeyed,within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension inwhich I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and wewaited in absolute darkness. From outside came the occasional cry of anight-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 couldhear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarterof an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, andone and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever mightbefall.
Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the directionof the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by astrong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next roomhad lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then allwas silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour Isat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audibleCavery gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escapingcontinually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprangfrom the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at thebell-pull.
You see it, Watson? he yelled. You see it?
But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I hearda low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyesmade it impossible [272] for me to tell what it was at which my friendlashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly paleand filled with horror and loathing.
He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator whensuddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry towhich I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yellof pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. Theysay that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, thatcry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and Istood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had diedaway 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. Roylotts 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. Thenhe turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol inmy hand.
It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a darklanternwith the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light uponthe iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this table, on the woodenchair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott, clad in a long gray dressing-gown, hisbare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heellessTurkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lashwhich we had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward andhis 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 madeneither 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-shapedhead and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
It is a swamp adder! cried Holmes; the deadliest snake in India. Hehas died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoilupon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs foranother. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can thenremove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county policeknow what has happened.
As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead mans lap,and throwing the noose round the reptiles neck he drew it from its horridperch and, carrying it at arms length, threw it into the iron safe, which heclosed upon it.
Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of StokeMoran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which hasalready run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news tothe terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care ofher good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry cameto the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playingwith a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case wastold me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.
I had, said he, come to an entirely erroneous conclusion whichshows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason frominsufficient data. The presence of the gypsies, and the use of the wordband, which was used by the poor girl, no [273] doubt to explain theappearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of hermatch, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can onlyclaim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position when, however,it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of theroom could not come either from the window or the door. My attentionwas 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 thiswas a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gaverise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for somethingpassing through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snakeinstantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge thatthe doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that Iwas probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of poison whichcould not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a oneas would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Easterntraining. The rapidity with which such a poison would take effect wouldalso, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyedcoroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures whichwould show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thoughtof the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning lightrevealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milkwhich we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it throughthis ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that itwould crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bitethe occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooneror 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 ofstanding on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he shouldreach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loopof whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may haveremained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously causedby her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terribleoccupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which Itook in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as Ihave no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attackedit.
With the result of driving it through the ventilator.
And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at theother side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused itssnakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way Iam no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylotts death, andI cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.
David Soucek, 1998 The Engineers ThumbThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE ENGINEERS THUMBOF ALL the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, therewere only two which [274] I was the means of introducing to hisnoticeCthat of Mr. Hatherleys thumb, and that of Colonel Warburtonsmadness. Of these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acuteand original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception and sodramatic in its details that it may be the more worthy of being placedupon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductivemethods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. Thestory has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, likeall such narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth en blocin a single half-column of print than when the facts slowly evolve beforeyour own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually away as each newdiscovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. At thetime the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse oftwo years has hardly served to weaken the effect.
It was in the summer of 89, not long after my marriage, that the eventsoccurred which I am now about to summarize. I had returned to civilpractice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker Street rooms,although I continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded himto forego his Bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. My practicehad steadily increased, and as I happened to live at no very great distancefrom Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the officials.
One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, wasnever weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me onevery sufferer over whom he might have any influence.
One morning, at a little before seven oclock, I was awakened by themaid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come fromPaddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressed hurriedly,for I knew by experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, andhastened downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, the guard, came out ofthe room and closed the door tightly behind him.
Ive got him here, he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder;hes all right.
What is it, then? I asked, for his manner suggested that it was somestrange creature which he had caged up in my room.
Its a new patient, he whispered. I thought Id bring him roundmyself; then he couldnt slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. I mustgo now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the same as you. And off hewent, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him.
I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by thetable. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed, with a soft clothcap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands hehad 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 impressionof a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took allhis strength of mind to control.
I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor, said he, but I have hada 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 worthyfellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a card, but I see thatshe has left it upon the side-table.
I took it up and glanced at it. Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulicengineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3d floor). That was the name, style, andabode of my morning [275] visitor. I regret that I have kept you waiting,
said I, sitting down in my library-chair. You are fresh from a nightjourney, 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 hischair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against thatlaugh.
Stop it! I cried; pull yourself together! and I poured out some waterfrom a carafe.
It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical outburstswhich come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over andgone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and palelooking.
I have been making a fool of myself, he gasped.
Not at all. Drink this. I dashed some brandy into the water, and thecolour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
Thats better! said he. And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindlyattend 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 myhardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protrudingfingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should havebeen. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.
Good heavens! I cried, this is a terrible injury. It must have bledconsiderably.
Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must havebeen senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that it was stillbleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round thewrist 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 ownprovince.
This has been done, said I, examining the wound, by a very heavyand 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 overwith cotton wadding and carbolized bandages. He lay back withoutwincing, 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. Iwas 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 toyour nerves.
Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, betweenourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound ofmine, I should be surprised if they believed my statement; for it is a veryextraordinary one, and I have not much in the way of proof with which toback it up; and, even if they [276] believe me, the clues which I can givethem 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 youdesire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to myfriend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the official police.
Oh, I have heard of that fellow, answered my visitor, and I shouldbe very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course I must usethe official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to him?
Ill do better. Ill take you round to him myself.
I should be immensely obliged to you.
Well call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to have alittle 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 fiveminutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to BakerStreet.
Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room inhis dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The Times and smokinghis before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs anddottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried andcollected on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his quietlygenial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a heartymeal. When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon thesofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy andwater 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 athome. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up yourstrength with a little stimulant.
Thank you, said my patient, but I have felt another man since thedoctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed thecure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I shallstart at once upon my peculiar experiences.
Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expressionwhich veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to him, andwe 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 hydraulicengineer, and I have had considerable experience of my work during theseven years that I was apprenticed to Venner & Matheson, the wellknownfirm, of Greenwich. Two years ago, having served my time, andhaving also come into a fair sum of money through my poor fathersdeath, I determined to start in business for myself and took professionalchambers in Victoria Street.
I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business adreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so. During two years Ihave had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely allthat my profession has brought me. My gross takings amount to 27 10s.
Every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waitedin my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to believethat I should never have any practice at all.
[277] Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the office,my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to seeme upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of ColonelLysander Stark engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the colonelhimself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. Ido not think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpenedaway into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tenseover his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his naturalhabit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and hisbearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, I shouldjudge, would be nearer forty than thirty.
 Mr. Hatherley? said he, with something of a German accent. Youhave been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is notonly proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable ofpreserving a secret.
I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such anaddress. 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 thismoment. I have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and abachelor and are residing alone in London.
 That is quite correct, I answered; but you will excuse me if I saythat I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications. Iunderstand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speakto 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 quiteessentialCabsolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may expectthat more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the bosomof his family.
 If I promise to keep a secret, said I, you may absolutely dependupon my doing so.
He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I hadnever 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? Noreference 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 acrossthe room he flung open the door. The passage outside was empty.
 Thats all right, said he, coming back. I know the clerks aresometimes curious as to their masters affairs. Now we can talk in safety.
He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me againwith the same questioning and thoughtful look.
A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to risewithin me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my dread oflosing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience.
 I beg that you will state your business, sir, said I; my time is ofvalue. Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came tomy lips.
 How would fifty guineas for a nights work suit you? he asked.
 Most admirably.
 I say a nights work, but an hours would be nearer the mark. Isimply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which hasgot out of gear. If [278] you show us what is wrong we shall soon set itright 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 ofOxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a train fromPaddington 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 sevenmiles from Eyford Station.
 Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there wouldbe 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 convenienthour?
 We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to recompenseyou for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young andunknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads ofyour profession. Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of thebusiness, there is plenty of time to do so.
I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be tome. Not at all, said I, I shall be very happy to accommodate myself toyour wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little more clearlywhat it is that you wish me to do.
 Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we haveexacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I have no wish tocommit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. Isuppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?
 Entirely.
 Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that fullersearthis a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two placesin England?
 I have heard so.
 Some little time ago I bought a small placeCa very small placeCwithin ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover that therewas a deposit of fullers-earth in one of my fields. On examining it,however, I found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and thatit formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right andleftCboth of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These goodpeople were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which wasquite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest to buytheir land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had nocapital 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 ourown little deposit, and that in this way we should earn the money whichwould enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now beendoing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we erecteda hydraulic press. This press, as I have already explained, has got out oforder, and we wish your advice upon the subject. We guard our secretvery jealously, however, and if it once became known that we hadhydraulic engineers coming to our little house, [279] it would soon rouseinquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to anychance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why Ihave made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that youare 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 quiteunderstand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press inexcavating fullers-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out like gravelfrom a pit.
 Ah! said he carelessly, we have our own process. We compress theearth 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 hespoke. 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, hehurried from the room.
Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very muchastonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which hadbeen intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the feewas at least tenfold what I should have asked had I set a price upon myown 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 anunpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think that his explanationof the fullers-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my comingat midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of myerrand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, droveto Paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the injunctionas 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 littledim-lit station after eleven oclock. I was the only passenger who got outthere, and there was no one upon the platform save a single sleepy porterwith a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate, however, I foundmy acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the otherside. 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 eitherside, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horsecould 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 yourmost interesting statement.
Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. ColonelLysander 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 itmust 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 hewas looking at me with great intensity. [280] The country roads seem to benot 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, butthey were made of frosted glass, and I could make out nothing save theoccasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then I hazarded someremark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answeredonly in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. At last,however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for the crispsmoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a stand. ColonelLysander Stark sprang out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftlyinto a porch which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right outof the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most fleetingglance of the front of the house. The instant that I had crossed thethreshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and I heard faintly therattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away.
It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled aboutlooking for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a dooropened at the other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light shotout in our direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lampin her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward andpeering at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss withwhich the light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a richmaterial. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as thoughasking a question, and when my companion answered in a gruffmonosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from herhand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, andthen, pushing her back into the room from whence she had come, hewalked towards me again with the lamp in his hand.
 Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a fewminutes, said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little,plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which severalGerman books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down the lamp on thetop of a harmonium beside the door. I shall not keep you waiting aninstant, said he, and vanished into the darkness.
I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance ofGerman I could see that two of them were treatises on science, the othersbeing volumes of poetry. Then I walked across to the window, hopingthat 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, butotherwise everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasinessbegan to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what werethey doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where wasthe place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I knew, butwhether 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 mightnot be so secluded, after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolutestillness, 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 Iwas thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.
Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utterstillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman wasstanding in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellowlight from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I could seeat a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to myown heart. She held up one shaking finger to warn [281] me to be silent,and she shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her eyesglancing 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 speakcalmly; I would go. I should not stay here. There is no good for you todo.
 But, madam, said I, I have not yet done what I came for. I cannotpossibly leave until I have seen the machine.
 It is not worth your while to wait, she went on. You can passthrough the door; no one hinders. And then, seeing that I smiled andshook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a stepforward, with her hands wrung together. For the love of Heaven! shewhispered, get away from here before it is too late!
But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready toengage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I thought ofmy fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasantnight which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Whyshould I slink away without having carried out my commission, andwithout the payment which was my due? This woman might, for all Iknew, be a monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though hermanner had shaken me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my headand declared my intention of remaining where I was. She was about torenew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound ofseveral footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant,threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenlyand as noiselessly as she had come.
The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick manwith a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, whowas introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.
 This is my secretary and manager, said the colonel. By the way, Iwas under the impression that I left this door shut just now. I fear that youhave felt the draught.
 On the contrary, said I, I opened the door myself because I felt theroom to be a little close.
He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. Perhaps we had betterproceed to business, then, said he. Mr. Ferguson and I will take you upto see the machine.
 I had better put my hat on, I suppose.
 Oh, no, it is in the house.
 What, you dig fullers-earth in the house?
 No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that. Allwe wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what iswrong with it.
We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fatmanager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, withcorridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, thethresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who hadcrossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture abovethe ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the dampwas breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on asunconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of thelady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my twocompanions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but Icould see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellowcountryman.
Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which heunlocked. [282] Within was a small, square room, in which the three of uscould hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the colonelushered me in.
 We are now, said he, actually within the hydraulic press, and itwould be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn iton. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descendingpiston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metalfloor. There are small lateral columns of water outside which receive theforce, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiarto you. The machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness inthe working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will havethe 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 verythoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercisingenormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and pressed downthe levers which controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing sound thatthere was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water throughone of the side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the indiarubberbands which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so asnot quite to fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly thecause of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, whofollowed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical questionsas to how they should proceed to set it right. When I had made it clear tothem, I returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good lookat it to satisfy my own curiosity. It was obvious at a glance that the storyof the fullers-earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd tosuppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate apurpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large irontrough, and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallicdeposit all over it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactlywhat it was when I heard a muttered exclamation in German and saw thecadaverous 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 whichhe had told me. I was admiring your fullers-earth, said I; I think that Ishould be better able to advise you as to your machine if I knew what theexact purpose was for which it was used.
The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of myspeech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his gray eyes.
 Very well, said he, you shall know all about the machine. He tooka step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. Irushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and didnot give in the least to my kicks and shoves. Hello! I yelled. Hello!
Colonel! Let me out!
And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my heartinto my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leakingcylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp still stood upon thefloor where I had placed it when examining the trough. By its light I sawthat the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, asnone knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minutegrind 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 meout, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. Theceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraisedI could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind that[283] the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position inwhich 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 blackshadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand erect,when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to myheart.
I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the wallswere of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line ofyellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadenedas a small panel was pushed backward. For an instant I could hardlybelieve that here was indeed a door which led away from death. The nextinstant 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 afew moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me hownarrow had been my escape.
I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I foundmyself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a womanbent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candlein her right. It was the same good friend whose warning I had so foolishlyrejected.
 Come! come! she cried breathlessly. They will be here in amoment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste the soprecioustime, but come!
This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to my feetand ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. The latterled to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the soundof running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the otherfrom the floor on which we were and from the one beneath. My guidestopped and looked about her like one who is at her wits end. Then shethrew open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window ofwhich the moon was shining brightly.
 It is your only chance, said she. It is high, but it may be that youcan 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 witha lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butchers cleaver in the other. Irushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. Howquiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and itcould not be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, butI hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between mysaviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at anyrisks I was determined to go back to her assistance. The thought hadhardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing hisway past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried to hold himback.
 Fritz! Fritz! she cried in English, remember your promise after thelast time. You said it should not be again. He will be silent! Oh, he will besilent!
 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! Hedashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with hisheavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to thesill, 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 rushedoff among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood that I wasfar from being out of danger yet. Suddenly, however, as I ran, a deadlydizziness and sickness came [284] over me. I glanced down at my hand,which was throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that mythumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. Iendeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a suddenbuzzing in my ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the rosebushes.
How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been avery long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning wasbreaking 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 nightsadventure, and I sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yetbe safe from my pursuers. But to my astonishment, when I came to lookround me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had been lying inan angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower downwas a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be thevery station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were it notfor the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during thosedreadful 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 wason duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. I inquired of himwhether he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name wasstrange to him. Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting forme? No, he had not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There wasone about three miles off.
It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to waituntil I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It was a littlepast six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed, andthen the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the caseinto your hands and shall do exactly what you advise.
We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to thisextraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from theshelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed hiscuttings.
Here is an advertisement which will interest you, said he. Itappeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:
Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged twenty-six, ahydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten oclock at night, andhas not been heard of since. Was dressed inCetc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel needed to havehis machine overhauled, I fancy.
Good heavens! cried my patient. Then that explains what the girlsaid.
Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperateman, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the wayof his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave nosurvivor from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is precious, so ifyou feel equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard at once as apreliminary 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 SherlockHolmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, aplain-clothes man, and myself. [285] Bradstreet had spread an ordnancemap of the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compassesdrawing a circle with Eyford for its centre.
There you are, said he. That circle is drawn at a radius of ten milesfrom the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line.
You said ten miles, I think, sir.
It was an hours good drive.
And you think that they brought you back all that way when you wereunconscious?
They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of havingbeen lifted and conveyed somewhere.
What I cannot understand, said I, is why they should have sparedyou when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villainwas softened by the womans entreaties.
I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in mylife.
Oh, we shall soon clear up all that, said Bradstreet. Well, I havedrawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folkthat 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 thecountry is more deserted there.
And I say east, said my patient.
I am for west, remarked the plain-clothes man. There are severalquiet little villages up there.
And I am for north, said I, because there are no hills there, and ourfriend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.
Come, cried the inspector, laughing; its a very pretty diversity ofopinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give yourcasting vote to?
You are all wrong.
But we cant all be.
Oh, yes, you can. This is my point. He placed his finger in the centreof 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 horsewas fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gonetwelve 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, andhave used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place ofsilver.
We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work, saidthe 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 theyhad covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very oldhands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have gotthem right enough.
But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destinedto fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we saw agigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clumpof trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich featherover the landscape.
[286] A house on fire? asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off againon 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 thewhole place is in a blaze.
Whose house is it?
Dr. Bechers.
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 anEnglishman, and there isnt a man in the parish who has a better-linedwaistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as Iunderstand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good Berkshirebeef would do him no harm.
The station-master had not finished his speech before we were allhastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and therewas a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fireat every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engineswere vainly striving to keep the flames under.
Thats it! cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. There is the graveldrive,and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second window isthe 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 wascrushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt theywere too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. Now keepyour eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though I verymuch fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.
And Holmess fears came to be realized, for from that day to this noword has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinisterGerman, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had meta cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes drivingrapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the fugitivesdisappeared, and even Holmess ingenuity failed ever to discover the leastclue as to their whereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangementswhich they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newlysevered human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. Aboutsunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subduedthe flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place beenreduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and ironpiping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost ourunfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tinwere discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found,which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which havebeen already referred to.
How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to thespot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever amystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. Hehad evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom hadremarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the whole, itwas most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold or lessmurderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear theunconscious man out of the way of danger.
[287] Well, said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to returnonce more to London, it has been a pretty business for me! I have lostmy 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 ofbeing excellent company for the remainder of your existence.
David Soucek, 1998 The Noble BachelorThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE NOBLE BACHELORTHE LORD ST. SIMON marriage, and its curious termination, have longceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which theunfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and theirmore piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-olddrama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have neverbeen revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmeshad a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoirof him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkableepisode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when Iwas still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came homefrom an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I hadremained 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 backin one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dullpersistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, Ihad surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturatedwith the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watchingthe huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table andwondering lazily who my friends noble correspondent could be.
Here is a very fashionable epistle, I remarked as he entered. Yourmorning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tidewaiter.
Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety, heanswered, smiling, and the humbler are usually the more interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which callupon 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 clientis a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is justpossible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this newinvestigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, haveyou not?
[288] It looks like it, said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in thecorner. I have had nothing else to do.
It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I readnothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter isalways instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely youmust 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 papersand 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 relianceupon your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore,to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painfulevent which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr.
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but heassures me that he sees no objection to your cooperation, and thathe even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call atfour oclock in the afternoon, and, should you have any otherengagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as thismatter is of paramount importance.
Yours faithfully,ST. SIMON.
It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and thenoble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer sideof his right little finger, remarked Holmes as he folded up the epistle.
He says four oclock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour.
Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon thesubject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order oftime, while I take a glance as to who our client is. He picked a redcoveredvolume 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 ofBalmoral. Hum! Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable.
Born in 1846. Hes 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 inheritPlantagenet 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 toyou, Watson, for something more solid.
I have very little difficulty in finding what I want, said I, for thefacts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared torefer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry on handand that you disliked the intrusion of other matters.
Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniturevan. That is quite cleared up nowCthough, indeed, it was obvious from thefirst. Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections.
Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column ofthe Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back:
[289] A marriage has been arranged [it says] and will, if rumouris correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon,second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, theonly 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, thinlegs towards the fire.
There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers ofthe 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 againstour home product. One by one the management of the noblehouses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousinsfrom across the Atlantic. An important addition has been madeduring the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borneaway by these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shownhimself for over twenty years proof against the little gods arrows,has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with MissHatty Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire.
Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attractedmuch attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child,and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to considerablyover the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As it is anopen secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sellhis pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has noproperty of his own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it isobvious that the Californian heiress is not the only gainer by analliance which will enable her to make the easy and commontransition 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 saythat the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at St.
Georges, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends wouldbe invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house atLancaster Gate which has been taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two dayslaterCthat is, on Wednesday lastCthere is a curt announcement that thewedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed atLord Backwaters place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices whichappeared 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 thehoneymoon; 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.
[290] Perhaps we may make them less so.
Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morningpaper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, SingularOccurrence at a Fashionable Wedding:
The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into thegreatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes whichhave taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony,as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on theprevious morning; but it is only now that it has been possible toconfirm the strange rumours which have been so persistentlyfloating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush thematter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it thatno good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is acommon subject for conversation.
The ceremony, which was performed at St. Georges, HanoverSquare, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the fatherof the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, LordBackwater, Lord Eustace, and Lady Clara St. Simon (the youngerbrother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady AliciaWhittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house ofMr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had beenprepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by awoman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavouredto force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging thatshe had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after apainful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler andthe footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the housebefore this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast withthe rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition andretired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused somecomment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid thatshe had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up anulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of thefootmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thusapparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress,believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that hisdaughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunctionwith the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communicationwith the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, whichwill probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singularbusiness. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing hadtranspired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There arerumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the policehave caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the originaldisturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive,she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of thebride.
And is that all?
Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is asuggestive one.
And it isC C
That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, hasactually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a danseuse at theAllegro, and that [291] she has known the bridegroom for some years.
There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your handsnowCso far as it has been set forth in the public press.
And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not havemissed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as theclock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this willprove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I verymuch prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory.
Lord Robert St. Simon, announced our page-boy, throwing open thedoor. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed andpale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with thesteady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been tocommand and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his generalappearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forwardstoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as heswept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges andthin upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge offoppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellowgloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He advancedslowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging inhis right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses.
Good-day, Lord St. Simon, said Holmes, rising and bowing. Praytake the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Drawup 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 alreadymanaged several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that theywere 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 theaffairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you inyours.
Of course! Very right! very right! Im sure I beg pardon. As to myown case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you informing 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 correctCthis article, forexample, 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 offeran opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly byquestioning 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?
[292] 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 ladysCyour wifescharacter?
The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into thefire. You see, Mr. Holmes, said he, my wife was twenty before herfather became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining campand wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education hascome from Nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we callin England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered byany sort of traditions. She is impetuousCvolcanic, I was about to say. Sheis swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out herresolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the namewhich I have the honour to bearChe gave a little stately coughChad not Ithought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capableof heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would berepugnant to her.
Have you her photograph?
I brought this with me. He opened a locket and showed us the fullface of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivoryminiature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrousblack hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazedlong and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back toLord St. Simon.
The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed youracquaintance?
Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I met herseveral 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 faitaccompli?
I really have made no inquiries on the subject.
Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before thewedding?
Yes.
Was she in good spirits?
Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our futurelives.
Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the wedding?
She was as bright as possibleCat 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 seenthat her temper was just a little sharp. The incident, however, was tootrivial 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 thevestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into thepew. There was a moments delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed itup to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for the fall. Yetwhen I spoke to her of the [293] matter, she answered me abruptly; and inthe carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over thistrifling cause.
Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of thegeneral public were present, then?
Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is open.
This gentleman was not one of your wifes friends?
No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite acommon-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But really Ithink that we are wandering rather far from the point.
Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerfulframe of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on reentering herfathers 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 withher.
A confidential servant?
A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her totake great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon thesethings 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 wasaccustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant.
American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wifedo 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, mutteredsome words of apology, and left the room. She never came back.
But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to herroom, covered her brides dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, andwent out.
Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park incompany with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and whohad already made a disturbance at Mr. Dorans house that morning.
Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and yourrelations to her.
Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. Wehave been on a friendly footing for some yearsCI may say on a veryfriendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated herungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but youknow what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, butexceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote medreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to tellthe truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was thatI feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr.
Dorans door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her wayin, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and eventhreatening her, but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort,and I had two police fellows [294] there in private clothes, who soonpushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no goodin 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 soserious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid someterrible 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 aslikely?
I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.
Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray what is yourown theory as to what took place?
Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I havegiven you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it hasoccurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, theconsciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had theeffect 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 backCI will notsay upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to withoutsuccessCI 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 youcould 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 shallcommunicate 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 wiserheads than yours or mine, he remarked, and bowing in a stately, oldfashionedmanner he departed.
It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on alevel with his own, said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. I think that I shallhave a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this cross-questioning. I hadformed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into theroom.
My dear Holmes!
I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarkedbefore, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turnmy conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionallyvery convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote Thoreausexample.
But I have heard all that you have heard.
Without, however, the knowledge of preexisting cases which servesme so well. [295] There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some yearsback, and something on very much the same lines at Munich the yearafter the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these casesCbut, hello, here isLestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler uponthe sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.
The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gavehim a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag inhis hand. With a short greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar whichhad been offered to him.
Whats up, then? asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. You lookdissatisfied.
And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage case. I canmake neither head nor tail of the business.
Really! You surprise me.
Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slipthrough my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.
And very wet it seems to have made you, said Holmes, laying hishand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.
Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.
In heavens 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 oneas in the other.
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. I suppose you knowall 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 thematter?
I think it very unlikely.
Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this init? He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a weddingdressof watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes, and a brides wreath andveil, all discoloured and soaked in water. There, said he, putting a newwedding-ring upon the top of the pile. There is a little nut for you tocrack, Master Holmes.
Oh, indeed! said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. Youdragged them from the Serpentine?
No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. Theyhave been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clotheswere there the body would not be far off.
By the same brilliant reasoning, every mans body is to be found inthe neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arriveat 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 amafraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions andyour inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. Thisdress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.
And how?
In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the card-case isa note. [296] And here is the very note. He slapped it down upon the tablein 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 awayby Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, wasresponsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is thevery note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the doorand which lured her within their reach.
Very good, Lestrade, said Holmes, laughing. You really are veryfine indeed. Let me see it. He took up the paper in a listless way, but hisattention 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, heshrieked, youre looking at the wrong side!
On the contrary, this is the right side.
The right side? Youre mad! Here is the note written in pencil overhere.
And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, whichinterests me deeply.
Theres 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 isimportant also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you again.
Ive wasted time enough, said Lestrade, rising. I believe in hardwork 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. Hegathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door.
Just one hint to you, Lestrade, drawled Holmes before his rivalvanished; I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon isa myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person.
Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tappedhis forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.
He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put onhis overcoat. There is something in what the fellow says about outdoorwork, he remarked, so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to yourpapers for a little.
It was after five oclock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had notime to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioners manwith a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youthwhom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very greatastonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid outupon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of braceof cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pate de foie gras pie with a group ofancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my twovisitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with noexplanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered to thisaddress.
[297] Just before nine oclock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into theroom. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye whichmade 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 amsurprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that Ihear 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 perturbedexpression upon his aristocratic features.
My messenger reached you, then? asked Holmes.
Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Haveyou 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 ofthe 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 ladycould have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it wasundoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to adviseher at such a crisis.
It was a slight, sir, a public slight, said Lord St. Simon, tapping hisfingers upon the table.
You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in sounprecedented a position.
I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have beenshamefully used.
I think that I heard a ring, said Holmes. Yes, there are steps on thelanding. 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 moresuccessful. 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 andstood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into thebreast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady had takena quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still refusedto raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for herpleading face was one which it was hard to resist.
Youre angry, Robert, said she. Well, I guess you have every causeto 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 havespoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from the timewhen I saw Frank here again I just didnt know what I was doing orsaying. I only wonder I didnt fall down and do a faint right there beforethe altar.
Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave theroom while you explain this matter?
[298] If I may give an opinion, remarked the strange gentleman,weve had just a little too much secrecy over this business already. Formy part, I should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it. Hewas a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alertmanner.
Then Ill tell our story right away, said the lady. Frank here and Imet in 84, in McQuires camp, near the Rockies, where pa was workinga claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I; but then one dayfather struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had aclaim that petered out and came to nothing. The richer pa grew the poorerwas Frank; so at last pa wouldnt hear of our engagement lasting anylonger, and he took me away to Frisco. Frank wouldnt throw up hishand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without paknowing anything about it. It would only have made him mad to know, sowe just fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and makehis 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 myselfnot to marry anyone else while he lived. Why shouldnt we be marriedright away, then, said he, and then I will feel sure of you; and I wontclaim to be your husband until I come back? Well, we talked it over, andhe had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting, thatwe just did it right there; and then Frank went off to seek his fortune, andI went back to pa.
The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then hewent prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico.
After that came a long newspaper story about how a miners camp hadbeen attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Franks name amongthe killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pathought I had a decline and took me to half the doctors in Frisco. Not aword of news came for a year and more, so that I never doubted thatFrank was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to Frisco, and wecame 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 placein my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.
Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course Id have done my dutyby him. We cant command our love, but we can our actions. I went to thealtar with him with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it wasin me to be. But you may imagine what I felt when, just as I came to thealtar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me outof the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I looked againthere he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask mewhether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I didnt drop. I knowthat everything was turning round, and the words of the clergyman werejust like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I didnt know what to do. Should Istop 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 hislips to tell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, andI knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way outI dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my handwhen he returned me the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join himwhen he made the sign to me to do so. Of course I never doubted for amoment that my first duty was now to him, and I determined to do justwhatever 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 afew things packed [299] and my ulster ready. I know I ought to havespoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother andall those great people. I just made up my mind to run away and explainafterwards. I hadnt been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank outof the window at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me and thenbegan walking into the Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and followedhim. Some woman came talking something or other about Lord St. Simonto meCseemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little secret of hisown before marriage alsoCbut I managed to get away from her and soonovertook Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we drove to somelodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and that was my true weddingafter all those years of waiting. Frank had been a prisoner among theApaches, had escaped, came on to Frisco, found that I had given him upfor dead and had gone to England, followed me there, and had come uponme at last on the very morning of my second wedding.
I saw it in a paper, explained the American. It gave the name andthe church but not where the lady lived.
Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all foropenness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should like tovanish away and never see any of them againCjust sending a line to pa,perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to think of allthose lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table and waiting for meto come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made abundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them awaysomewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we should havegone 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 canthink, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and thatFrank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong ifwe were so secret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to LordSt. 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 givenyou 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 hadlistened 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 mostintimate personal affairs in this public manner.
Then you wont forgive me? You wont shake hands before I go?
Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure. He put out his handand coldly grasped that which she extended to him.
I had hoped, suggested Holmes, that you would have joined us in afriendly supper.
I think that there you ask a little too much, responded his Lordship. Imay be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardlybe expected to make merry over them. I think that with your permission Iwill now wish you all a very good-night. He included us all in asweeping bow and stalked out of the room.
Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your company, saidSherlock 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 theblundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our childrenfrom being some day citizens of the [300] same world-wide country undera flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars andStripes.
The case has been an interesting one, remarked Holmes when ourvisitors had left us, because it serves to show very clearly how simplethe explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almostinexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the sequence of eventsas 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 thelady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the otherthat she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home.
Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause herto change her mind. What could that something be? She could not havespoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company ofthe bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must besomeone from America because she had spent so short a time in thiscountry that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep aninfluence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to changeher plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a process ofexclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an American. Then whocould this American be, and why should he possess so much influenceover her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband. Her youngwomanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under strangeconditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St. Simonsnarrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the bridesmanner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping ofa bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her verysignificant allusion to claim-jumpingCwhich in miners parlance meanstaking possession of that which another person has a prior claim toCthewhole situation became absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man,and the man was either a lover or was a previous husbandCthe chancesbeing in favour of the latter.
And how in the world did you find them?
It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information inhis 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 toknow that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most selectLondon hotels.
How did you deduce the select?
By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for aglass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are notmany in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which Ivisited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the bookthat Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the daybefore, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon the veryitems which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to beforwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and beingfortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to givethem some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be betterin every way that they should make their position a little clearer both tothe general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them tomeet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment.
[301] But with no very good result, I remarked. His conduct wascertainly not very gracious.
Ah, Watson, said Holmes, smiling, perhaps you would not be verygracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you foundyourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we mayjudge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we arenever likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair upand hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is howto while away these bleak autumnal evenings.
David Soucek, 1998 The Beryl CoronetThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE BERYL CORONETHOLMES, said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window lookingdown the street, here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad thathis relatives should allow him to come out alone.
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in thepockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a bright,crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deepupon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centreof Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by thetraffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths itstill lay as white as when it fell. The gray pavement had been cleaned andscraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewerpassengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the MetropolitanStation no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentricconduct 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 asombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters,and well-cut pearl-gray trousers. Yet his actions were in absurd contrastto the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, withoccasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is littleaccustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands upand down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the mostextraordinary contortions.
What on earth can be the matter with him? I asked. He is looking upat 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 thinkthat I recognize the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you? As he spoke, theman, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell untilthe whole house resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, stillgesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes thatour smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For a while hecould not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hairlike one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. Then,suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head [302] against the wall withsuch force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centreof 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. Youare 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 youmay submit to me.
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting againsthis emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lipstight, 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!Ca trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, sosudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced, although Iam a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private afflictionalso is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in sofrightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it isnot I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way befound out of this horrible affair.
Pray compose yourself, sir, said Holmes, and let me have a clearaccount of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.
My name, answered our visitor, is probably familiar to your ears. Iam Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, ofThreadneedle Street.
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the seniorpartner in the second largest private banking concern in the City ofLondon. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremostcitizens 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 whenthe police inspector suggested that I should secure your cooperation. Icame 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 ofbreath, 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 bankingbusiness as much depends upon our being able to find remunerativeinvestments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and thenumber of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying outmoney is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. Wehave done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and thereare many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon thesecurity of their pictures, libraries, or plate.
Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a cardwas brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name,for it was that of none other thanCwell, perhaps even to you I had bettersay no more than that it was a name which is a household word all overthe earthCone of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in England. Iwas overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to sayso, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishesto hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
[303]  Mr. Holder, said he, I have been informed that you are in thehabit 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 50,000at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over frommy friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carryout that business myself. In my position you can readily understand that itis unwise to place ones 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 mostcertainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think itright to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should bepaid at once.
 I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my ownprivate purse, said I, were it not that the strain would be rather morethan it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the name of thefirm, 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 havedoubtless 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, fleshcoloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he hadnamed. There are thirty-nine enormous beryls, said he, and the price ofthe gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the worthof the coronet at double the sum which I have asked. I am prepared toleave it with you as my security.
I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexityfrom it to my illustrious client.
 You doubt its value? he asked.
 Not at all. I only doubtC C
 The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest aboutthat. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that Ishould be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter of form. Is thesecurity sufficient?
 Ample.
 You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof ofthe confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard ofyou. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossipupon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with everypossible precaution because I need not say that a great public scandalwould be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any injury to it would bealmost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the worldto match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. I leave it withyou, however, with every confidence, and I shall call for it in person onMonday morning.
Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more; but, callingfor my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty 1000 notes. When I wasalone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table infront of me, I could not but think with some misgivings of the immenseresponsibility which it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, asit was a national possession, a horrible [304] scandal would ensue if anymisfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever consented totake charge of it. However, it was too late to alter the matter now, so Ilocked 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 soprecious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers safes had been forcedbefore now, and why should not mine be? If so, how terrible would be theposition in which I should find myself! I determined, therefore, that forthe next few days I would always carry the case backward and forwardwith me, so that it might never be really out of my reach. With thisintention, I called a cab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carryingthe jewel with me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs andlocked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.
And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you tothoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep out ofthe house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three maid-servantswho have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliabilityis quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid,has only been in my service a few months. She came with an excellentcharacter, however, and has always given me satisfaction. She is a verypretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung aboutthe place. That is the only drawback which we have found to her, but webelieve her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.
So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it will nottake me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur.
He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. HolmesCa grievousdisappointment. I have no doubt that I am myself to blame. People tell methat I have spoiled him. Very likely I have. When my dear wife died I feltthat he was all I had to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade evenfor a moment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps itwould have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I meant it forthe best.
It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in mybusiness, 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 ofmoney. When he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club,and there, having charming manners, he was soon the intimate of anumber of men with long purses and expensive habits. He learned to playheavily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again andagain to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon hisallowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried more thanonce to break away from the dangerous company which he was keeping,but each time the influence of his friend, Sir George Burnwell, wasenough to draw him back again.
And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir GeorgeBurnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequentlybrought him to my house, and I have found myself that I could hardlyresist the fascination of his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of theworld to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, abrilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think ofhim in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I amconvinced from his cynical speech and the look which I have caught inhis eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so,too, thinks my little Mary, who has a womans quick insight intocharacter.
[305] And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; butwhen my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world Iadopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. She isa sunbeam in my houseC sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful managerand 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 onlyone matter has she ever gone against my wishes. Twice my boy has askedher to marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she hasrefused him. I think that if anyone could have drawn him into the rightpath it would have been she, and that his marriage might have changedhis whole life; but now, alas! it is too lateCforever too late!
Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and Ishall continue with my miserable story.
When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night afterdinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precioustreasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of myclient. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am sure, left theroom; but I cannot swear that the door was closed. Mary and Arthur weremuch interested and wished to see the famous coronet, but I thought itbetter not to disturb it.
 Where have you put it? asked Arthur.
 In my own bureau.
 Well, I hope to goodness the house wont be burgled during thenight, said he.
 It is locked up, I answered.
 Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I haveopened 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 hesaid. He followed me to my room, however, that night with a very graveface.
 Look here, dad, said he with his eyes cast down, can you let mehave 200?
 No, I cannot! I answered sharply. I have been far too generous withyou in money matters.
 You have been very kind, said he, but I must have this money, orelse 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, saidhe. 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 andleft the room without another word.
When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasurewas safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round the house to seethat all was secureCa duty which I usually leave to Mary but which Ithought it well to perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs Isaw Mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed andfastened as I approached.
 Tell me, dad, said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, did yougive 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 hasonly been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is hardly safeand should be stopped.
[306]  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 mayhave any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question me uponany 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 beparticularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mindtended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. About two in themorning, then, I was awakened by some sound in the house. It had ceasedere I was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as though awindow had gently closed somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears.
Suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps movingsoftly in the next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear, andpeeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.
 Arthur! I screamed, you villain! you thief! How dare you touch thatcoronet?
The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressedonly in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding thecoronet in his hands. He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it withall his strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned as paleas death. I snatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, withthree of the beryls in it, was missing.
 You blackguard! I shouted, beside myself with rage. You havedestroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewelswhich 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 callyou a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off anotherpiece?
 You have called me names enough, said he; I will not stand it anylonger. I shall not say another word about this business, since you havechosen to insult me. I will leave your house in the morning and make myown way in the world.
 You shall leave it in the hands of the police! I cried, half-mad withgrief and rage. I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.
 You shall learn nothing from me, said he with a passion such as Ishould not have thought was in his nature. If you choose to call thepolice, let the police find what they can.
By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my voice inmy anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of thecoronet and of Arthurs face, she read the whole story and, with a scream,fell down senseless on the ground. I sent the house-maid for the policeand put the investigation into their hands at once. When the inspector anda constable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with hisarms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge him withtheft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private matter, but had becomea public one, since the ruined coronet was national property. I wasdetermined that the law should have its way in everything.
[307]  At least, said he, you will not have me arrested at once. Itwould be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house forfive minutes.
 That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what youhave stolen, said I. And then, realizing the dreadful position in which Iwas placed, I implored him to remember that not only my honour but thatof one who was far greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened toraise a scandal which would convulse the nation. He might avert it all ifhe 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 inthe act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. If you butmake such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the berylsare, 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 forany words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for it. I calledin the inspector and gave him into custody. A search was made at oncenot only of his person but of his room and of every portion of the housewhere he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of themcould be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all ourpersuasions 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 toimplore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The police haveopenly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. You may goto any expense which you think necessary. I have already offered areward of 1000. My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, mygems, 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 browsknitted 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 ofArthurs. 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 fourand-twenty.
This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to heralso.
Terrible! She is even more affected than I.
You have neither of you any doubt as to your sons guilt?
How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronetin his hands.
I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of thecoronet at all injured?
Yes, it was twisted.
Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straightenit?
God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me. But itis too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If his purpose wereinnocent, why did he not say so?
[308] Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? Hissilence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several singular pointsabout the case. What did the police think of the noise which awoke youfrom your sleep?
They considered that it might be caused by Arthurs closing hisbedroom door.
A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so asto wake a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance ofthese gems?
They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in thehope of finding them.
Have they thought of looking outside the house?
Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden hasalready been minutely examined.
Now, my dear sir, said Holmes, is it not obvious to you now thatthis matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the policewere at first inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a simple case; tome it seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is involved by yourtheory. You suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, atgreat risk, to your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out yourcoronet, broke off by main force a small portion of it, went off to someother place, concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skillthat nobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six intothe room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger of beingdiscovered. 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 toglancing 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 weredeeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. I confess that theguilt of the bankers son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to hisunhappy father, but still I had such faith in Holmess judgment that I feltthat there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfiedwith the accepted explanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way outto the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hatdrawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client appeared tohave taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had beenpresented to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me overhis business affairs. A short railway journey and a shorter walk brought usto Fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier.
Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back alittle 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 narrowpath between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the kitchendoor, and forming the tradesmens entrance. On the left ran a lane whichled to the stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being apublic, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing at thedoor and walked slowly all round the house, across the front, down thetradesmens 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 andwaited by the fire until he should return. We were sitting there in silencewhen the door opened [309] and a young lady came in. She was ratherabove the middle height, slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed thedarker against the absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I haveever seen such deadly paleness in a womans face. Her lips, too, werebloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept silentlyinto the room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than thebanker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in her as shewas evidently a woman of strong character, with immense capacity forself-restraint. Disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncleand 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 womansinstincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorryfor having acted so harshly.
Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?
Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspecthim.
How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with thecoronet in his hand?
Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take my wordfor it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more. It is sodreadful to think of our dear Arthur in prison!
I shall never let it drop until the gems are foundCnever, Mary! Youraffection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. Farfrom hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman down fromLondon 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 thestable lane now.
The stable lane? She raised her dark eyebrows. What can he hope tofind there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you will succeed inproving, what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin Arthur is innocent ofthis 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 askyou 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 Icame down.
You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fastenall the windows?
Yes.
Were they all fastened this morning?
Yes.
You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked toyour uncle last night that she had been out to see him?
Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and whomay have heard uncles remarks about the coronet.
[310] 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 bankerimpatiently, when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet inhis 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 mether 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. Hisname is Francis Prosper.
He stood, said Holmes, to the left of the doorCthat is to say, fartherup 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 ladys expressive blackeyes. Why, you are like a magician, said she. How do you know that?
She smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmess thin, eagerface.
I should be very glad now to go upstairs, said he. I shall probablywish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better take alook at the lower windows before I go up.
He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at thelarge one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he openedand made a very careful examination of the sill with his powerfulmagnifying lens. Now we shall go upstairs, said he at last.
The bankers dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber,with a gray carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to thebureau first and looked hard at the lock.
Which key was used to open it? he asked.
That which my son himself indicatedCthat of the cupboard of thelumber-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 wakeyou. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a look atit. He opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon thetable. It was a magnificent specimen of the jewellers art, and the thirtysixstones were the finest that I have ever seen. At one side of the coronetwas a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been tornaway.
Now, Mr. Holder, said Holmes, here is the corner whichcorresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg thatyou 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 withoutresult. I feel it give a little, said he; but, though I am exceptionallystrong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to break it. An ordinaryman could not do it. Now, what do you think would happen if I did breakit, Mr. Holder? There would be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell methat all this happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heardnothing of it?
[311] 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, MissHolder?
I confess that I still share my uncles 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 luckduring this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do notsucceed in clearing the matter up. With your permission, Mr. Holder, Ishall now continue my investigations outside.
He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that anyunnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an hour ormore he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow andhis features as inscrutable as ever.
I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr. Holder, saidhe; 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 Gods sake, what was this dark business which was acted inmy house last night?
If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow morningbetween 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 onlythat I get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum I maydraw.
I would give my fortune to have them back.
Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then. Goodbye;it is just possible that I may have to come over here again beforeevening.
It was obvious to me that my companions mind was now made upabout the case, although what his conclusions were was more than I couldeven dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward journey Iendeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always glided away tosome other topic, until at last I gave it over in despair. It was not yet threewhen we found ourselves in our room once more. He hurried to hischamber, and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a commonloafer. With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, andhis worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.
I think that this should do, said he, glancing into the glass above thefireplace. I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I fearthat it wont do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may be followinga will-o-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I hope that I may beback in a few hours. He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon thesideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting thisrude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition.
I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellentspirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked itdown 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?
[312] Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some timebefore I get back. Dont 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 sinceI saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet littleproblem, and I would not have missed it for a good deal. However, I mustnot sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable clothes off andreturn to my highly respectable self.
I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfactionthan his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there was evena touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a fewminutes later I heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he wasoff once more upon his congenial hunt.
I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I retiredto my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days andnights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness causedme no surprise. I do not know at what hour he came in, but when I camedown to breakfast in the morning there he was with a cup of coffee in onehand and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible.
You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson, said he, butyou remember that our client has rather an early appointment thismorning.
Why, it is after nine now, I answered. I should not be surprised ifthat were he. I thought I heard a ring.
It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the changewhich had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad andmassive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed tome at least a shade whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargywhich was even more painful than his violence of the morning before, andhe 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 inthe world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrowcomes 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, insorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might havebeen well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. It is tothat remark that she refers in this note:
MY DEAREST UNCLE:
I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and that if I hadacted differently this terrible misfortune might never haveoccurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again behappy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you forever. Donot 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 illserviceto me. In life or in death, I am everYour lovingMARY.
[313] What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think itpoints to suicide?
No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution. Itrust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles.
Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you havelearned something! Where are the gems?
You would not think 1000 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 apen. Better make it out for 4000.
With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmeswalked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold withthree 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 hehugged his recovered gems to his bosom.
There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder, said Sherlock Holmesrather 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 thatnoble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should beproud 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 knowthat the truth is known.
He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interviewwith 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 detailswhich were not yet quite clear to me. Your news of this morning,however, may open his lips.
For heavens 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. Andlet me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for youto hear: there has been an understanding between Sir George Burnwelland your niece Mary. They have now fled together.
My Mary? Impossible!
It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you noryour son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him intoyour family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in EnglandCaruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart orconscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When he breathed hisvows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herselfthat 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 nearlyevery evening.
I cannot, and I will not, believe it! cried the banker with an ashenface.
I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Yourniece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped downand talked to her lover [314] through the window which leads into thestable lane. His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so longhad he stood there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for goldkindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. I have no doubt that sheloved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishesall other loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had hardlylistened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, onwhich she closed the window rapidly and told you about one of theservants escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectlytrue.
Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you, but heslept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In themiddle 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 alongthe passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. Petrified withastonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the darkto see what would come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged fromthe room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that shecarried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, andhe, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain nearyour door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He sawher stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in thegloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passingquite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain.
As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without ahorrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that shewas gone he realized how crushing a misfortune this would be for you,and how all-important it was to set it right. He rushed down, just as hewas, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow, andran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. SirGeorge Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there wasa struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, andhis opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son struck Sir George andcut him over the eye. Then something suddenly snapped, and your son,finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed thewindow, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronethad been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten itwhen you appeared upon the scene.
Is it possible? gasped the banker.
You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when hefelt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain thetrue state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved littleenough 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 thecoronet, 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 fellowwanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. Howcruelly I have misjudged him!
When I arrived at the house, continued Holmes, I at once went verycarefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow whichmight help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening before, andalso that there had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. I passedalong the tradesmens path, but found it all trampled down andindistinguishable. Just beyond it, [315] however, at the far side of thekitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man, whose roundimpressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I could eventell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly tothe door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, whileWooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at thetime that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you hadalready spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed round thegarden without seeing anything more than random tracks, which I took tobe the police; but when I got into the stable lane a very long and complexstory was written in the snow in front of me.
There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a seconddouble line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. Iwas at once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was yourson. The first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and ashis tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it wasobvious that he had passed after the other. I followed them up and foundthey led to the hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow awaywhile waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred yardsor more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, where thesnow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and, finally, where afew drops of blood had fallen, to show me that I was not mistaken. Bootshad then run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood showedthat it was he who had been hurt. When he came to the highroad at theother end, I found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was anend to that clue.
On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the silland framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once seethat someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an instepwhere the wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then beginning tobe able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. A man had waitedoutside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed had beenoverseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him;they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing injurieswhich 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 thecoronet?
It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded theimpossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there onlyremained your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why shouldyour son allow himself to be accused in their place? There could be nopossible reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there was an excellentexplanation why he should retain her secretCthe more so as the secret wasa disgraceful one. When I remembered that you had seen her at thatwindow, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, myconjecture became a certainty.
And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, forwho else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel toyou? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was avery limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had heardof him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It musthave been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems. Eventhough he knew that Arthur had discovered him, [316] he might still flatterhimself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word withoutcompromising his own family.
Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. Iwent in the shape of a loafer to Sir Georges house, managed to pick upan acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his headthe night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sureby buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down toStreatham 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 andchanged my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then, for Isaw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I knew thatso astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter. I wentand saw him. At first, of course, he denied everything. But when I gavehim every particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down alife-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I clapped apistol to his head before he could strike. Then he became a little morereasonable. I told him that we would give him a price for the stones heheldC1000 apiece. That brought out the first signs of grief that he hadshown. Why, dash it all! said he, Ive let them go at six hundred for thethree! 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 apiece. Then I lookedin upon your son, told him that all was right, and eventually got to my bedabout two oclock, after what I may call a really hard days work.
A day which has saved England from a great public scandal, said thebanker, rising. Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall notfind me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeedexceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy toapologize to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to what youtell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill caninform me where she is now.
I think that we may safely say, returned Holmes, that she iswherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that whateverher sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment.
David Soucek, 1998 The Copper BeechesThe Adventures of Sherlock HolmesTHE COPPER BEECHESTO THE man who loves art for its own sake, remarked SherlockHolmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily Telegraph, itis frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that thekeenest 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 ourcases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound tosay, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much tothe many causes clbres and sensational trials in which I have figuredbut rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in themselves,[317] but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and oflogical synthesis which I have made my special province.
And yet, said I, smiling, I cannot quite hold myself absolved fromthe charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records.
You have erred, perhaps, he observed, taking up a glowing cinderwith the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which waswont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than ameditative moodCyou have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour andlife into each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the taskof placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which isreally the only notable feature about the thing.
It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter, Iremarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism which Ihad more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friends singularcharacter.
No, it is not selfishness or conceit, said he, answering, as was hiswont, my thoughts rather than my words. If I claim full justice for myart, it is because it is an impersonal thingCa thing beyond myself. Crime iscommon. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon thecrime that you should dwell. You have degraded what should have been acourse of lectures into a series of tales.
It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast oneither side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A thick fogrolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposingwindows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellowwreaths. Our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and glimmer ofchina and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmeshad been silent all the morning, dipping continuously into theadvertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, havingapparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temperto lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.
At the same time, he remarked after a pause, during which he had satpuffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, you can hardly beopen to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you havebeen so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat ofcrime, in its legal sense, at all. The small matter in which I endeavouredto help the King of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss MarySutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, andthe incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outside thepale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear that you may havebordered on the trivial.
The end may have been so, I answered, but the methods I hold tohave been novel and of interest.
Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservantpublic, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by hisleft 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 greatcases are past. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise andoriginality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating intoan agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to youngladies 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. Readit! He tossed a crumpled letter across to me.
[318] 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 orshould not accept a situation which has been offered to me asgoverness. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do notinconvenience 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 rememberthat the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim atfirst, 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. Shewas plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like aplovers egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her ownway to make in the world.
You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure, said she, as mycompanion 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 askadvice, I thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what Ishould do.
Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything that Ican to serve you.
I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner andspeech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching fashion, andthen composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tipstogether, to listen to her story.
I have been a governess for five years, said she, in the family ofColonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel received anappointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his children over toAmerica with him, so that I found myself without a situation. I advertised,and I answered advertisements, but without success. At last the littlemoney which I had saved began to run short, and I was at my wits end asto what I should do.
There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End calledWestaways, and there I used to call about once a week in order to seewhether anything had turned up which might suit me. Westaway was thename of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by MissStoper. She sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are seekingemployment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one,when she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything whichwould suit them.
Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office asusual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously stoutman with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down infold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on hisnose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in hegave 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! [319] He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands togetherin the most genial fashion. He was such a comfortable-looking man that itwas 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 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.
 Oh, tut, tut! sweatingCrank sweating! he cried, throwing his fathands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. How couldanyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions andaccomplishments?
 My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine, said I. Alittle French, a little German, music, and drawingC C
 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 itis in a nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a childwho 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 tocondescend to accept anything under the three figures? Your salary withme, madam, would commence at 100 a year.
You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such anoffer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeingperhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book andtook out a note.
 It is also my custom, said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashionuntil his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases ofhis face, to advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand, sothat they may meet any little expenses of their journey and theirwardrobe.
It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful aman. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a greatconvenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the wholetransaction which made me wish to know a little more before I quitecommitted myself.
 May I ask where you live, sir? said I.
 Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five mileson the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dearyoung lady, and the dearest old country-house.
 And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.
 One childCone dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you couldsee him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Threegone before you could wink! He leaned back in his chair and laughed hiseyes into his head again.
I was a little startled at the nature of the childs amusement, but thefathers 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, toobey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that theywere such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. You see nodifficulty, heh?
 I should be happy to make myself useful.
 Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, youknowC faddy [320] but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dresswhich 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, myhair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut. It hasbeen considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in this offhandfashion.
 I am afraid that that is quite impossible, said I. He had beenwatching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow passover his face as I spoke.
 I am afraid that it is quite essential, said he. It is a little fancy of mywifes, and ladies fancies, you know, madam, ladies fancies must beconsulted. And so you wont 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, becausein 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 aword to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyanceupon her face that I could not help suspecting that she had lost ahandsome 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 mostexcellent offers in this fashion, said she sharply. You can hardly expectus to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you. Good-day toyou, Miss Hunter. She struck a gong upon the table, and I was shown outby the page.
Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found littleenough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, I began toask myself whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all, if thesepeople had strange fads and expected obedience on the mostextraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for theireccentricity. Very few governesses in England are getting 100 a year.
Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many people are improved bywearing it short, and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day Iwas inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I wassure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to theagency and inquire whether the place was still open when I received thisletter 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 writefrom here to ask you whether you have reconsidered yourdecision. My wife is very anxious that you should come, for shehas been much attracted by my description of you. We are willingto give 30 a quarter, or 120 a year, so as to recompense you forany little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. They arenot very exacting, after all. My wife is fond of a particular shadeof electric blue, and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in[321] the morning. You need not, however, go to the expense ofpurchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear daughterAlice (now in Philadelphia), which would, I should think, fit youvery well. Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself inany manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. Asregards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could nothelp remarking its beauty during our short interview, but I amafraid that I must remain firm upon this point, and I only hope thatthe 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 knowyour train.
Yours faithfully,JEPHRO RUCASTLE.
That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and mymind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that beforetaking the final step I should like to submit the whole matter to yourconsideration.
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 sisterof mine apply for.
What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?
Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formedsome opinion?
Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastleseemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that hiswife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear sheshould be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in everyway in order to prevent an outbreak?
That is a possible solutionCin fact, as matters stand, it is the mostprobable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household fora young lady.
But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!
Well, yes, of course the pay is goodCtoo good. That is what makes meuneasy. Why should they give you 120 a year, when they could havetheir pick for 40? There must be some strong reason behind.
I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understandafterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I feltthat you were at the back of me.
Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that yourlittle problem promises to be the most interesting which has come myway for some months. There is something distinctly novel about some ofthe features. If you should find yourself in doubt or in dangerC C
Danger! What danger do you foresee?
Holmes shook his head gravely. It would cease to be a danger if wecould define it, said he. But at any time, day or night, a telegram wouldbring me down to your help.
That is enough. She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety allswept from her face. I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in mymind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair tonight,and start for Winchester [322] to-morrow. With a few gratefulwords to Holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon herway.
At least, said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending thestairs, she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care ofherself.
And she would need to be, said Holmes gravely. I am muchmistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past.
It was not very long before my friends prediction was fulfilled. Afortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning inher direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experiencethis lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual salary, the curiousconditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, thoughwhether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or avillain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. As to Holmes, Iobserved that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted browsand an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of hishand when I mentioned it. Data! data! data! he cried impatiently. Icant make bricks without clay. And yet he would always wind up bymuttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation.
The telegram which we eventually received came late one night just asI was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down to one of thoseall-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when Iwould leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and findhim in the same position when I came down to breakfast in the morning.
He opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threwit across to me.
Just look up the trains in Bradshaw, said he, and turned back to hischemical studies.
The summons was a brief and urgent one.
Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday tomorrow[it said]. Do come! I am at my wits 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 myanalysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning.
By eleven oclock the next day we were well upon our way to the oldEnglish capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all theway down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw themdown and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a lightblue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from westto east. The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was anexhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a mans energy. All overthe countryside, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little redand gray roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light greenof the new foliage.
Are they not fresh and beautiful? I cried with all the enthusiasm of aman fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.
[323] But Holmes shook his head gravely.
Do you know, Watson, said he, that it is one of the curses of a mindwith a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to myown special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you areimpressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought whichcomes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with whichcrime may be committed there.
Good heavens! I cried. Who would associate crime with these dearold 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 Londondo not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling andbeautiful countryside.
You horrify me!
But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can doin the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile thatthe scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkards blow, does notbeget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then thewhole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint canset it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. Butlook at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most partwith poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds ofhellish 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 forhelp gone to live in Winchester, I should never have had a fear for her. Itis the five miles of country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear thatshe 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 wouldcover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct canonly be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt findwaiting for us. Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soonlearn all that Miss Hunter has to tell.
The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no distancefrom the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. Shehad 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 sovery kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Youradvice 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 tobe 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 thinlegs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.
In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with noactual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to them tosay that. But I cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my mindabout them.
What can you not understand?
Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as itoccurred. [324] When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and droveme in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifullysituated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square block of ahouse, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp and badweather. There are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and on thefourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton highroad, whichcurves past about a hundred yards from the front door. This ground infront belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of LordSouthertons preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in frontof the hall door has given its name to the place.
I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, andwas introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There wasno truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probablein your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her to bea silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not morethan thirty, I should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five.
From their conversation I have gathered that they have been marriedabout seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by thefirst wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastletold me in private that the reason why she had left them was that she hadan unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the daughter could nothave been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her position musthave been uncomfortable with her fathers young wife.
Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as infeature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was anonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to herhusband and to her little son. Her light gray eyes wandered continuallyfrom one to the other, noting every little want and forestalling it ifpossible. He was kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and onthe whole they seemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secretsorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with thesaddest look upon her face. More than once I have surprised her in tears. Ihave thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her child whichweighed upon her mind, for I have never met so utterly spoiled and so illnatureda little creature. He is small for his age, with a head which is quitedisproportionately large. His whole life appears to be spent in analternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals ofsulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be hisone idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planningthe capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would rather not talkabout the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with mystory.
I am glad of all details, remarked my friend, whether they seem toyou to be relevant or not.
I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasantthing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance andconduct 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 andwhiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I have been withthem he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take nonotice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, assilent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a mostunpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the nurseryand my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of thebuilding.
For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was veryquiet; on [325] the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast andwhispered 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. Iassure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from yourappearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will becomeyou. You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you wouldbe 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 ofblue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakablesigns of having been worn before. It could not have been a better fit if Ihad been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delightat the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. Theywere waiting for me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room,stretching along the entire front of the house, with three long windowsreaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the centralwindow, with its back turned towards it. In this I was asked to sit, andthen 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 quiteweary. 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 suddenlyremarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and that Imight change my dress and go to little Edward in the nursery.
Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactlysimilar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in thewindow, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of whichmy employer had an immense repertoire, and which he told inimitably.
Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a littlesideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he beggedme to read aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in theheart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, heordered me to cease and to change my dress.
You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to whatthe meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. Theywere always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from thewindow, so that I became consumed with the desire to see what wasgoing on behind my back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soondevised a means. My hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thoughtseized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. Onthe next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief upto my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that therewas behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. Atleast that was my first impression. At the second glance, however, Iperceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road, asmall bearded man in a gray suit, who seemed to be looking in mydirection. The road is an important highway, and there are usually peoplethere. This man, however, was leaning against the railings which borderedour field and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my handkerchief andglanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with a mostsearching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced that she had divinedthat I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind me. Sherose at once.
[326]  Jephro, said she, there is an impertinent fellow upon the roadthere 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 tohim to go away.
 Surely it would be better to take no notice.
 No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn roundand wave him away like that.
I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew downthe blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again inthe 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 mostinteresting one.
You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to belittle relation between the different incidents of which I speak. On thevery first day that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to asmall outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. As we approached it Iheard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animalmoving about.
 Look in here! said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between twoplanks. Is he not a beauty?
I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of avague figure huddled up in the darkness.
 Dont be frightened, said my employer, laughing at the start which Ihad given. Its only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really oldToller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. Wefeed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keenas mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the trespasserwhom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness sake dont you ever on anypretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for its as much as yourlife is worth.
The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to lookout of my bedroom window about two oclock in the morning. It was abeautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silveredover and almost as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the peacefulbeauty of the scene, when I was aware that something was moving underthe shadow of the copper beeches. As it emerged into the moonshine Isaw what it was. It was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, withhanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowlyacross the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side. Thatdreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not think that anyburglar could have done.
And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as youknow, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil at thebottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed, I began toamuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by rearrangingmy own little things. There was an old chest of drawers in the room, thetwo upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled thefirst two with my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I wasnaturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It struck methat it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so I took out mybunch of keys and tried to open it. The very first key fitted to perfection,and I [327] drew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I amsure 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 thesame thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itselfupon me. How could my hair have been locked in the drawer? Withtrembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew fromthe bottom my own hair. I laid the two tresses together, and I assure youthat they were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, Icould make nothing at all of what it meant. I returned the strange hair tothe drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that Ihad put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked.
I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, andI soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There wasone wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A doorwhich faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened intothis suite, but it was invariably locked. One day, however, as I ascendedthe stair, I met Mr. Rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in hishand, and a look on his face which made him a very different person tothe 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 histemples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past me without aword or a look.
This aroused my curiosity; so when I went out for a walk in thegrounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I couldsee the windows of this part of the house. There were four of them in arow, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up.
They were evidently all deserted. As I strolled up and down, glancing atthem occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as merry andjovial as ever.
 Ah! said he, you must not think me rude if I passed you without aword, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.
I assured him that I was not offended. By the way, said I, you seemto have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has theshutters up.
He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at myremark.
 Photography is one of my hobbies, said he. I have made my darkroom up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we havecome upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have ever believedit? He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as helooked at me. I read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest.
Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there wassomething about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all onfire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my share ofthat. It was more a feeling of dutyCa feeling that some good might comefrom my penetrating to this place. They talk of womans instinct; perhapsit was womans instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it wasthere, and I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass theforbidden 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 inthese deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large black linen bagwith him through the door. Recently he has been drinking hard, andyesterday evening he was very drunk; and when I came upstairs there wasthe key in the door. I have no doubt at all that he [328] had left it there.
Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was withthem, so that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently inthe 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 werethree doors in a line, the first and third of which were open. They each ledinto an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the oneand one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening light glimmereddimly through them. The centre door was closed, and across the outsideof it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked atone 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. Thisbarricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window outside,and yet I could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was notin 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 whatsecret it might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the roomand saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dimlight which shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terrorrose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed mesuddenly, and I turned and ranCran as though some dreadful hand werebehind 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 waswaiting outside.
 So, said he, smiling, it was you, then. I thought that it must bewhen I saw the door open.
 Oh, I am so frightened! I panted.
 My dear young lady! my dear young lady!Cyou cannot think howcaressing and soothing his manner wasCand what has frightened you, mydear young lady?
But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was keenlyon my guard against him.
 I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing, I answered. But itis so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran outagain. 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? Hewas still smiling in the most amiable manner.
 I am sure if I had knownC C
 Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over thatthreshold againChere in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage,and he glared down at me with the face of a demonCIll throw you to themastiff.
I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I musthave rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I foundmyself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you, Mr.
Holmes. I could not live there longer without some advice. I wasfrightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants, evenof the child. They were all horrible to me. If I could only bring you downall would be well. Of course I might have fled from the house, but mycuriosity was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was [329] soon madeup. I would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to theoffice, which is about half a mile from the house, and then returned,feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind as Iapproached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered thatToller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that evening, and Iknew that he was the only one in the household who had any influencewith the savage creature, or who would venture to set him free. I slippedin in safety and lay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeingyou. I had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester thismorning, but I must be back before three oclock, for Mr. and Mrs.
Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the evening, so that Imust 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. Myfriend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in hispockets, 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 withhim.
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 braveand sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform onemore feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quiteexceptional woman.
I will try. What is it?
We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven oclock, my friend and I.
The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, beincapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. Ifyou could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the keyupon her, you would facilitate matters immensely.
I will do it.
Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of coursethere is only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there topersonate 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 thedaughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to havegone to America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her inheight, figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, verypossibly 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 hertresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some friend ofhersCpossibly her fianceCand no doubt, as you wore the girls dress andwere so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he sawyou, and afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectlyhappy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog is let looseat night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate with her. Somuch is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case is the dispositionof the child.
What on earth has that to do with it? I ejaculated.
My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining lightas to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Dont you seethat the converse [330] is equally valid. I have frequently gained my firstreal insight into the character of parents by studying their children. Thischilds disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for crueltys sake, andwhether he derives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, orfrom 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. Athousand things come back to me which make me certain that you havehit 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 oclock. 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 reachedthe Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house.
The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal inthe light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even hadMiss 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 kitchenrug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr. Rucastles.
You have done well indeed! cried Holmes with enthusiasm. Nowlead 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 haddescribed. Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then hetried the various keys in the lock, but without success. No sound camefrom within, and at the silence Holmess face clouded over.
I trust that we are not too late, said he. I think, Miss Hunter, that wehad better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to it, andwe 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 furnituresave a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. The skylightabove was open, and the prisoner gone.
There has been some villainy here, said Holmes; this beauty hasguessed Miss Hunters intentions and has carried his victim off.
But how?
Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it. Heswung himself up onto the roof. Ah, yes, he cried, heres the end of along light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it.
But it is impossible, said Miss Hunter; the ladder was not therewhen the Rucastles went away.
He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever anddangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he whosestep I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be as well foryou to have your pistol ready.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at thedoor of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand.
Miss Hunter [331] screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight ofhim, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confronted him.
You villain! said he, wheres 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 andthieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. Ill serve you!
He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.
Hes 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 thestairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the bayingof a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying soundwhich it was dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red face andshaking limbs came staggering out at a side door.
My God! he cried. Someone has loosed the dog. Its not been fed fortwo days. Quick, quick, or itll be too late!
Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Tollerhurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzleburied in Rucastles throat, while he writhed and screamed upon theground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keenwhite teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. With muchlabour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly mangled,into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and havingdispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I did what Icould to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the dooropened, 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 wentup to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didnt let me know what you wereplanning, for I would have told you that your pains were wasted.
Ha! said Holmes, looking keenly at her. It is clear that Mrs. Tollerknows 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 onwhich I must confess that I am still in the dark.
I will soon make it clear to you, said she; and Id have done sobefore now if I could ha got out from the cellar. If theres police-courtbusiness over this, youll remember that I was the one that stood yourfriend, and that I was Miss Alices friend too.
She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasnt, from the time thather father married again. She was slighted like and had no say inanything, but it never really became bad for her until after she met Mr.
Fowler at a friends house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had rightsof her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that shenever said a word about them, but just left everything in Mr. Rucastleshands. He knew he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of ahusband coming forward, who would ask for all that the law would givehim, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her tosign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her money.
When she wouldnt do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brainfever,and for six weeks was at deaths door. Then she got better at last,all worn to a shadow, and [332] with her beautiful hair cut off; but thatdidnt make no change in her young man, and he stuck to her as true asman could be.
Ah, said Holmes, I think that what you have been good enough totell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all thatremains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system ofimprisonment?
Yes, sir.
And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of thedisagreeable 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 certainarguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interestswere the same as his.
Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman, saidMrs. Toller serenely.
And in this way he managed that your good man should have no wantof drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when yourmaster had gone out.
You have it, sir, just as it happened.
I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller, said Holmes, for youhave certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comesthe country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we hadbest escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that ourlocus standi now is rather a questionable one.
And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copperbeeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always abroken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. Theystill live with their old servants, who probably know so much ofRucastles past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowlerand Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in Southampton theday after their flight, and he is now the holder of a governmentappointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, myfriend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no furtherinterest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of hisproblems, and she is now the head of a private school at Walsall, where Ibelieve that she has met with considerable success.
David Soucek, 1998 The Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMESNew Czech edition of The MemoirsSilver BlazeFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1892, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Yellow FaceFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Feb. 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Stock-brokers ClerkFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Mar. 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Gloria Scott
First published in the Strand Magazine, Apr. 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Musgrave RitualFirst published in the Strand Magazine, May 1893, with 6 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Reigate PuzzleFirst published in the Strand Magazine, June 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget. Alternative titles: The Reigate Squire and The Reigate Squires.
The Crooked ManFirst published in the Strand Magazine, July 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Resident PatientFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Aug. 1893, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Greek InterpreterFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Sept. 1893, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Naval TreatyFirst published in the Strand Magazine in two parts, first part in Oct. 1893with 8 illustrations by Sidney Paget, second part in Nov. 1893 with 7illustrations by Paget.
The Final ProblemFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1893, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The whole collection was fist published on 13 Dec. 1893 by G. Newnes Ltd. in anedition of 10,000 copies, as third volume of The Strand Library. The first Americanedition (by Harper & Brothers, Feb. 1894) also included The Adventure of theCardboard Box, which was removed from English editions.
David Soucek, 1998The Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesSILVER BLAZEI AM afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go, said Holmes as we satdown together to our breakfast one morning.
Go! Where to?
To Dartmoor; to Kings Pyland.
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had notalready been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topicof conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a wholeday my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon hischest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with thestrongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions orremarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our newsagent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silentas 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 hispowers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of thefavourite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When,therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the sceneof 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 theway, said I.
My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me bycoming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there arepoints 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 gofurther into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me bybringing with you your very excellent field-glass.
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the cornerof a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while SherlockHolmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travellingcap,dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procuredat Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the lastone of them under the seat and offered me his cigar-case.
We are going well, said he, looking out of the window and glancingat 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 intothis matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of SilverBlaze?
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 usedrather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence.
The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete, and of such personalimportance to so many people that we are suffering from a plethora ofsurmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach theframework of factCof absolute undeniable factCfrom the embellishmentsof theorists and reporters. Then, having established [336] ourselves uponthis sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn andwhat are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. OnTuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the ownerof the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case,inviting my cooperation.
Tuesday evening! I exclaimed. And this is Thursday morning. Whydidnt you go down yesterday?
Because I made a blunder, my dear WatsonCwhich is, I am afraid, amore common occurrence than anyone would think who only knew methrough your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible thatthe most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed,especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. Fromhour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and thathis abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, anothermorning had come and I found that beyond the arrest of young FitzroySimpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to takeaction. 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 shallenumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating itto another person, and I can hardly expect your cooperation if I do notshow 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 pointsupon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which hadled to our journey.
Silver Blaze, said he, is from the Somomy stock and holds asbrilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year andhas brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, hisfortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the firstfavourite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. Hehas always, however, been a prime favourite with the racing public andhas never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormoussums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, thatthere were many people who had the strongest interest in preventingSilver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.
The fact was, of course, appreciated at Kings Pyland, where thecolonels training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guardthe favourite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode inColonel Rosss colours before he became too heavy for the weighingchair.
He has served the colonel for five years as jockey and for seven astrainer, 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 inthe stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellentcharacters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villaabout two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps onemaidservant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, butabout half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which havebeen built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others whomay wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two milesto the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is thelarger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to LordBackwater and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction themoor [337] is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaminggypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when thecatastrophe occurred.
On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual,and the stables were locked up at nine oclock. Two of the lads walked upto the trainers house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while thethird, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine themaid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, whichconsisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was awater-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty shoulddrink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was verydark and the path ran across the open moor.
Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables when a manappeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As she stepped intothe circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was aperson of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with acloth cap. He wore gaiters and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. Shewas most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and bythe nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather overthirty than under it.
 Can you tell me where I am? he asked. I had almost made up mymind to sleep on the moor when I saw the light of your lantern.
 You are close to the Kings Pyland training stables, said she.
 Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck! he cried. I understand that astable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper whichyou are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proudto earn the price of a new dress, would you? He took a piece of whitepaper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. See that the boy has this tonight,and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.
She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner and ran past himto the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. Itwas already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. Shehad begun to tell him of what had happened when the stranger came upagain.
 Good-evening, said he, looking through the window. I wanted tohave a word with you. The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticedthe corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.
 What business have you here? asked the lad.
 Its business that may put something into your pocket, said theother. Youve two horses in for the Wessex CupCSilver Blaze andBayard. Let me have the straight tip and you wont be a loser. Is it a factthat at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in fivefurlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?
 So, youre one of those damned touts! cried the lad. Ill show youhow we serve them in Kings Pyland. He sprang up and rushed acrossthe stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as sheran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through thewindow. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with thehound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed tofind any trace of him.
One moment, I asked. Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with thedog, leave the door unlocked behind him?
Excellent, Watson, excellent! murmured my companion. Theimportance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire toDartmoor yesterday [338] to clear the matter up. The boy locked the doorbefore he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a manto get through.
Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent amessage to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker wasexcited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quiterealized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, andMrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. Inreply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of hisanxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stablesto see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she couldhear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties hepulled on his large mackintosh and left the house.
Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning to find that her husbandhad not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and setoff for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon achair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favourites stallwas empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.
The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harnessroomwere quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, forthey are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence ofsome powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was leftto sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search ofthe absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reasontaken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near thehouse, from which all the neighbouring moors were visible, they not onlycould see no signs of the missing favourite, but they perceived somethingwhich warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.
About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Strakers overcoat wasflapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shapeddepression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead bodyof the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blowfrom some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where therewas a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument.
It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorouslyagainst his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, whichwas clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a redand black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having beenworn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited thestables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive asto the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the samestranger 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 fatalhollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. But from thatmorning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has beenoffered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news hascome of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of hissupper left by the stable-lad contained an appreciable quantity ofpowdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dishon the same night without any ill effect.
Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and statedas baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police have donein the matter.
Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is anextremely [339] competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination hemight rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptlyfound and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. Therewas little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villaswhich I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. Hewas a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortuneupon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel bookmakingin the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his bettingbookshows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had beenregistered by him against the favourite. On being arrested he volunteeredthe statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of gettingsome information about the Kings Pyland horses, and also aboutDesborough, the second favourite, which was in charge of Silas Brown atthe Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted asdescribed upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinisterdesigns and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. Whenconfronted with his cravat he turned very pale and was utterly unable toaccount for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wetclothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, andhis stick, which was a penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such aweapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries towhich the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no woundupon his person, while the state of Strakers knife would show that one atleast of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it allin a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitelyobliged 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 factswere familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relativeimportance, nor their connection to each other.
Is it not possible, I suggested, that the incised wound upon Strakermay have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles whichfollow any brain injury?
It is more than possible; it is probable, said Holmes. In that case oneof the main points in favour of the accused disappears.
And yet, said I, even now I fail to understand what the theory of thepolice can be.
I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections toit, returned my companion. The police imagine, I take it, that thisFitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some wayobtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse,with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle ismissing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the dooropen behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor when hewas either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued.
Simpson beat out the trainers brains with his heavy stick withoutreceiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in selfdefence,and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hidingplace,or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be nowwandering 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 thespot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further thanour present position.
[340] 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 ofDartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the stationCthe one a tall,fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blueeyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coatand gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eyeglass. The latter wasColonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory; aman who was rapidly making his name in the English detective service.
I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes, said thecolonel. The inspector here has done all that could possibly besuggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poorStraker 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 theinspector. We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubtlike to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as wedrive.
A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and wererattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory wasfull of his case and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threwin an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back withhis arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened withinterest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating histheory, 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 recognizethat the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some newdevelopment may upset it.
How about Strakers knife?
We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in hisfall.
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. Theevidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest inthe disappearance of the favourite. He lies under suspicion of havingpoisoned the stable-boy; he was undoubtedly out in the storm; he wasarmed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead manshand. 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 toinjure it, why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found inhis 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 asthis? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished themaid to give to the stable-boy?
He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. Butyour other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not astranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer.
The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having servedits purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of oneof 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 anew [341] element has been introduced into the case which may accountfor his leading the horse from the stable.
Holmes pricked up his ears.
We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encampedon Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place.
On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was someunderstanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not havebeen leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they nothave him now?
It is certainly possible.
The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examinedevery stable and outhouse 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. AsDesborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest inthe disappearance of the favourite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known tohave 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 connecthim with the affair.
And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of theMapleton stables?
Nothing at all.
Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A fewminutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa withoverhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across apaddock, lay a long gray-tiled outbuilding. In every other direction thelow curves of the moor, bronze-coloured from the fading ferns, stretchedaway to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by acluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapletonstables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continuedto lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirelyabsorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that heroused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.
Excuse me, said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at himin some surprise. I was day-dreaming. There was a gleam in his eyesand a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as Iwas to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could notimagine 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 twoquestions 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 his pockets atthe time of his death, Inspector?
I have the things themselves in the sitting-room if you would care tosee them.
I should be very glad. We all filed into the front room and sat roundthe central table while the inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid asmall heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches oftallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of sealskin with half anounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, fivesovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few [342] papers, and anivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss &Co., London.
This is a very singular knife, said Holmes, lifting it up and examiningit minutely. I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it is the onewhich was found in the dead mans grasp. Watson, this knife is surely inyour line?
It is what we call a cataract knife, said I.
I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. Astrange 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 disc of cork which we found beside hisbody, said the inspector. His wife tells us that the knife had lain uponthe dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It wasa poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at themoment.
Very possibly. How about these papers?
Three of them are receipted hay-dealers accounts. One of them is aletter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliners accountfor thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of BondStreet, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was afriend of her husbands, and that occasionally his letters were addressedhere.
Madame Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes, remarkedHolmes, glancing down the account. Twenty-two guineas is rather heavyfor 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 waitingin the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the inspectorssleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the printof 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 helpus, 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 dovecolouredsilk 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 hefollowed the inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us tothe hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was thefurze-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, butplaced there.
Yes, it was laid across the bush.
You fill me with interest. I perceive that the ground has been trampledup 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 allstood upon that.
Excellent.
[343] In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one ofFitzroy Simpsons shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze.
My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself! Holmes took the bag, and,descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more centralposition. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin uponhis hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him.
Hullo! said he suddenly. Whats this? It was a wax vesta, half burned,which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip ofwood.
I cannot think how I came to overlook it, said the inspector with anexpression of annoyance.
It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was lookingfor it.
What! you expected to find it?
I thought it not unlikely.
He took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions of eachof them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim ofthe hollow and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.
I am afraid that there are no more tracks, said the inspector. I haveexamined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction.
Indeed! said Holmes, rising. I should not have the impertinence todo it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk overthe 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 mycompanions quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch.
I wish you would come back with me, Inspector, said he. There areseveral points on which I should like your advice, and especially as towhether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horses name fromthe entries for the cup.
Certainly not, cried Holmes with decision. I should let the namestand.
The colonel bowed. I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir, saidhe. You will find us at poor Strakers house when you have finishedyour walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock.
He turned back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowlyacross the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stable ofMapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold,deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and bramblescaught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wastedupon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.
Its this way, Watson, said he at last. We may leave the question ofwho killed John Straker for the instant and confine ourselves to findingout what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke awayduring or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is avery gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have beeneither to return to Kings Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should herun wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. Andwhy should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out whenthey 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 andgain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear.
Where is he, then?
I have already said that he must have gone to Kings Pyland or toMapleton. [344] He is not at Kings Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton.
Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. Thispart of the moor, as the inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But itfalls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is along hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Mondaynight. 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 moreminutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmess request Iwalked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not takenfifty paces before I heard him give a shout and saw him waving his handto me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in frontof him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted theimpression.
See the value of imagination, said Holmes. It is the one qualitywhich Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, actedupon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed.
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile ofdry, 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 morequite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stoodpointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A mans track was visiblebeside the horses.
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 KingsPyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyeswere on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side and saw to mysurprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction.
One for you, Watson, said Holmes when I pointed it out. You havesaved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our owntraces. Let us follow the return track.
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up tothe gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran outfrom them.
We dont want any loiterers about here, said he.
I only wished to ask a question, said Holmes, with his finger andthumb in his waistcoat pocket. Should I be too early to see your master,Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five oclock to-morrow morning?
Bless you, sir, if anyone is about he will be, for he is always the firststirring. 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 yourmoney. Afterwards, if you like.
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn fromhis pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with ahunting-crop swinging in his hand.
Whats this, Dawson! he cried. No gossiping! Go about yourbusiness! And you, what the devil do you want here?
Ten minutes talk with you, my good sir, said Holmes in the sweetestof voices.
Ive no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangers here. Beoff, or you may find a dog at your heels.
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainers ear.
He started violently and flushed to the temples.
Its a lie! he shouted. An infernal lie!
[345] Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it overin your parlour?
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 beforeHolmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change ashad been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face wasashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his handsshook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. Hisbullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along atmy companions side like a dog with its master.
Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done, said he.
There must be no mistake, said Holmes, looking round at him. Theother winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
Oh, no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change itfirst or not?
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. No, dont, saidhe, I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, orC C
Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!
Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow. Heturned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the otherheld out to him, and we set off for Kings Pyland.
A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than MasterSilas Brown I have seldom met with, remarked Holmes as we trudgedalong together.
He has the horse, then?
He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what hisactions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I waswatching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in theimpressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again,of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I describedto him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, heperceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out toit, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead whichhas given the favourite its name, that chance had put in his power the onlyhorse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then Idescribed how his first impulse had been to lead him back to KingsPyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horseuntil the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it atMapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only ofsaving his own skin.
But his stables had been searched?
Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge.
But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since hehas every interest in injuring it?
My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows thathis only hope of mercy is to produce it safe.
Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely toshow much mercy in any case.
The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methodsand tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of beingunofficial. I dont know whether you observed it, Watson, but thecolonels manner has been just a [346] trifle cavalier to me. I am inclinednow to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him aboutthe horse.
Certainly not without your permission.
And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the questionof 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 friends words. We had only been a fewhours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which hehad begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a wordmore could I draw from him until we were back at the trainers house.
The colonel and the inspector were awaiting us in the parlour.
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 colonels 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 difficultiesin the way, said he. I have every hope, however, that your horse willstart 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 towait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to themaid.
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 weare 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 hisshoulders. I should prefer to have the horse.
I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when heentered 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 dooropen for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leanedforward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
You have a few sheep in the paddock, he said. Who attends tothem?
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 andrubbed 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 epidemicamong the sheep. Drive on, coachman!
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinionwhich he had formed of my companions ability, but I saw by theinspectors face that his attention had been keenly aroused.
You consider that to be important? he asked.
Exceedingly so.
[347] Is there any point to which you would wish to draw myattention?
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 forWinchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us byappointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the coursebeyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in theextreme.
I have seen nothing of my horse, said he.
I suppose that you would know him when you saw him? askedHolmes.
The colonel was very angry. I have been on the turf for twenty yearsand never was asked such a question as that before, said he. A childwould know Silver Blaze with his white forehead and his mottled offforeleg.
How is the betting?
Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to oneyesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you canhardly get three to one now.
Hum! said Holmes. Somebody knows something, that is clear.
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand I glanced atthe 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, 300. Third, 200. New course(one mile and five furlongs).
1. Mr. Heath Newtons The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.
2. Colonel Wardlaws Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.
3. Lord Backwaters Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.
4. Colonel Rosss Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.
5. Duke of Balmorals Iris. Yellow and black stripes.
6. Lord Singlefords Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.
We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your word, said thecolonel. Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favourite?
Five to four against Silver Blaze! roared the ring. Five to fouragainst Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four onthe 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 greatagitation. But I dont see him. My colours have not passed.
Only five have passed. This must be he.
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosureand cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red ofthe colonel.
Thats not my horse, cried the owner. That beast has not a white hairupon 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! Anexcellent start! he cried suddenly. There they are, coming round thecurve!
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. Thesix horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them,but halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front.
Before they reached us, [348] however, Desboroughs bolt was shot, andthe colonels horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good sixlengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmorals Iris making a bad third.
Its my race, anyhow, gasped the colonel, passing his hand over hiseyes. I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Dont you thinkthat you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?
Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round andhave a look at the horse together. Here he is, he continued as we madeour way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friendsfind admittance. You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits ofwine, 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 faker and took the liberty of running himjust as he was sent over.
My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit andwell. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies forhaving doubted your ability. You have done me a great service byrecovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could layyour 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 underobligations to you, Mr. Holmes, said he, but I must regard what youhave just said as either a very bad joke or an insult.
Sherlock Holmes laughed. I assure you that I have not associated youwith the crime, Colonel, said he. The real murderer is standingimmediately behind you. He stepped past and laid his hand upon theglossy 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 inself-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthyof your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a littleon this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fittingtime.
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as wewhirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one toColonel Ross as well as to myself as we listened to our companionsnarrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor trainingstablesupon that Monday night, and the means by which he hadunravelled them.
I confess, said he, that any theories which I had formed from thenewspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there wereindications there, had they not been overlaid by other details whichconcealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction thatFitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that theevidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in thecarriage, just as we reached the trainers house, that the immensesignificance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may rememberthat I was [349] distrait and remained sitting after you had all alighted. Iwas marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked soobvious a clue.
I confess, said the colonel, that even now I cannot see how it helpsus.
It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is byno means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible.
Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detectit and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the mediumwhich would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could thisstranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainersfamily that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to supposethat he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the verynight when a dish happened to be served which would disguise theflavour. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated fromthe case, and our attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the only twopeople who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. Theopium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for theothers 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 thesilence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. TheSimpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, andyet, though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had notbarked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnightvisitor was someone whom the dog knew well.
I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker wentdown to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. Forwhat purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug hisown stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have beencases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of moneyby laying against their own horses through agents and then preventingthem from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimesit is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that thecontents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion.
And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife whichwas found in the dead mans hand, a knife which certainly no sane manwould choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knifewhich is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And itwas to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, withyour wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible tomake a slight nick upon the tendons of a horses ham, and to do itsubcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treatedwould develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain inexercise 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 thehorse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainlyroused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It wasabsolutely necessary to do it in the open air.
I have been blind! cried the colonel. Of course that was why heneeded the candle and struck the match.
Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enoughto discover not only the method of the crime but even its motives. As aman of the [350] world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry otherpeoples bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough todo to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading adouble life and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the billshowed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensivetastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect thatthey can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questionedMrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and, having satisfiedmyself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the millinersaddress and felt that by calling there with Strakers photograph I couldeasily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire.
From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to ahollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight haddropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it upCwith some idea, perhaps,that he might use it in securing the horses leg. Once in the hollow, he hadgot behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature, frightened atthe sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling thatsome mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struckStraker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken offhis overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knifegashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?
Wonderful! cried the colonel. Wonderful! You might have beenthere!
My final shot was, I confess, a very long one. It struck me that soastute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nickingwithout a little practise. What could he practise on? My eyes fell upon thesheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed thatmy surmise was correct.
When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who hadrecognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire,who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensivedresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head andears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.
You have explained all but one thing, cried the colonel. Where wasthe horse?
Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbours. We musthave an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if Iam not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. Ifyou care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to giveyou any other details which might interest you.
David Soucek, 1998 The Yellow FaceThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE YELLOW FACE[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerouscases in which my companions singular gifts have made us thelisteners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it isonly natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes thanupon his failures. And this not so much for the sake of hisreputationCfor, indeed, it was when he was at his wits end that hisenergy and his versatility were most admirableCbut because [351]
where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded,and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. Now andagain, however, it chanced that even when he erred the truth wasstill discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the kind;the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about torecount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.]
SHERLOCK HOLMES was a man who seldom took exercise for exercisessake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he wasundoubtedly 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 heseldom bestirred himself save where there was some professional objectto be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That heshould have kept himself in training under such circumstances isremarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits weresimple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, hehad no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against themonotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papersuninteresting.
One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk withme in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking outupon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were justbeginning to burst into their fivefold leaves. For two hours we rambledabout together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who knoweach other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in BakerStreet once more.
Beg pardon, sir, said our page-boy as he opened the door. Theresbeen 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.
Didnt 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 anda-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 thatman never goin to come? Those were his very words, sir. Youll onlyneed to wait a little longer, says I. Then Ill wait in the open air, for Ifeel half choked, says he. Ill be back before long. And with that he upsand he outs, and all I could say wouldnt hold him back.
Well, well, you did your best, said Holmes as we walked into ourroom. Its very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case,and this looks, from the mans impatience, as if it were of importance.
Hullo! thats 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 callamber. 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 beendisturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidentlyvalues 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 andonce in the amber. [352] Each of these mends, done, as you observe, withsilver bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The manmust value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy anew one with the same money.
Anything else? I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in hishand and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.
He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin forefinger, as aprofessor might who was lecturing on a bone.
Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest, said he. Nothing hasmore individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. The indicationshere, however, are neither very marked nor very important. The owner isobviously 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 sawthat 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-shillingpipe? 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 forhalf 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. Youcan see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course a match couldnot have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the side of hispipe? 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 aleft-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp and see hownaturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. Youmight do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This has alwaysbeen 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 amnot mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something moreinteresting than his pipe to study.
An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered theroom. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark gray suit and carried abrown wideawake 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 Ishould have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact isthat I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that. He passedhis hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fellrather than sat down upon a chair.
I can see that you have not slept for a night or two, said Holmes inhis easy, genial way. That tries a mans nerves more than work, andmore even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?
I wanted your advice, sir. I dont know what to do, and my whole lifeseems to have gone to pieces.
You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?
Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious manCas a man of theworld. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God youll beable to tell me.
He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that tospeak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through wasoverriding his inclinations.
[353] Its a very delicate thing, said he. One does not like to speak ofones domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss theconduct of ones wife with two men whom I have never seen before. Itshorrible to have to do it. But Ive got to the end of my tether, and I musthave advice.
My dear Mr. Grant MunroC C began Holmes.
Our visitor sprang from his chair. What! he cried, you know myname?
If you wish to preserve your incognito, said Holmes, smiling, Iwould suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of yourhat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you areaddressing. I was about to say that my friend and I have listened to a goodmany strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortuneto bring peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much foryou. Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnishme with the facts of your case without further delay?
Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found itbitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was areserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, morelikely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with afierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to thewinds, he began:
The facts are these, Mr. Holmes, said he. I am a married man andhave been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have lovedeach other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever werejoined. 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 barrierbetween us, and I find that there is something in her life and in herthoughts of which I know as little as if she were the woman who brushesby 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 anyfurther, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Dont let there be any mistake aboutthat. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more thannow. I know it. I feel it. I dont want to argue about that. A man can telleasily enough when a woman loves him. But theres this secret betweenus, and we can never be the same until it is cleared.
Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro, said Holmes with someimpatience.
Ill tell you what I know about Effies history. She was a widow whenI met her first, though quite youngConly twenty-five. Her name then wasMrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young and lived inthe town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyerwith a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke outbadly in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen hisdeath certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to livewith a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that herhusband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of aboutfour thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested byhim that it returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been sixmonths at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and wemarried a few weeks afterwards.
I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or eighthundred, we found ourselves comfortably off and took a nice eightypound-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 alittle above us, and a single cottage at the other side of the field whichfaces us, and except those there were no houses until [354] you gothalfway 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 andI were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there never was ashadow between us until this accursed affair began.
Theres one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When wemarried, my wife made over all her property to meCrather against mywill, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs wentwrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about sixweeks ago she came to me.
 Jack, said she, when you took my money you said that if ever Iwanted any I was to ask you for it.
 Certainly, said I. Its 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 newdress 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 mybanker, 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 wont tell me what you want it for?
 Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.
So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that therehad ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check, and I neverthought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with whatcame 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 theroad and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice little grove ofScotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling down there, for treesare always a neighbourly kind of thing. The cottage had been standingempty this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two-storiedplace, with an old-fashioned porch and a honeysuckle about it. I havestood 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 Imet an empty van coming up the lane and saw a pile of carpets and thingslying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that the cottagehad at last been let. I walked past it, and then stopping, as an idle manmight, I ran my eye over it and wondered what sort of folk they were whohad come to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became awarethat a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows.
I dont know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but itseemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, sothat I could not make out the features, but there was something unnaturaland inhuman about the face. That was the impression that I had, and Imoved quickly forward to get a nearer view of the person who waswatching me. But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenlythat it seemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. Istood for five minutes thinking the business over and trying to analyze myimpressions. I could not tell if the face was that of a man or a woman. Ithad been too far from me for that. But its colour was what had [355]
impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and with something setand rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was I thatI determined to see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. Iapproached and knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by atall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.
 What may you be wantin? she asked in a Northern accent.
 I am your neighbour over yonder, said I, nodding towards myhouse. I see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I couldbe of any help to you in anyC C
 Ay, well just ask ye when we want ye, said she, and shut the doorin my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walkedhome. All evening, though I tried to think of other things, my mind wouldstill turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the woman. Idetermined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is anervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she should sharethe unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. Iremarked to her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was nowoccupied, to which she returned no reply.
I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest inthe family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. And yetsomehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slightexcitement produced by my little adventure or not I know not, but I sleptmuch more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly consciousthat something was going on in the room, and gradually became awarethat my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and herbonnet. My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surpriseor remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my halfopenedeyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light, andastonishment held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had neverseen beforeCsuch as I should have thought her incapable of assuming. Shewas deadly pale and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed asshe fastened her mantle to see if she had disturbed me. Then, thinking thatI was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instantlater I heard a sharp creaking which could only come from the hinges ofthe front door. I sat up in bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail tomake certain that I was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under thepillow. It was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife bedoing out on the country road at three in the morning?
I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mindand trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought, themore extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzlingover it when I heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps comingup 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, andthat cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there wassomething indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been awoman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her slinkinginto her own room and crying out and wincing when her own husbandspoke to her.
 You awake, Jack! she cried with a nervous laugh. Why, I thoughtthat nothing could awake you.
 Where have you been? I asked, more sternly.
 I dont wonder that you are surprised, said she, and I could see thather [356] fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle.
Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. Thefact is that I felt as though I were choking and had a perfect longing for abreath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if I had notgone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am quite myselfagain.
All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked inmy direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It wasevident 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 athousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that my wife wasconcealing 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 fromasking her again after once she had told me what was false. All the rest ofthe night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory, each moreunlikely than the last.
I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed in mymind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed tobe as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning glanceswhich she kept shooting at me that she understood that I disbelieved herstatement, and that she was at her wits end what to do. We hardlyexchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards I wentout 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, andwas back in Norbury by one oclock. It happened that my way took mepast the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows and tosee if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out atme 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 myemotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her facewhen our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink backinside the house again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment mustbe, she came forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes whichbelied the smile upon her lips.
 Ah, Jack, she said, I have just been in to see if I can be of anyassistance to our new neighbours. 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 shouldvisit them at such an hour?
 I have not been here before.
 How can you tell me what you know is false? I cried. Your veryvoice changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? Ishall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.
 No, no, Jack, for Gods sake! she gasped in uncontrollable emotion.
Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me backwith convulsive strength.
 I implore you not to do this, Jack, she cried. I swear that I will tellyou everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if youenter that cottage. Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to me in afrenzy of entreaty.
[357]  Trust me, Jack! she cried. Trust me only this once. You willnever have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secretfrom you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake inthis. If you come home with me all will be well. If you force your wayinto that cottage all is over between us.
There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that herwords arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.
 I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only, said Iat last. It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are atliberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shallbe no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from myknowledge. I am willing to forget those which are past if you will promisethat there shall be no more in the future.
 I was sure that you would trust me, she cried with a great sigh ofrelief. It shall be just as you wish. Come awayCoh, come away up to thehouse.
Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As wewent I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us outof the upper window. What link could there be between that creature andmy wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen theday before be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knewthat 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 toabide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirredout of the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that hersolemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secretinfluence 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 ofthe 3:36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran intothe 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 makesure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out ofone of the upper windows and saw the maid with whom I had just beenspeaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then ofcourse I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there andhad asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with anger, Irushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once andforever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but Idid not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the secret which wascasting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what might, it shouldbe a secret no longer. I did not even knock when I reached it, but turnedthe handle and rushed into the passage.
It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen a kettlewas 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 theother room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the stairs onlyto find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. There was no oneat all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures were of the mostcommon and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the windowof which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable and elegant,and all my suspicions rose into a fierce, bitter flame [358] when I saw thaton the mantelpiece stood a copy of a full-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 absolutelyempty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never hadbefore. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but I wastoo hurt and angry to speak with her, and, pushing past her, I made myway into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close thedoor.
 I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack, said she, but if you knewall 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, andwho it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be anyconfidence between us, said I, and breaking away from her I left thehouse. 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 firstshadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do notknow what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred tome that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, andI place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which Ihave not made clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell mequickly 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 extraordinarystatement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a manwho is under the influence of extreme emotion. My companion sat silentnow 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 mans facewhich you saw at the window?
Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it isimpossible for me to say.
You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it.
It seemed to be of an unusual colour and to have a strange rigidityabout 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, andall 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 anyone 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 thecottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, onthe other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of yourcoming and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be backnow, and we should clear it all up [359] easily. Let me advise you, then, toreturn to Norbury and to examine the windows of the cottage again. Ifyou have reason to believe that it is inhabited, do not force your way in,but send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hourof receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of thebusiness.
And if it is still empty?
In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you.
Good-bye, and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really havea cause for it.
I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson, said my companion ashe returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. What doyou make of it?
It had an ugly sound, I answered.
Yes. Theres 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 roomin the place and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word,Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at thewindow, 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 outto be correct. This womans first husband is in that cottage.
Why do you think so?
How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second oneshould not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: Thiswoman was married in America. Her husband developed some hatefulqualities, or shall we say he contracted some loathsome disease andbecame a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns toEngland, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. Shehas been married three years and believes that her position is quite secure,having shown her husband the death certificate of some man whose nameshe has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by herfirst husband, or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman whohas attached herself to the invalid. They write to the wife and threaten tocome and expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds and endeavours tobuy them off. They come in spite of it, and when the husband mentionscasually to the wife that there are newcomers in the cottage, she knows insome way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband isasleep, and then she rushes down to endeavour to persuade them to leaveher in peace. Having no success, she goes again next morning, and herhusband meets her, as he has told us, as she comes out. She promises himthen not to go there again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting ridof those dreadful neighbours was too strong for her, and she made anotherattempt, taking down with her the photograph which had probably beendemanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maid rushed in tosay that the master had come home, on which the wife, knowing that hewould come straight down to the cottage, hurried the inmates out at theback door, into the grove of fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned asstanding near. In this way he found the place deserted. I shall be verymuch surprised, however, if it is still so when he reconnoitres it thisevening. What do you think of my theory?
It is all surmise.
But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to ourknowledge [360] which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough toreconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from ourfriend at Norbury.
But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as we hadfinished our tea.
The cottage is still tenanted [it said]. Have seen the face again atthe window. Will meet the seven-oclock train and will take nosteps until you arrive.
He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could seein the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering withagitation.
They are still there, Mr. Holmes, said he, laying his hand hard uponmy friends sleeve. I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We shallsettle it now once and for all.
What is your plan, then? asked Holmes as he walked down the darktree-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 wifes warningthat 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 thanindefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally, we areputting 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 fromthe highroad into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either side.
Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we stumbledafter him as best we could.
There are the lights of my house, he murmured, pointing to aglimmer among the trees. And here is the cottage which I am going toenter.
We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the buildingclose beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black foreground showedthat the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story wasbrightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across theblind.
There is that creature! cried Grant Munro. You can see foryourselves that someone is there. Now follow me, and we shall soonknow all.
We approached the door, but suddenly a woman appeared out of theshadow and stood in the golden track of the lamplight. I could not see herface in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude ofentreaty.
For Gods sake, dont, Jack! she cried. I had a presentiment that youwould come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, andyou will never have cause to regret it.
I have trusted you too long, Effie, he cried sternly. Leave go of me!
I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter once andforever! 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 triedto bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards wewere all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at thetop, and we entered at his heels.
It was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning uponthe table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over adesk, there sat [361] what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turnedaway 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 gavea cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was ofthe strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of anyexpression. An instant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with alaugh, passed his hand behind the childs ear, a mask peeled off from hercountenance, and there was a little coal-black negress, with all her whiteteeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, outof sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with hishand 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 theroom with a proud, set face. You have forced me, against my ownjudgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. Myhusband died at Atlanta. My child survived.
Your child?
She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. You have never seenthis open.
I understood that it did not open.
She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portraitwithin of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearingunmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.
That is John Hebron, of Atlanta, said the lady, and a nobler mannever walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wedhim, but never once while he lived did I for an instant regret it. It was ourmisfortune that our only child took after his people rather than mine. It isoften so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her fatherwas. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her motherspet. The little creature ran across at the words and nestled up against theladys dress. When I left her in America, she continued, it was onlybecause 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 beenour servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as mychild. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to loveyou, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that Ishould lose you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choosebetween 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 heardfrom 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 struggledagainst it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined to have thechild over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to thenurse, and I gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she mightcome as a neighbour, without my appearing to be in any way connectedwith her. I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the childin the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and handsso that even those who might see her at the window should not gossipabout there being a black child in the neighbourhood. If I had been lesscautious I might have been more wise, but I was half crazy with fear thatyou should learn the truth.
It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I shouldhave waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and soat last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But yousaw me go, and that was [362] the beginning of my troubles. Next day youhad my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing youradvantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only justescaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now tonightyou at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my childand me? She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, andwhen his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted thelittle child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other handout to his wife and turned towards the door.
We can talk it over more comfortably at home, said he. I am not avery good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you havegiven me credit for being.
Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked atmy sleeve as we came out.
I think, said he, that we shall be of more use in London than inNorbury.
Not another word did he say of the case until late that night, when hewas turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.
Watson, said he, if it should ever strike you that I am getting a littleover-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than itdeserves, kindly whisper Norbury in my ear, and I shall be infinitelyobliged to you.
David Soucek, 1998 The Stock-brokers ClerkThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE STOCK-BROKERS CLERKSHORTLY after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddingtondistrict. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time anexcellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature ofSt. Vituss dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it. Thepublic not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal othersmust himself be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of theman whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as mypredecessor weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased itfrom him it had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than threehundred a year. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energyand was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be asflourishing as ever.
For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very closelyat work and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I was too busyto visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save uponprofessional business. I was surprised, therefore, when, one morning inJune, as I sat reading the British Medical Journal after breakfast, I heard aring at the bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my oldcompanions voice.
Ah, my dear Watson, said he, striding into the room, I am verydelighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered fromall the little excitements connected with our adventure of the Sign ofFour.
Thank you, we are both very well, said I, shaking him warmly by thehand.
And I hope, also, he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair,that the [363] cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated theinterest which you used to take in our little deductive problems.
On the contrary, I answered, it was only last night that I was lookingover my old notes, and classifying some of our past results.
I trust that you dont consider your collection closed.
Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some more ofsuch 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 neighbours when he goes. He is always ready to work off thedebt.
Ha! nothing could be better, said Holmes, leaning back in his chairand looking keenly at me from under his half-closed lids. I perceive thatyou have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little trying.
I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week. Ithought, 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. Howon earthC C I began, but Holmes answered my question before it wasasked.
Your slippers are new, he said. You could not have had them morethan a few weeks. The soles which you are at this moment presenting tome are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have got wetand been burned in the drying. But near the instep there is a small circularwafer of paper with the shopmans hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would ofcourse have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with your feetoutstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet aJune as this if he were in his full health.
Like all Holmess reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when itwas once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his smilehad 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 tocome 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 neighbour, rushed upstairs toexplain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the doorstep.
Your neighbour 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 werebuilt.
[364] 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 tointroduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only justtime to catch our train.
The man whom I found myself facing was a well-built, freshcomplexionedyoung fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp,yellow moustache. He wore a very shiny top-hat and a neat suit of soberblack, which made him look what he wasCa smart young City man, of theclass who have been labelled cockneys, but who give us our crackvolunteer regiments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmenthan any body of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face wasnaturally full of cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me tobe pulled down in a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until wewere in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey toBirmingham that I was able to learn what the trouble was which haddriven him to Sherlock Holmes.
We have a clear run here of seventy minutes, Holmes remarked. Iwant you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interestingexperience exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail ifpossible. It will be of use to me to hear the succession of events again. Itis a case, Watson, which may prove to have something in it, or may proveto have nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual and outrefeatures which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, Ishall 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 aconfounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and I dont see that Icould have done otherwise; but if I have lost my crib and get nothing inexchange I shall feel what a soft Johnny I have been. Im not very good attelling a story, Dr. Watson, but it is like this with me:
I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouses, of Draper Gardens,but they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan, as nodoubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I have been with themfive years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial when thesmash came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift, the twentyseven of us. I tried here and tried there, but there were lots of other chapson the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. I hadbeen taking three pounds a week at Coxons, and I had saved aboutseventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that and out at theother end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and could hardlyfind the stamps to answer the advertisements or the envelopes to stickthem to. I had worn out my boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemedjust as far from getting a billet as ever.
At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williamss, the great stockbrokingfirm 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. Theadvertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent in my testimonialand application, but without the least hope of getting it. Back came ananswer by return, saying that if I would appear next Monday I might takeover my new duties at once, provided that my appearance wassatisfactory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some peoplesay that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the firstthat comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I dont ever wish to[365] feel better pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and theduties just about the same as at Coxons.
And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in diggingsout Hampstead way, 17 Potters Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing asmoke that very evening after I had been promised the appointment, whenup came my landlady with a card which had Arthur Pinner, FinancialAgent, printed upon it. I had never heard the name before and could notimagine what he wanted with me, but of course I asked her to show himup. In he walked, a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-beardedman, with a touch of the sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk kind ofway 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 & Woodhouses?
 Yes, sir.
 And now on the staff of Mawsons.
 Quite so.
 Well, said he, the fact is that I have heard some really extraordinarystories about your financial ability. You remember Parker, who used to beCoxons manager. He can never say enough about it.
Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been pretty sharp inthe office, but I had never dreamed that I was talked about in the City inthis 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 ofwork? he asked.
 Yes. I read the stock-exchange list every morning.
 Now that shows real application! he cried. That is the way toprosper! You wont mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How areAyrshires?
 A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and seveneighths.
 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 allthat I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be aclerk at Mawsons!
This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. Well, said I,other people dont 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 tohave it.
 Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your truesphere. Now, Ill tell you how it stands with me. What I have to offer islittle enough when measured by your ability, but when compared withMawsons its light to dark. Let me see. When do you go to Mawsons?
 On Monday.
 Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you dont gothere at all.
 Not go to Mawsons?
 No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred and thirty-fourbranches in the [366] towns and villages of France, not counting one inBrussels 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 allprivately subscribed, and its too good a thing to let the public into. Mybrother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the board after allotment asmanaging director. He knew I was in the swim down here and asked meto pick up a good man cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty of snapabout him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought me here to-night. Wecan 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 over-ridingcommission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and youmay 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 suddenlya little chill of doubt came upon me.
 I must be frank with you, said I. Mawson only gives me twohundred, but Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little about yourcompany thatC C
 Ah, smart, smart! he cried in a kind of ecstasy of delight. You arethe very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and quite right, too.
Now, heres a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can dobusiness you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon yoursalary.
 That is very handsome, said I. When should I take over my newduties?
 Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one, said he. I have a note in mypocket here which you will take to my brother. You will find him at 126BCorporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company aresituated. Of course he must confirm your engagement, but betweenourselves it will be all right.
 Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner, saidI.
 Not at all, my boy. You have only got your deserts. There are one ortwo small thingsCmere formalitiesCwhich I must arrange with you. Youhave a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it I am perfectlywilling to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland HardwareCompany, Limited, at a minimum salary of 500.
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 aboutMawsons?
I had forgotten all about Mawsons in my joy. Ill write and resign,
said I.
 Precisely what I dont want you to do. I had a row over you withMawsons manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was veryoffensive; 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 goodmen you should pay them a good price, said I.
  He would rather have our small price than your big one, said he.
  Ill lay you a fiver, said I, that when he has my offer youll neverso much as hear from him again.
  Done! said he. We picked him out of the gutter, and he wontleave us so easily. Those were his very words.
 The impudent scoundrel! I cried. Ive never so much as seen him inmy [367] life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly notwrite if you would rather I didnt.
 Good! Thats a promise, said he, rising from his chair. Well, Imdelighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Heres your advanceof a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a note of the address,126B Corporation Street, and remember that one oclock to-morrow isyour appointment. Good-night, and may you have all the fortune that youdeserve!
Thats just about all that passed between us, as near as I canremember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such anextraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night hugging myselfover it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that would takeme in plenty time for my appointment. I took my things to a hotel in NewStreet, 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 wouldmake no difference. 126B was a passage between two large shops, whichled to a winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let asoffices to companies or professional men. The names of the occupantswere painted at the bottom on the wall, but there was no such name as theFranco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited. I stood for a few minuteswith my heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was anelaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. He wasvery 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 hada note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises veryloudly.
 I was just looking for the offices when you came.
 We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured thesetemporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk thematter over.
I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right underthe slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted anduncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a great office withshining tables and rows of clerks, such as I was used to, and I daresay Istared rather straight at the two deal chairs and one little table, which witha ledger and a waste-paper basket, made up the whole furniture.
 Dont be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft, said my new acquaintance,seeing the length of my face. Rome was not built in a day, and we havelots of money at our backs, though we dont cut much dash yet in offices.
Pray sit down, and let me have your letter.
I gave it to him, and he 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. He swears byLondon, you know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I shall follow hisadvice. Pray consider yourself definitely engaged.
 What are my duties? I asked.
 You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will poura flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and thirty-fouragents in France. The purchase will be completed in a week, andmeanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful.
[368]  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 namesof the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark off all thehardware-sellers, with their addresses. It would be of the greatest use tome to have them.
 Surely, there are classified lists? I suggested.
 Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at it, andlet me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr. Pycroft. If youcontinue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company a goodmaster.
I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and withvery conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitelyengaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the other, the look ofthe offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points whichwould strike a business man had left a bad impression as to the position ofmy employers. However, come what might, I had my money, so I settleddown to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by MondayI had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found him in thesame dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it untilWednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was still unfinished,so I hammered away until FridayCthat is, yesterday. Then I brought itround to Mr. Harry Pinner.
 Thank you very much, said he, I fear that I underrated the difficultyof 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 knowhow you are getting on. Dont overwork yourself. A couple of hours atDays Music Hall in the evening would do you no harm after yourlabours. He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill that his secondtooth upon the left-hand side had been very badly stuffed with gold.
Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared withastonishment 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 helaughed at my not going to Mawsons, I happened to notice that his toothwas stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in eachcase caught my eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and figurebeing the same, and only those things altered which might be changed bya razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of courseyou expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have thesame tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I foundmyself in the street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head or myheels. Back I went to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, andtried 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 fromhimself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could makeno sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to memight be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up totown by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you bothback with me to Birmingham.
[369] There was a pause after the stock-brokers clerk had concluded hissurprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me,leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like aconnoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.
Rather fine, Watson, is it not? said he. There are points in it whichplease me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with Mr.
Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-MidlandHardware Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience forboth of us.
But how can we do it? I asked.
Oh, easily enough, said Hall Pycroft cheerily. You are two friendsof mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural thanthat I should bring you both round to the managing director?
Quite so, of course, said Holmes. I should like to have a look at thegentleman and see if I can make anything of his little game. Whatqualities have you, my friend, which would make your services sovaluable? Or is it possible thatC C He began biting his nails and staringblankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from himuntil we were in New Street.
At seven oclock that evening we were walking, the three of us, downCorporation Street to the companys offices.
It is no use our being at all before our time, said our client. He onlycomes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to the veryhour he names.
That is suggestive, remarked Holmes.
By Jove, I told you so! cried the clerk. Thats he walking ahead ofus there.
He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustlingalong the other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across at aboy 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 doorway.
There he goes! cried Hall Pycroft. These are the companys officesinto which he has gone. Come with me, and Ill fix it up as easily aspossible.
Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found ourselvesoutside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. A voice withinbade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as HallPycroft had described. At the single table sat the man whom we had seenin the street, with his evening paper spread out in front of him, and as helooked up at us it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face whichbore such marks of grief, and of something beyond griefCof a horror suchas comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with perspiration,his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fishs belly, and his eyes werewild and staring. He looked at his clerk as though he failed to recognizehim, and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon our conductorsface 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 effortsto pull himself together and licking his dry lips before he spoke. Who arethese gentlemen whom you have brought with you?
One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price, of thistown, said our clerk glibly. They are friends of mine and gentlemen ofexperience, but they have been out of a place for some little time, andthey hoped that perhaps you might find an opening for them in thecompanys employment.
[370] Very possibly! very possibly! cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastlysmile. Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something foryou. 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 letyou know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I begthat you will go. For Gods sake leave me to myself!
These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint whichhe was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burstasunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Pycroft took a steptowards the table.
You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to receive somedirections 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 friendsshould not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service in threeminutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far. He rose with avery courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at thefarther 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 dontunderstand in this matter. If ever a man was three parts mad with terror,that mans name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on him?
He suspects that we are detectives, I suggested.
Thats it, cried Pycroft.
Holmes shook his head. He did not turn pale. He was pale when weentered the room, said he. It is just possible thatC C
His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of theinner door.
What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for? cried the clerk.
Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly atthe closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and heleaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a lowguggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmessprang frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastenedon the inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it withall our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came thedoor 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, thecorner 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 lyingon the floor, and from a [371] hook behind the door, with his own bracesround his neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco-MidlandHardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at adreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the doormade the noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant Ihad caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes andPycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the lividcreases of skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he laywith a clay-coloured face, puffing his purple lips in and out with everybreathCa 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 andintermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little shiveringof his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath.
It has been touch and go with him, said I, but hell live now. Justopen 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 hedrew a long, natural breath. Its only a question of time now, said I as Iturned away from him.
Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trousers pocketsand his chin upon his breast.
I suppose we ought to call the police in now, said he. And yet Iconfess that Id like to give them a complete case when they come.
Its a blessed mystery to me, cried Pycroft, scratching his head.
Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and thenC C
Pooh! All that is clear enough, said Holmes impatiently. It is thislast 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 oneconclusion.
What do you make of them?
Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the makingof Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of thispreposterous 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, forthese arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly businessreason why this should be an exception. Dont you see, my young friend,that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting, andhad no other way of doing it?
And why?
Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some progresswith our little problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason.
Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing and had to procure aspecimen of it first. And now if we pass on to the second point we findthat each throws light upon the other. That point is the request made byPinner that you should not resign your place, but should leave themanager of this important business in the full expectation that a Mr. HallPycroft, whom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon theMonday morning.
[372] My God! cried our client, what a blind beetle I have been!
Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that someoneturned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from thatin which you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game would havebeen up. But in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and hisposition was therefore secure, as I presume that nobody in the office hadever set eyes upon you.
Not a soul, groaned Hall Pycroft.
Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent youfrom thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into contactwith anyone who might tell you that your double was at work inMawsons office. Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on yoursalary, and ran you off to the Midlands, where they gave you enoughwork to do to prevent your going to London, where you might have bursttheir 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 init. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one acted as yourengager, and then found that he could not find you an employer withoutadmitting 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 thelikeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be put down to afamily resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, yoursuspicions would probably never have been aroused.
Hall Pycroft shook his clenched hands in the air. Good Lord! hecried, while I have been fooled in this way, what has this other HallPycroft been doing at Mawsons? What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tellme what to do.
We must wire to Mawsons.
They shut at twelve on Saturdays.
Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendantC C
Ah, yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value ofthe 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 ofyour name is working there. That is clear enough, but what is not so clearis why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out of theroom 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 whichrubbed 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 much of our visit that the paper neverentered my head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must lie there. Heflattened 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 ofthe Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines:
Crime in the City. Murder at Mawson & Williamss. Gigantic AttemptedRobbery. Capture of the Criminal. Here, Watson, we are all equallyanxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us.
It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event ofimportance in town, and the account of it ran in this way:
A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of oneman and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in theCity. For some [373] time back Mawson & Williams, the famousfinancial house, have been the guardians of securities whichamount in the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a millionsterling. So conscious was the manager of the responsibility whichdevolved upon him in consequence of the great interests at stakethat safes of the very latest construction have been employed, andan armed watchman has been left day and night in the building. Itappears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft wasengaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none otherthan Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with hisbrother, has only recently emerged from a five years spell ofpenal servitude. By some means, which are not yet clear, hesucceeded in winning, under a false name, this official position inthe office, which he utilized in order to obtain mouldings ofvarious locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of thestrongroom and the safes.
It is customary at Mawsons for the clerks to leave at middayon Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City police, was somewhatsurprised, therefore, to see a gentleman with a carpet-bag comedown the steps at twenty minutes past one. His suspicions beingaroused, the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid ofConstable Pollock succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, inarresting him. It was at once clear that a daring and giganticrobbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds
worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip inmines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. Onexamining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman wasfound doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where itwould not have been discovered until Monday morning had it notbeen for the prompt action of Sergeant Tuson. The mans skull hadbeen shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from behind.
There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance bypretending that he had left something behind him, and havingmurdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and thenmade 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 hiswhereabouts.
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 villainand murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicidewhen he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice asto our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if youwill have the kindness to step out for the police.
David Soucek, 1998 The Gloria Scott
The Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE GLORIA SCOTT
I HAVE some papers here, said my friend Sherlock Holmes as we satone winters night on either side of the fire, which I really think, Watson,that it would be [374] worth your while to glance over. These are thedocuments in the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, and this is themessage which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror whenhe read it.
He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoingthe tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slategraypaper.
The supply of game for London is going steadily up [it ran].
Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receiveall orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasantslife.
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmeschuckling 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 seemsto 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 buttend of a pistol.
You arouse my curiosity, said I. But why did you say just now thatthere were very particular reasons why I should study this case?
Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged.
I had often endeavoured to elicit from my companion what had firstturned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caughthim before in a communicative humour. Now he sat forward in hisarmchair and spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit hispipe and sat for some time smoking and turning them over.
You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor? he asked. He was theonly friend I made during the two years I was at college. I was never avery sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my roomsand working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixedmuch with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletictastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the otherfellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was the onlyman I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezingon to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.
It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. Iwas laid by the heels for ten days, and Trevor used to come in to inquireafter me. At first it was only a minutes chat, but soon his visitslengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He wasa hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very oppositeto me in most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was abond of union when I found that he was as friendless as I. Finally heinvited me down to his fathers place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and Iaccepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, aJ. P., and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to thenorth of Langmere, in the country of the Broads. The house was an oldfashioned,widespread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-linedavenue leading up to it. There was excellent wild-duck shooting in thefens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as Iunderstood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that hewould 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 diphtheriawhile on [375] a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely.
He was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rudestrength, both physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but hehad travelled far, had seen much of the world, and had remembered allthat he had learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shockof grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which werekeen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness andcharity on the countryside, and was noted for the leniency of his sentencesfrom the bench.
One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass ofport after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits ofobservation and inference which I had already formed into a system,although I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in mylife. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in hisdescription of one or two trivial feats which I had performed.
 Come, now, Mr. Holmes, said he, laughing good-humouredly. Iman excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.
 I fear there is not very much, I answered. I might suggest that youhave gone about in fear of some personal attack within the lasttwelvemonth.
The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise.
 Well, thats true enough, said he. You know, Victor, turning to hisson, when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, andSir Edward Holly has actually been attacked. Ive always been on myguard since then, though I have no idea how you know it.
 You have a very handsome stick, I answered. By the inscription Iobserved that you had not had it more than a year. But you have takensome pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so asto make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take suchprecautions 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 ofthe straight?
 No, said I. It is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening andthickening 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 someone whoseinitials were J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirelyforget.
Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with astrange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face among thenutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.
You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were. Hisattack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar andsprinkled the water from one of the finger-glasses over his face, he gave agasp or two and sat up.
[376]  Ah, boys, said he, forcing a smile, I hope I havent frightenedyou. Strong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does nottake much to knock me over. I dont know how you manage this, Mr.
Holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancywould be children in your hands. Thats your line of life, sir, and you maytake the word of a man who has seen something of the world.
And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my abilitywith which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the veryfirst thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made outof 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 tothink 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 askhow you know, and how much you know? He spoke now in a halfjestingfashion, 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 thatfish into the boat I saw that J. A. had been tattooed in the bend of theelbow. The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from theirblurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them, thatefforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious, then, that thoseinitials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had afterwardswished to forget them.
 What an eye you have! he cried with a sigh of relief. It is just asyou say. But we wont talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old lovesare the worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.
From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch ofsuspicion in Mr. Trevors manner towards me. Even his son remarked it.
Youve given the governor such a turn, said he, that hell never be sureagain of what you know and what you dont know. He did not mean toshow it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out atevery action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing himuneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day, however,before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be ofimportance.
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 maidcame 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 momentsconversation.
 Show him round here. An instant afterwards there appeared a littlewizened 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-andblackcheck shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. Hisface was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, whichshowed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were halfclosed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching acrossthe lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in histhroat, and, jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house. He was backin a moment, and I smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me.
[377]  Well, my man, said he. What can I do for you?
The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the sameloose-lipped smile upon his face.
 You dont know me? he asked.
 Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson, said Mr. Trevor in a tone ofsurprise.
 Hudson it is, sir, said the seaman. Why, its thirty year and moresince I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking mysalt 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 anddrink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.
 Thank you, sir, said the seaman, touching his forelock. Im just offa two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I wants arest. I thought Id get it either with Mr. Beddoes or with you.
 Ah! cried Mr. Trevor. You know where Mr. Beddoes is?
 Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are, said the fellowwith a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the kitchen.
Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate withthe man when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving us onthe lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the house, wefound him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The wholeincident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not sorrynext day to leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence mustbe a source of embarrassment to my friend.
All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went upto my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a fewexperiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when the autumnwas far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received atelegram from my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, andsaying that he was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course Idropped 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 thatthe last two months had been very trying ones for him. He had grown thinand careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he hadbeen remarkable.
 The governor is dying, were the first words he said.
 Impossible! I cried. What is the matter?
 Apoplexy. Nervous shock. Hes been on the verge all day. I doubt ifwe 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 leftus?
 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 hoursinceC not one. The governor has never held up his head from thatevening, and now the life [378] has been crushed out of him and his heartbroken, 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 governorChow could he have fallen into the clutchesof such a ruffian! But I am so glad that you have come, Holmes. I trustvery much to your judgment and discretion, and I know that you willadvise me for the best.
We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the longstretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of thesetting sun. From a grove upon our left I could already see the highchimneys and the flagstaff which marked the squires 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 houseseemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chosein it. The maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language.
The dad raised their wages all round to recompense them for theannoyance. The fellow would take the boat and my fathers best gun andtreat himself to little shooting trips. And all this with such a sneering,leering, insolent face that I would have knocked him down twenty timesover if he had been a man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I have hadto keep a tight hold upon myself all this time; and now I am asking myselfwhether, if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiserman.
 Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animalHudson became more and more intrusive, until at last, on his makingsome insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, I took him bythe shoulders and turned him out of the room. He slunk away with a lividface and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tonguecould do. I dont know what passed between the poor dad and him afterthat, but the dad came to me next day and asked me whether I wouldmind apologizing to Hudson. I refused, as you can imagine, and asked myfather how he could allow such a wretch to take such liberties withhimself and his household.
  Ah, my boy, said he, it is all very well to talk, but you dontknow how I am placed. But you shall know, Victor. Ill see that you shallknow, come what may. You wouldnt believe harm of your poor oldfather, would you, lad? He was very much moved and shut himself up inthe study all day, where I could see through the window that he waswriting 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 thedining-room as we sat after dinner and announced his intention in thethick voice of a half-drunken man.
  Ive had enough of Norfolk, said he. Ill run down to Mr.
Beddoes in Hampshire. Hell be as glad to see me as you were, I daresay.
  Youre not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope, saidmy father with a tameness which made my blood boil.
  Ive not had my pology, said he sulkily, glancing in my direction.
  Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthyfellow rather roughly, said the dad, turning to me.
  On the contrary, I think that we have both shown extraordinarypatience towards him, I answered.
  Oh, you do, do you? he snarled. Very good, mate. Well seeabout that!
 He slouched out of the room and half an hour afterwards left thehouse, [379] leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Nightafter night I heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he wasrecovering his confidence that the blow did at last fall.
 And how? I asked eagerly.
 In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for my fatheryesterday evening, bearing the Fordingham postmark. My father read it,clapped both his hands to his head, and began running round the room inlittle circles like a man who has been driven out of his senses. When I atlast drew him down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were allpuckered on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham cameover at once. We put him to bed, but the paralysis has spread, he hasshown no sign of returning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardlyfind him alive.
 You horrify me, Trevor! I cried. What then could have been in thisletter to cause so dreadful a result?
 Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of it. The message wasabsurd and trivial. Ah, my God, it is as I feared!
As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue and saw in thefading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. As wedashed up to the door, my friends face convulsed with grief, a gentlemanin 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 Iremained 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 ofthis Trevor, pugilist, traveller, and gold-digger, and how had he placedhimself in the power of this acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faintat an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon his arm and die of frightwhen he had a letter from Fordingham? Then I remembered thatFordingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom theseaman had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also beenmentioned as living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either comefrom Hudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secretwhich appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning an oldconfederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemed clearenough. But then how could this letter be trivial and grotesque, asdescribed by the son? He must have misread it. If so, it must have beenone of those ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while theyseem to mean another. I must see this letter. If there was a hiddenmeaning in it, I was confident that I could pluck it forth. For an hour I satpondering over it in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought in alamp, 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 satdown opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge of the table, and handedme 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. HeadkeeperHudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for flypaperand for preservation of your hen-pheasants life.
[380] I daresay my face looked as bewildered as yours did just nowwhen first I read this message. Then I reread it very carefully. It wasevidently as I had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried inthis strange combination of words. Or could it be that there was aprearranged significance to such phrases as fly-paper and henpheasant?
Such a meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deducedin any way. And yet I was loath to believe that this was the case, and thepresence of the word Hudson seemed to show that the subject of themessage was as I had guessed, and that it was from Beddoes rather thanthe sailor. I tried it backward, but the combination life pheasants 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 Isaw that every third word, beginning with the first, would give a messagewhich 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, Isuppose, 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 usif we had no other means of discovering the sender. You see that he hasbegun by writing The . . . game . . . is, and so on. Afterwards he had, tofulfil the prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in each space. Hewould naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if therewere so many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerablysure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in breeding. Do youknow anything of this Beddoes?
 Why, now that you mention it, said he, I remember that my poorfather used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preservesevery autumn.
 Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes, said I. It onlyremains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor Hudsonseems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respectedmen.
 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 wasdrawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson hadbecome 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 todo it myself.
These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me, and I willread them to you, as I read them in the old study that night to him. Theyare endorsed outside, as you see, Some particulars of the voyage of thebark Gloria Scott, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th October, 1855, toher destruction in N. Lat. 15 20', W. Long. 25 14', on Nov. 6th. It is inthe form of a letter, and runs in this way.
 My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darkenthe closing years of my life, I can write with all truth and honesty that it isnot the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the county, noris it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which cuts me to theheart; but it is the thought that you should come to blush for meCyou wholove me and who have seldom, I hope, had reason to do other than respectme. But if the blow falls which is forever hanging over me, then I shouldwish you to read this, that you may know [381] straight from me how far Ihave been to blame. On the other hand, if all should go well (which maykind God Almighty grant!), then, if by any chance this paper should bestill undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I conjure you, by all youhold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother, and by the love whichhas been between us, to hurl it into the fire and to never give one thoughtto it again.
 If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know that I shall alreadyhave been exposed and dragged from my home, or, as is more likely, foryou know that my heart is weak, be lying with my tongue sealed foreverin death. In either case the time for suppression is past, and every wordwhich 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 myyounger days, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me afew weeks ago when your college friend addressed me in words whichseemed to imply that he had surprised my secret. As Armitage it was thatI entered a London banking-house, and as Armitage I was convicted ofbreaking my countrys laws, and was sentenced to transportation. Do notthink very harshly of me, laddie. It was a debt of honour, so called, whichI had to pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it, in thecertainty that I could replace it before there could be any possibility of itsbeing missed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The moneywhich I had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a prematureexamination of accounts exposed my deficit. The case might have beendealt leniently with, but the laws were more harshly administered thirtyyears ago than now, and on my twenty-third birthday I found myselfchained as a felon with thirty-seven other convicts in the tween-decks ofthe bark Gloria Scott, bound for Australia.
 It was the year 55, when the Crimean War was at its height, and theold convict ships had been largely used as transports in the Black Sea.
The government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and lesssuitable vessels for sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott had beenin 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 fivehundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carriedtwenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, achaplain, and four warders. Nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told,when we set sail from Falmouth.
 The partitions between the cells of the convicts instead of being ofthick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and frail. The mannext to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I had particularly noticedwhen 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 hishead very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was,above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary height. I dont think anyof our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that hecould not have measured less than six and a half feet. It was strangeamong so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full of energyand resolution. The sight of it was to me like a fire in a snowstorm. I wasglad, then, to find that he was my neighbour, and gladder still when, inthe dead of the night, I heard a whisper close to my ear and found that hehad managed to cut an opening in the board which separated us.
  Hullo, chummy! said he, whats your name, and what are youhere for?
 I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with.
[382]   Im Jack Prendergast, said he, and by God! youll learn tobless my name before youve done with me.
 I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which had made animmense sensation throughout the country some time before my ownarrest. He was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurablyvicious habits, who had by an ingenious system of fraud obtained hugesums 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?
  Id had nearly a quarter of a million, hadnt I?
  So it was said.
  But none was recovered, eh?
  No.
  Well, where dye suppose the balance is? he asked.
  I have no idea, said I.
  Right between my finger and thumb, he cried. By God! Ive gotmore pounds to my name than youve hairs on your head. And if youvemoney, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can doanything. Now, you dont think it likely that a man who could doanything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of arat-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. Youmay lay to that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the Book that hellhaul you through.
 That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meant nothing; butafter a while, when he had tested me and sworn me in with all possiblesolemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot to gaincommand of the vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it beforethey came aboard, Prendergast was the leader, and his money was themotive power.
  Id a partner, said he, a rare good man, as true as a stock to abarrel. Hes got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at thismoment? Why, hes the chaplain of this shipCthe chaplain, no less! Hecame aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough inhis box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. The crew arehis, body and soul. He could buy em at so much a gross with a cashdiscount, and he did it before ever they signed on. Hes got two of thewarders and Mereer, the second mate, and hed get the captain himself, ifhe thought him worth it.
  What are we to do, then? I asked.
  What do you think? said he. Well make the coats of some ofthese soldiers redder than ever the tailor did.
  But they are armed, said I.
  And so shall we be, my boy. Theres a brace of pistols for everymothers son of us; and if we cant carry this ship, with the crew at ourback, its time we were all sent to a young misses boarding-school. Youspeak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be trusted.
 I did so and found my other neighbour to be a young fellow in muchthe same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. His namewas Evans, but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a richand prosperous man in the [383] south of England. He was ready enoughto join the conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and beforewe had crossed the bay there were only two of the prisoners who were notin the secret. One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trusthim, and the other was suffering from jaundice and could not be of anyuse to us.
 From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us fromtaking possession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, speciallypicked 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 hecome that by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of ourbeds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. Twoof the warders were agents of Prendergast, and the second mate was hisright-hand man. The captain, the two mates, two warders, LieutenantMartin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had againstus. Yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and tomake our attack suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly thanwe expected, and in this way.
 One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor hadcome down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and, putting his handdown on the bottom of his bunk, he felt the outline of the pistols. If hehad been silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was anervous little chap, so he gave a cry of surprise and turned so pale that theman knew what was up in an instant and seized him. He was gaggedbefore he could give the alarm and tied down upon the bed. He hadunlocked 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 camerunning to see what was the matter. There were two more soldiers at thedoor of the stateroom, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for theynever fired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets.
Then we rushed on into the captains cabin, but as we pushed open thedoor there was an explosion from within, and there he lay with his brainssmeared 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 businessseemed to be settled.
 The stateroom was next the cabin, and we flocked in there andflopped down on the settees, all speaking together, for we were just madwith the feeling that we were free once more. There were lockers allround, and Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, andpulled out a dozen of brown sherry. We cracked off the necks of thebottles, poured the stuff out into tumblers, and were just tossing them offwhen in an instant without warning there came the roar of muskets in ourears, and the saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across thetable. When it cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson and eightothers were wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the bloodand 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 jobup if it had not been for Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushedfor the door with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran, and thereon the poop were the lieutenant and ten of his men. The swing skylightsabove the saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired on usthrough the slit. We got on them before they could load, and they stood toit like men; but we had the upper hand of them, and in five minutes it wasall over. My God! was there ever a slaughter-house like [384] that ship!
Prendergast was like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as ifthey had been children and threw them overboard alive or dead. Therewas one sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimmingfor a surprising time until someone in mercy blew out his brains. Whenthe fighting was over there was no one left of our enemies except just thewarders, the mates, and the doctor.
 It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were many of uswho were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wishto have murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock the soldiers overwith their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by whilemen were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and threesailors, said that we would not see it done. But there was no movingPrendergast and those who were with him. Our only chance of safety layin making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue withpower to wag in a witness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the fate ofthe prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take a boatand go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of thesebloodthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it wasdone. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel of water, twocasks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass. Prendergast threwus over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked mariners whose shiphad foundered in Lat. 15 and Long. 25 west, and then cut the painter andlet us go.
 And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, my dearson. The seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during the rising, butnow as we left them they brought it square again, and as there was a lightwind from the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away fromus. Our boat lay, rising and falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, andEvans and I, who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in thesheets working out our position and planning what coast we should makefor. It was a nice question, for the Cape Verdes were about five hundredmiles to the north of us, and the African coast about seven hundred to theeast. On the whole, as the wind was coming round to the north, wethought that Sierra Leone might be best and turned our head in thatdirection, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on our starboardquarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black cloud ofsmoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon the skyline.
A few seconds later a roar like thunder burst upon our ears, and asthe smoke thinned away there was no sign left of the Gloria Scott. In aninstant we swept the boats head round again and pulled with all ourstrength for the place where the haze still trailing over the water markedthe scene of this catastrophe.
 It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that wehad come too late to save anyone. A splintered boat and a number ofcrates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed uswhere the vessel had foundered; but there was no sign of life, and we hadturned away in despair, when we heard a cry for help and saw at somedistance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. Whenwe pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young seaman of thename of Hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give usno account of what had happened until the following morning.
 It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and his gang hadproceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners. The two wardershad been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate.
Prendergast then descended into [385] the tween-decks and with his ownhands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. There only remained thefirst mate, who was a bold and active man. When he saw the convictapproaching him with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off hisbonds, which he had somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down thedeck he plunged into the after-hold. A dozen convicts, who descendedwith their pistols in search of him, found him with a match-box in hishand seated beside an open powder-barrel, which was one of the hundredcarried on board, and swearing that he would blow all hands up if he werein any way molested. An instant later the explosion occurred, thoughHudson thought it was caused by the misdirected bullet of one of theconvicts rather than the mates match. Be the cause what it may, it wasthe 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 terriblebusiness in which I was involved. Next day we were picked up by the brigHotspur, bound for Australia, whose captain found no difficulty inbelieving that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which hadfoundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiraltyas 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 Evansand I changed our names and made our way to the diggings, where,among the crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had nodifficulty in losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate. Weprospered, we travelled, we came back as rich colonials to England, andwe bought country estates. For more than twenty years we have ledpeaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our past was forever buried.
Imagine, then, my feelings when in the seaman who came to us Irecognized instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. He hadtracked us down somehow and had set himself to live upon our fears. Youwill 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 fillme, now that he has gone from me to his other victim with threats uponhis 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 mercyon our souls!
That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor, and Ithink, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one. Thegood 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 ofthem was ever heard of again after that day on which the letter of warningwas written. They both disappeared utterly and completely. No complainthad been lodged with the police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threatfor a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was believed bythe police that he had done away with Beddoes and had fled. For myself Ibelieve that the truth was exactly the opposite. I think that it is mostprobable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and believing himself tohave been already betrayed, had revenged himself upon Hudson, and hadfled 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 yourcollection, I am sure that they are very heartily at your service.
David Soucek, 1998 The Musgrave RitualThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE MUSGRAVE RITUALAN ANOMALY which often struck me in the character of my friendSherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was theneatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected acertain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habitsone 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 roughand-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of naturalBohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits amedical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man whokeeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persianslipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knifeinto the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to givemyself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should bedistinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queerhumours, would sit in an armchair with his hair-trigger and a hundredBoxer cartridges and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patrioticV. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere northe appearance of our room was improved by it.
Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relicswhich had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning upin the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were mygreat crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially thosewhich were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once inevery year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrangethem; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs,the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkablefeats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions oflethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books,hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after monthhis papers accumulated until every corner of the room was stacked withbundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and whichcould not be put away save by their owner. One winters night, as we sattogether by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finishedpasting extracts into his commonplace book, he might employ the nexttwo hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not denythe justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to hisbedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behindhim. This he placed in the middle of the floor, and, squatting down upon astool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already athird full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.
There are cases enough here, Watson, said he, looking at me withmischievous eyes. I think that if you knew all that I had in this box youwould ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.
These are the records of your early work, then? I asked. I have oftenwished that I had notes of those cases.
Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographerhad come to glorify me. He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender,caressing sort of way. [387] They are not all successes, Watson, said he.
But there are some pretty little problems among them. Heres the recordof the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant,and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of thealuminum crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot,and his abominable wife. And hereCah, now, this really is something alittle recherch.
He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest and brought up asmall wooden box with a sliding lid such as childrens toys are kept in.
From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashionedbrass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and threerusty old discs of metal.
Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot? he asked, smiling at myexpression.
It is a curious collection.
Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as beingmore 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 theedge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked themover with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
These, said he, are all that I have left to remind me of the adventureof the Musgrave Ritual.
I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had neverbeen able to gather the details. I should be so glad, said I, if you wouldgive me an account of it.
And leave the litter as it is? he cried mischievously. Your tidinesswont bear much strain, after all, Watson. But I should be glad that youshould add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which makeit quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any othercountry. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly beincomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.
You may remember how the affair of the Gloria Scott, and myconversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turnedmy attention in the direction of the profession which has become mylifes work. You see me now when my name has become known far andwide, and when I am generally recognized both by the public and by theofficial force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Evenwhen you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you havecommemorated in A Study in Scarlet, I had already established aconsiderable, though not a very lucrative, connection. You can hardlyrealize, then, how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had to waitbefore I succeeded in making any headway.
When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street, justround the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling inmy too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of sciencewhich might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in myway, principally through the introduction of old fellow-students, forduring my last years at the university there was a good deal of talk thereabout myself and my methods. The third of these cases was [388] that ofthe Musgrave Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by thatsingular chain of events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake,that I trace my first stride towards the position which I now hold.
Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I hadsome slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular amongthe undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was setdown as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence.
In appearance he was a man of an exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, highnosed,and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He wasindeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, thoughhis branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northernMusgraves some time in the sixteenth century and had established itself inwestern Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps theoldest inhabited building in the county. Something of his birth-placeseemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face orthe poise of his head without associating him with gray archways andmullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep.
Once or twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that more thanonce he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation andinference.
For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walkedinto my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed likea young man of fashionChe was always a bit of a dandyCand preserved thesame quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished him.
 How has all gone with you, Musgrave? I asked after we hadcordially shaken hands.
 You probably heard of my poor fathers death, said he; he wascarried off about two years ago. Since then I have of course had theHurlstone estate 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 areturning 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 beexceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings atHurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon thematter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.
You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, forthe very chance for which I had been panting during all those months ofinaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart Ibelieved that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had theopportunity to test myself.
 Pray let me have the details, I cried.
Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me and lit the cigarettewhich I had pushed towards him.
 You must know, said he, that though I am a bachelor, I have tokeep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a ramblingold place and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and in thepheasant months I usually have a house-party, so that it would not do tobe short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler,two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of course have aseparate staff.
 Of these servants the one who had been longest in our service wasBrunton, the butler. He was a young schoolmaster out of place when hewas first taken up [389] by my father, but he was a man of great energyand character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. Hewas a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and thoughhe has been with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now.
With his personal advantages and his extraordinary giftsCfor he can speakseveral languages and play nearly every musical instrumentCit iswonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position,but I suppose that he was comfortable and lacked energy to make anychange. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered byall who visit us.
 But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you canimagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in aquiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since hehas been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. A fewmonths ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again, forhe became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second housemaid; but he hasthrown her over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughterof the head game-keeper. RachelCwho is a very good girl, but of anexcitable Welsh temperamentChad a sharp touch of brain-fever and goesabout the house nowCor did until yesterdayClike a black-eyed shadow ofher former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but a second onecame to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace anddismissal 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 toan 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 merestaccident opened my eyes to it.
 I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last weekConThursday night, to be more exactCI found that I could not sleep, havingfoolishly taken a cup of strong cafe noir after my dinner. After strugglingagainst it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so Irose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which Iwas reading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard-room, so Ipulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it.
 In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flight of stairsand then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and thegun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down thiscorridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of thelibrary. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door beforecoming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridorsat Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of oldweapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving mycandle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at theopen 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 hisknee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. Istood dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness. A smalltaper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to showme that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from hischair, and, walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drewout one of the drawers. From this he took a paper, and, returning to hisseat, he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the [390] table andbegan to study it with minute attention. My indignation at this calmexamination of our family documents overcame me so far that I took astep 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 hisbreast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying.
  So! said I. This is how you repay the trust which we havereposed in you. You will leave my service to-morrow.
 He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed and slunkpast me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light Iglanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from thebureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simplya copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance calledthe Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family,which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his comingof ageCa thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance tothe archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of no practicaluse 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 keywhich Brunton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised tofind that the butler had returned, and was standing before me.
  Mr. Musgrave, sir, he cried in a voice which was hoarse withemotion, I cant bear disgrace, sir. Ive always been proud above mystation in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will be on your head,sirCit will, indeedCif you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me afterwhat has passed, then for Gods sake let me give you notice and leave in amonth, as if of my own free will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, butnot to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well.
  You dont deserve much consideration, Brunton, I answered.
Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been along 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 givewhat reason you like for going.
  Only a week, sir? he cried in a despairing voice. A fortnightCsayat least a fortnight!
  A week, I repeated, and you may consider yourself to have beenvery 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 attentionto his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed and waited with somecuriosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning,however, he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receivemy instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meetRachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recentlyrecovered from an illness and was looking so wretchedly pale and wanthat I remonstrated with her for being at work.
  You should be in bed, I said. Come back to your duties when youare stronger.
 She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began tosuspect that her brain was affected.
[391]   I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave, said she.
  We will see what the doctor says, I answered. You must stopwork now, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to seeBrunton.
  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, heis gone, he is gone! She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriekof laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed tothe bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still screamingand sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubtabout it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he hadbeen seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, andyet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as bothwindows 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 whichhe usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his bootswere 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 wasno trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especiallythe original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we ransackedevery room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missingman. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all hisproperty behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the localpolice, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before, and weexamined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain. Matterswere in this state, when a new development quite drew our attention awayfrom 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 atnight. On the third night after Bruntons disappearance, the nurse, findingher patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the armchair, whenshe 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 twofootmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was notdifficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting from underher window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to theedge of the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path whichleads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you canimagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girlcame to an end at the edge of it.
 Of course, we had the drags at once and set to work to recover theremains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, webrought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linenbag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discoloured metaland several dull-coloured pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find wasall that we could get from the mere, and, although we made everypossible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate eitherof Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at theirwits end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.
You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to thisextraordinary sequence of events, and endeavoured to piece themtogether, and to devise some common thread upon which they might allhang. The butler was gone. The maid [392] was gone. The maid had lovedthe butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welshblood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediatelyafter his disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing somecurious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken intoconsideration, 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 ofthis tangled line.
 I must see that paper, Musgrave, said I, which this butler of yoursthought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of hisplace.
 It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours, he answered. Butit has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy ofthe 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 isthe strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when hecame to mans estate. I will read you the questions and answers as theystand.
 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 andby 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 theseventeenth century, remarked Musgrave. I am afraid, however, that itcan be of little help to you in solving this mystery.
 At least, said I, it gives us another mystery, and one which is evenmore interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one mayprove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if Isay that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and tohave had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters.
 I hardly follow you, said Musgrave. The paper seems to me to beof no practical importance.
 But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Bruntontook the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on whichyou caught him.
 It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.
 He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon thatlast occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which hewas comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocketwhen you appeared.
 That is true. But what could he have to do with this old familycustom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?
 I dont think that we should have much difficulty in determining that, said [393] I; with your permission we will take the first train down toSussex and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.
The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seenpictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I willconfine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L, thelong arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancientnucleus from which the other has developed. Over the low, heavylintelleddoor, in the centre of this old part, is chiselled the date, 1607, butexperts are agreed that the beams and stonework are really much olderthan this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had inthe last century driven the family into building the new wing, and the oldone was used now as a storehouse and a cellar, when it was used at all. Asplendid park with fine old timber surrounds the house, and the lake, towhich my client had referred, lay close to the avenue, about two hundredyards from the building.
I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were not threeseparate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read theMusgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue which wouldlead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maidHowells. To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servantbe so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he sawsomething in it which had escaped all those generations of countrysquires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What wasit then, and how had it affected his fate?
It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the Ritual, that themeasurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the documentalluded, and that if we could find that spot we should be in a fair waytowards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thoughtit necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guidesgiven us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be noquestion at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of thedrive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificenttrees that I have ever seen.
 That was there when your Ritual was drawn up, said I as we drovepast it.
 It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability, he answered.
It has a girth of twenty-three feet.
Here was one of my fixed points secured.
 Have you any old elms? I asked.
 There used to be a very old one over yonder, but it was struck bylightning 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 dog-cart, and my client led me away at once,without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm hadstood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. Myinvestigation 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.
[394]  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 workedout every tree and building in the estate.
This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming morequickly 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 callit to my mind, he answered, Brunton did ask me about the height of thetree some months ago in connection with some little argument with thegroom.
This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on theright road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and Icalculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmostbranches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual wouldthen be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end ofthe shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. Ihad, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sunwas just clear of the oak.
That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longerthere.
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 andwhittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot ateach yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to justsix feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. Thesun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, markedout 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 feetthrew a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one ofninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other.
I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of thehouse, 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 inthe ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in hismeasurements, and that I was still upon his trail.
From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first taken thecardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took mealong parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot witha peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east and two to the south. Itbrought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the westmeant 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 amoment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in mycalculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and Icould see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was pavedwere firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved formany a long year. Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon thefloor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crackor crevice. But, fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate themeaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, tookout his manuscript to check my calculations.
 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, Isaw at once that I was wrong. There is a cellar under this then? I cried.
[395]  Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door.
We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking amatch, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In aninstant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, andthat 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 hadevidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as toleave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavyflagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick shepherdscheck muffler was attached.
 By Jove! cried my client. Thats Bruntons muffler. I have seen iton 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 bepresent, and I then endeavoured to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat.
I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of theconstables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A black holeyawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneeling atthe side, pushed down the lantern.
A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay opento us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid ofwhich was hinged upward, with this curious old-fashioned key projectingfrom the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp andworms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi wasgrowing 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 itcontained nothing else.
At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for oureyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure ofa man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with hisforehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out oneach side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face,and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colouredcountenance; but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient toshow my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed hismissing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound orbruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. Whenhis body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves stillconfronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that withwhich we had started.
I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in myinvestigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I hadfound the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and wasapparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family hadconcealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown alight upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fatehad come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by thewoman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner andthought the whole matter carefully over.
You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in themans place, and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imaginehow I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. Inthis case the matter was simplified by Bruntons intelligence being quitefirst-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for thepersonal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew thatsomething valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He foundthat the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to moveunaided. What [396] would he do next? He could not get help fromoutside, even if he had someone whom he could trust, without theunbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was better, if hecould, 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 realizethat he may have finally lost a womans love, however badly he may havetreated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with thegirl Howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together theywould come at night to the cellar, and their united force would suffice toraise the stone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seenthem.
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 nolight job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I shouldhave done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets ofwood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came uponwhat I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very markedindentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if theyhad been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as theyhad dragged the stone up, they had thrust the chunks of wood into thechink until at last when the opening was large enough to crawl through,they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might verywell become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of thestone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So far I wasstill 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. Thegirl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed upthe contents presumably Csince they were not to be foundCand thenCandthen what happened?
What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flamein this passionate Celtic womans soul when she saw the man who hadwronged herC wronged her, perhaps, far more than we suspectedCin herpower? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped and that the stone hadshut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had she only beenguilty of silence as to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her handdashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place?
Be that as it might, I seemed to see that womans figure still clutching ather treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her earsringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with thedrumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was chokingher faithless lovers life out.
Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her pealsof 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 metaland pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrownthem 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 andpeering down into the hole.
 These are coins of Charles the First, said he, holding out the fewwhich had been in the box; you see we were right in fixing our date forthe Ritual.
 We may find something else of Charles the First, I cried, as theprobable meaning of the first two questions of the Ritual broke suddenlyupon me. Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from themere.
[397] We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. Icould understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked atit, for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. Irubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards likea spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was in the form ofa 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 inEngland even after the death of the king, and that when they at last fledthey probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behindthem, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times.
 My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and theright-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings, said my friend.
 Ah, indeed! I answered. Well now, I think that really should giveus the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming intothe possession, though in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is ofgreat intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as a historicalcuriosity.
 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? Whosewas it? His who is gone. That was after the execution of Charles.
Then, Who shall have it? He who will come. That was Charles theSecond, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be nodoubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows ofthe royal Stuarts.
 And how came it in the pond?
 Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer. And withthat I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proofwhich I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon wasshining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished.
 And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when hereturned? asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag.
 Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shallprobably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who heldthe secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide to hisdescendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this ithas been handed down from father to son, until at last it came withinreach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.
And thats the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They have thecrown down at HurlstoneCthough they had some legal bother and aconsiderable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am surethat if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Ofthe woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she gotaway out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime tosome land beyond the seas.
David Soucek, 1998 The Reigate PuzzleThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE REIGATE PUZZLEIT WAS some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmesrecovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the springof 87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and ofthe colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in the minds ofthe public, and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance tobe fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in anindirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friendan opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among themany with which he waged his lifelong battle against crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the fourteenth of Aprilthat I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmeswas lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in hissick-room and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable inhis symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken downunder the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months,during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a dayand had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days ata stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labours could not save himfrom reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe wasringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep withcongratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackest depression.
Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of threecountries had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point themost accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse himfrom his nervous prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it wasevident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and thethought of a week of springtime in the country was full of attractions tome also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under myprofessional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate inSurrey 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 comewith me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A littlediplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that theestablishment was a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed thefullest freedom, he fell in with my plans and a week after our return fromLyons we were under the colonels roof. Hayter was a fine old soldierwho 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 colonels gun-roomafter dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I lookedover his little armory of Eastern weapons.
By the way, said he suddenly, I think Ill take one of these pistolsupstairs with me in case we have an alarm.
An alarm! said I.
Yes, weve had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one ofour county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No greatdamage done, but the fellows are still at large.
[399] No clue? asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the colonel.
None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little countrycrimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, afterthis great international affair.
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that ithad pleased him.
Was there any feature of interest?
I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little fortheir pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open,and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of PopesHomer, two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oakbarometer, 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, itis surely obvious thatC C
But I held up a warning finger.
You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For heavens sake dont getstarted on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignationtowards the colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerouschannels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should bewasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such away that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turnwhich neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast whenthe colonels butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him.
Have you heard the news, sir? he gasped. At the Cunninghams, sir!
Burglary! cried the colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air.
Murder!
The colonel whistled. By Jove! said he. Whos 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. Hed justbroke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met hisend in saving his masters property.
What time?
It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve.
Ah, then, well step over afterwards, said the colonel, coolly settlingdown to his breakfast again. Its a baddish business, he added when thebutler had gone; hes our leading man about here, is old Cunningham,and a very decent fellow too. Hell be cut up over this, for the man hasbeen in his service for years and was a good servant. Its evidently thesame villains who broke into Actons.
And stole that very singular collection, said Holmes thoughtfully.
Precisely.
Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the sameat first [400] glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of burglarsacting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of theiroperations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a fewdays. When you spoke last night of taking precautions I remember that itpassed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in Englandto which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attentionCwhichshows that I have still much to learn.
I fancy its some local practitioner, said the colonel. In that case, ofcourse, Actons and Cunninghams are just the places he would go for,since they are far the largest about here.
And richest?
Well, they ought to be, but theyve had a lawsuit for some years whichhas sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has someclaim on half Cunninghams estate, and the lawyers have been at it withboth hands.
If its a local villain there should not be much difficulty in runninghim down, said Holmes with a yawn. All right, Watson, I dont intendto 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 dont intrude, but we hearthat Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here.
The colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the inspectorbowed.
We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes.
The fates are against you, Watson, said he, laughing. We werechatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you canlet us have a few details. As he leaned back in his chair in the familiarattitude I knew that the case was hopeless.
We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty to go on,and theres 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 poorWilliam Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroomwindow, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. Itwas quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham hadjust 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. Alecran down to see what was the matter. The back door was open, and as hecame 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 rushedacross the garden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of hisbedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him atonce. Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so thevillain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a middle-sized manand dressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we aremaking energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall soon find himout.
What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before hedied?
Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was avery faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with theintention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this Acton businesshas put everyone on their guard. The robber must have just burst open thedoorCthe lock has been forcedCwhen William came upon him.
[401] Did William say anything to his mother before going out?
She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. Theshock has made her half-witted, but I understand that she was never verybright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at this!
He took a small piece of torn paper from a notebook and spread it outupon his knee.
This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. Itappears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe thatthe hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow methis fate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheetfrom him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. Itreads almost as though it were an appointment.
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is herereproduced.
Presuming that it is an appointment, continued the inspector, it is ofcourse a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan, though he had thereputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with thethief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break inthe door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves.
This writing is of extraordinary interest, said Holmes, who had beenexamining it with intense concentration. These are much deeper watersthan I had thought. He sank his head upon his hands, while the inspectorsmiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous Londonspecialist.
Your last remark, said Holmes presently, as to the possibility ofthere being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and thisbeing a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and notentirely impossible supposition. But this writing opens upC C He sank hishead into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepestthought. When he raised his face again I was surprised to see that hischeek was tinged with colour, and his eyes as bright as before his illness.
He sprang to his feet with all his old energy.
Ill tell you what, said he, I should like to have a quiet little glanceinto the details of this case. There is something in it which fascinates meextremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my friend Watsonand you, and I will step round with the inspector to test the truth of one ortwo little fancies of mine. I will be with you again in half an hour.
An hour and a half had elapsed before the inspector returned alone.
Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside, said he. Hewants us all four to go up to the house together.
To Mr. Cunninghams?
Yes, sir.
What for?
[402] The inspector shrugged his shoulders. I dont quite know, sir.
Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes has not quite got over his illnessyet. Hes been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited.
I dont think you need alarm yourself, said I. I have usually foundthat there was method in his madness.
Some folk might say there was madness in his method, muttered theinspector. But hes all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out ifyou are ready.
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk uponhis breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets.
The matter grows in interest, said he. Watson, your country trip hasbeen a distinct success. I have had a charming morning.
You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand, said thecolonel.
Yes, the inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissancetogether.
Any success?
Well, we have seen some very interesting things. Ill tell you what wedid as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man. Hecertainly died from a revolver wound as reported.
Had you doubted it, then?
Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. Wethen had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were ableto point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through thegarden-hedge in his flight. That was of great interest.
Naturally.
Then we had a look at this poor fellows mother. We could get noinformation 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 visitnow may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are bothagreed, Inspector, that the fragment of paper in the dead mans hand,bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is ofextreme importance.
It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes.
It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who broughtWilliam Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of thatsheet of paper?
I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it, said theinspector.
It was torn out of the dead mans hand. Why was someone so anxiousto get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would hedo with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that acorner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the restof that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way towardssolving the mystery.
Yes, but how can we get at the criminals pocket before we catch thecriminal?
Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obviouspoint. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could nothave taken it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his ownmessage by word of mouth. Who brought the note, then? Or did it comethrough the post?
I have made inquiries, said the inspector. William received a letterby the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him.
Excellent! cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on the back. Youveseen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is thelodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of thecrime.
[403] We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had livedand 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. Holmesand the inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate, which isseparated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. Aconstable was standing at the kitchen door.
Throw the door open, officer, said Holmes. Now, it was on thosestairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men strugglingjust where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that windowCthe secondon the leftCand he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. Sodid the son. They are both sure of it on account of the 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 camedown the garden path, from round the angle of the house. The one was anelderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other adashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy dresswere in strange contrast with the business which had brought us there.
Still at it, then? said he to Holmes. I thought you Londoners werenever at fault. You dont seem to be so very quick, after all.
Ah, you must give us a little time, said Holmes good-humouredly.
Youll want it, said young Alec Cunningham. Why, I dont see thatwe have any clue at all.
Theres only one, answered the inspector. We thought that if wecould only findC C Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! what is the matter?
My poor friends face had suddenly assumed the most dreadfulexpression. His eyes rolled upward, his features writhed in agony, andwith a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground.
Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him intothe kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair and breathed heavily forsome minutes. Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness, herose once more.
Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a severeillness, 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 feelsure. We can very easily verify it.
What is it?
Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of this poorfellow William was not before, but after, the entrance of the burglar intothe house. You appear to take it for granted that although the door wasforced 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 heardanyone moving about.
Where was he sitting?
I was smoking in my dressing-room.
Which window is that?
The last on the left, next my fathers.
Both of your lamps were lit, of course?
Undoubtedly.
There are some very singular points here, said Holmes, smiling. Is itnot extraordinary that a burglarCand a burglar who had some previousexperienceC [404] should deliberately break into a house at a time when hecould 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 havebeen driven to ask you for an explanation, said young Mr. Alec. But asto your ideas that the man had robbed the house before William tackledhim, I think it a most absurd notion. Wouldnt we have found the placedisarranged and missed the things which he had taken?
It depends on what the things were, said Holmes. You mustremember that we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiarfellow, and who appears to work on lines of his own. Look, for example,at the queer lot of things which he took from ActonsCwhat was it?Ca ballof string, a letter-weight, and I dont 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 bedone.
In the first place, said Holmes, I should like you to offer a rewardCcoming from yourself, for the officials may take a little time before theywould 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. Fiftypounds was quite enough, I thought.
I would willingly give five hundred, said the J. P., taking the slip ofpaper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. This is not quitecorrect, however, he added, glancing over the document.
I wrote it rather hurriedly.
You see you begin, Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesdaymorning an attempt was made, and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve, asa matter of fact.
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would feelany slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but hisrecent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was enough toshow me that he was still far from being himself. He was obviouslyembarrassed for an instant, while the inspector raised his eyebrows, andAlec Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman corrected themistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.
Get it printed as soon as possible, he said; I think your idea is anexcellent one.
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocketbook.
And now, said he, it really would be a good thing that we should allgo over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic burglardid not, after all, carry anything away with him.
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which hadbeen forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in,and the lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in the woodwhere it had been pushed in.
You dont use bars, then? he asked.
We have never found it necessary.
You dont keep a dog?
Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house.
When do the servants go to bed?
About ten.
I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour?
[405] Yes.
It is singular that on this particular night he should have been up.
Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show usover the house, Mr. Cunningham.
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, ledby a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. It came outupon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which cameup from the front hall. Out of this landing opened the drawing-room andseveral bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son.
Holmes walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house.
I could tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I couldnot in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were leading him.
My good sir, said Mr. Cunningham, with some impatience, this issurely very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the stairs, and mysons is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it waspossible for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us.
You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy, said the sonwith a rather malicious smile.
Still, I must ask you to humour me a little further. I should like, forexample, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front.
This, I understand, is your sons roomChe pushed open the doorCandthat, I presume is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when thealarm was given. Where does the window of that look out to? Hestepped across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round theother chamber.
I hope that you are satisfied now? said Mr. Cunningham tartly.
Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished.
Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room.
If it is not too much trouble.
The J. P. shrugged his shoulders and led the way into his own chamber,which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we movedacross it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and Iwere the last of the group. Near the foot of the bed stood a dish of orangesand a carafe of water. As we passed it Holmes, to my unutterableastonishment, leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked thewhole thing over. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruitrolled about into every corner of the room.
Youve done it now, Watson, said he coolly. A pretty mess youvemade of the carpet.
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take theblame upon myself. The others did the same and set the table on its legsagain.
Hullo! cried the inspector, wheres he got to?
Holmes had disappeared.
Wait here an instant, said young Alec Cunningham. The fellow isoff his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see where he hasgot to!
They rushed out of the room, leaving the inspector, the colonel, and mestaring at each other.
 Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec, said theofficial. It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me thatC C
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of Help! Help! Murder!
With [406] a thrill I recognized the voice as that of my friend. I rushedmadly from the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk downinto a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we hadfirst visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The twoCunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes,the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemedto be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn themaway from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very pale and evidentlygreatly exhausted.
Arrest these men, Inspector, he gasped.
On what charge?
That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan.
The inspector stared about him in bewilderment. Oh, come now, Mr.
Holmes, said he at last, Im sure you dont really mean toC C
Tut, man, look at their faces! cried Holmes curtly.
Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon humancountenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed, with a heavy,sullen expression upon his strongly marked face. The son, on the otherhand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterizedhim, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyesand distorted his handsome features. The inspector said nothing, but,stepping to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came atthe call.
I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham, said he. I trust that this mayall prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see thatC C Ah, would you?
Drop it! He struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the youngerman was in the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor.
Keep that, said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; you willfind it useful at the trial. But this is what we really wanted. He held up alittle crumpled piece of paper.
The remainder of the sheet! cried the inspector.
Precisely.
And where was it?
Where I was sure it must be. Ill make the whole matter clear to youpresently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, and Iwill be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The inspector and I musthave a word with the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back atluncheon time.
Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one oclock herejoined us in the colonels smoking-room. He was accompanied by alittle elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr. Actonwhose house had been the scene of the original burglary.
I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this smallmatter to you, said Holmes, for it is natural that he should take a keeninterest in the details. I am afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must regretthe hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as I am.
On the contrary, answered the colonel warmly, I consider it thegreatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methods ofworking. I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, and that I amutterly unable to account for your result. I have not yet seen the vestige ofa clue.
I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you, but it has alwaysbeen [407] my habit to hide none of my methods, either from my friendWatson or from anyone who might take an intelligent interest in them.
But, first, as I am rather shaken by the knocking about which I had in thedressing-room, I think that I shall help myself to a dash of your brandy,Colonel. My strength has been rather tried of late.
I trust you had no more of those nervous attacks.
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. We will come to that in its turn,
said he. I will lay an account of the case before you in its due order,showing you the various points which guided me in my decision. Prayinterrupt me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to you.
It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able torecognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which vital.
Otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated instead of beingconcentrated. Now, in this case there was not the slightest doubt in mymind from the first that the key of the whole matter must be looked for inthe scrap of paper in the dead mans hand.
Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the fact that, ifAlec Cunninghams narrative was correct, and if the assailant, aftershooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could notbe he who tore the paper from the dead mans hand. But if it was not he, itmust have been Alec Cunningham himself, for by the time that the oldman had descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is asimple one, but the inspector had overlooked it because he had startedwith the supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to dowith the matter. Now, I make a point of never having any prejudices, andof following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the very firststage of the investigation, I found myself looking a little askance at thepart which had been played by Mr. Alec Cunningham.
And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of paperwhich the inspector had submitted to us. It was at once clear to me that itformed part of a very remarkable document. Here it is. Do you not nowobserve something very suggestive about it?
It has a very irregular look, said the colonel.
My dear sir, cried Holmes, there cannot be the least doubt in theworld that it has been written by two persons doing alternate words.
When I draw your attention to the strong ts of at and to, and ask youto compare them with the weak ones of quarter and twelve, you willinstantly recognize the fact. A very brief analysis of these four wordswould enable you to say with the utmost confidence that the learn andthe maybe are written in the stronger hand, and the what in theweaker.
By Jove, its as clear as day! cried the colonel. Why on earth shouldtwo men write a letter in such a fashion?
Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men whodistrusted the other was determined that, whatever was done, each shouldhave an equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is clear that the one whowrote the at and to was the ringleader.
How do you get at that?
We might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand ascompared with the other. But we have more assured reasons than that forsupposing it. If you examine this scrap with attention you will come to theconclusion that the [408] man with the stronger hand wrote all his wordsfirst, leaving blanks for the other to fill up. These blanks were not alwayssufficient, and you can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit hisquarter in between the at and the to, showing that the latter werealready written. The man who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly theman who planned the affair.
Excellent! cried Mr. Acton.
But very superficial, said Holmes. We come now, however, to apoint which is of importance. You may not be aware that the deduction ofa mans age from his writing is one which has been brought toconsiderable accuracy by experts. In normal cases one can place a man inhis true decade with tolerable confidence. I say normal cases, because illhealthand physical weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even whenthe invalid is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of theone, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which stillretains its legibility although the ts have begun to lose their crossing, wecan say that the one was a young man and the other was advanced inyears without being positively decrepit.
Excellent! cried Mr. Acton again.
There is a further point, however, which is subtler and of greaterinterest. There is something in common between these hands. Theybelong to men who are blood-relatives. It may be most obvious to you inthe Greek es, but to me there are many small points which indicate thesame thing. I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be tracedin these two specimens of writing. I am only, of course, giving you theleading results now of my examination of the paper. There were twentythreeother deductions which would be of more interest to experts than toyou. They all tend to deepen the impression upon my mind that theCunninghams, father and son, had written this letter.
Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine into thedetails of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. I went up tothe house with the inspector and saw all that was to be seen. The woundupon the dead man was, as I was able to determine with absoluteconfidence, fired from a revolver at the distance of something over fouryards. There was no powder-blackening on the clothes. Evidently,therefore, Alec Cunningham had lied when he said that the two men werestruggling when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed asto the place where the man escaped into the road. At that point, however,as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. As there wereno indications of boot-marks about this ditch, I was absolutely sure notonly that the Cunninghams had again lied but that there had never beenany unknown man upon the scene at all.
And now I have to consider the motive of this singular crime. To getat this, I endeavoured first of all to solve the reason of the originalburglary at Mr. Actons. I understood, from something which the coloneltold us, that a lawsuit had been going on between you, Mr. Acton, and theCunninghams. Of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had brokeninto your library with the intention of getting at some document whichmight be of importance in the case.
Precisely so, said Mr. Acton. There can be no possible doubt as totheir intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half of their present estate,and if they could have found a single paperCwhich, fortunately, was in thestrong-box of my solicitorsCthey would undoubtedly have crippled ourcase.
There you are, said Holmes, smiling. It was a dangerous, recklessattempt [409] in which I seem to trace the influence of young Alec.
Having found nothing, they tried to divert suspicion by making it appearto be an ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off whatever theycould lay their hands upon. That is all clear enough, but there was muchthat was still obscure. What I wanted, above all, was to get the missingpart of that note. I was certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead manshand, and almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of hisdressing-gown. Where else could he have put it? The only question waswhether it was still there. It was worth an effort to find out, and for thatobject we all went up to the house.
The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember, outside thekitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first importance that theyshould not be reminded of the existence of this paper, otherwise theywould naturally destroy it without delay. The inspector was about to tellthem the importance which we attached to it when, by the luckiest chancein the world, I tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed theconversation.
Good heavens! cried the colonel, laughing, do you mean to say allour sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?
Speaking professionally, it was admirably done, cried I, looking inamazement at this man who was forever confounding me with some newphase of his astuteness.
It is an art which is often useful, said he. When I recovered Imanaged, by a device which had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity, toget old Cunningham to write the word twelve, so that I might compare itwith the twelve upon the paper.
Oh, what an ass I have been! I exclaimed.
I could see that you were commiserating me over my weakness, saidHolmes, laughing. I was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which Iknow that you felt. We then went upstairs together, and, having enteredthe room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, Icontrived, by upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the momentand slipped back to examine the pockets. I had hardly got the paper,howeverCwhich was, as I had expected, in one of themCwhen the twoCunninghams were on me, and would, I verily believe, have murdered methen and there but for your prompt and friendly aid. As it is, I feel thatyoung mans grip on my throat now, and the father has twisted my wristround in the effort to get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I mustknow all about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute securityto complete despair made them perfectly desperate.
I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the motive ofthe crime. He was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon,ready to blow out his own or anybody elses brains if he could have got tohis revolver. When Cunningham saw that the case against him was sostrong he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything. It seemsthat William had secretly followed his two masters on the night whenthey made their raid upon Mr. Actons and, having thus got them into hispower, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail uponthem. Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sortwith. It was a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglaryscare which was convulsing the countryside an opportunity of plausiblygetting rid of the man whom he feared. William was decoyed up and shot,and had they only got the whole of the note and paid a little moreattention to detail [411] in their accessories, it is very possible thatsuspicion might never have been aroused.
And the note? I asked.
Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.
It is very much the sort of thing that I expected, said he. Of course,we do not yet know what the relations may have been between AlecCunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison. The result showsthat the trap was skilfully baited. I am sure that you cannot fail to bedelighted with the traces of heredity shown in the ps and in the tails ofthe gs. The absence of the i-dots in the old mans writing is also mostcharacteristic. Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been adistinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to BakerStreet to-morrow.
David Soucek, 1998 The Crooked ManThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE CROOKED MANONE summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by myown hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my dayswork had been an exhausting one. My wife had already gone upstairs, andthe sound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that theservants had also retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking outthe ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.
I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be avisitor at so late an hour. A patient evidently, and possibly an all-nightsitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened the door. Tomy astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step.
Ah, Watson, said he, I hoped that I might not be too late to catchyou.
My dear fellow, pray come in.
You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! Youstill smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days, then! Theres nomistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. Its easy to tell that you havebeen accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. Youll never pass as a purebredcivilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchiefin your sleeve. Could you put me up to-night?
With pleasure.
You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that youhave no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as much.
I shall be delighted if you will stay.
Thank you. Ill fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that youve hadthe British workman in the house. Hes a token of evil. Not the drains, Ihope?
No, the gas.
Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum justwhere the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at Waterloo,but Ill smoke a pipe with you with pleasure.
I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me andsmoked for some time in silence. I was well aware that nothing butbusiness of importance [412] would have brought him to me at such anhour, so I waited patiently until he should come round to it.
I see that you are professionally rather busy just now, said he,glancing very keenly across at me.
Yes, Ive had a busy day, I answered. It may seem very foolish inyour eyes, I added, but really I dont know how you deduced it.
Holmes chuckled to himself.
I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson, saidhe. When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long oneyou use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, although used, are by nomeans dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to justifythe hansom.
Excellent! I cried.
Elementary, said he. It is one of those instances where the reasonercan produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbour, becausethe latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of thededuction. The same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of someof these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, dependingas it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in theproblem which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at present I am inthe position of these same readers, for I hold in this hand several threadsof one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a mans brain, and yetI lack the one or two which are needful to complete my theory. But Illhave them, Watson, Ill have them! His eyes kindled and a slight flushsprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant the veil had lifted upon hiskeen, intense nature, but for an instant only. When I glanced again hisface had resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so manyregard him as a machine rather than a man.
The problem presents features of interest, said he. I may even sayexceptional features of interest. I have already looked into the matter, andhave come, as I think, within sight of my solution. If you couldaccompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service tome.
I should be delighted.
Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?
I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice.
Very good. I want to start by the 11:10 from Waterloo.
That would give me time.
Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of what hashappened, and of what remains to be done.
I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful now.
I will compress the story as far as may be done without omittinganything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you may even have readsome account of the matter. It is the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay,of the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I am investigating.
I have heard nothing of it.
It has not excited much attention yet, except locally. The facts are onlytwo days old. Briefly they are these:
The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous Irishregiments in the British Army. It did wonders both in the Crimea and theMutiny, and has since that time distinguished itself upon every possibleoccasion. It was commanded up to Monday night by James Barclay, agallant veteran, who started as [413] a full private, was raised tocommissioned rank for his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so livedto command the regiment in which he had once carried a musket.
Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant, andhis wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was the daughterof a former colour-sergeant in the same corps. There was, therefore, ascan be imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (forthey were still young) found themselves in their new surroundings. Theyappear, however, to have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclayhas always, I understand, been as popular with the ladies of the regimentas her husband was with his brother officers. I may add that she was awoman of great beauty, and that even now, when she has been married forupward of thirty years, she is still of a striking and queenly appearance.
Colonel Barclays family life appears to have been a uniformly happyone. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, assures me that hehas never heard of any misunderstanding between the pair. On the whole,he thinks that Barclays devotion to his wife was greater than his wifes toBarclay. He was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day. She,on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less obtrusivelyaffectionate. But they were regarded in the regiment as the very model ofa middle-aged couple. There was absolutely nothing in their mutualrelations to prepare people for the tragedy which was to follow.
Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular traits in hischaracter. He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his usual mood, butthere were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable ofconsiderable violence and vindictiveness. This side of his nature,however, appears never to have been turned towards his wife. Anotherfact which had struck Major Murphy and three out of five of the otherofficers with whom I conversed was the singular sort of depression whichcame upon him at times. As the major expressed it, the smile has oftenbeen struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he hasbeen joining in the gaieties and chaff of the mess-table. For days on end,when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. Thisand a certain tinge of superstition were the only unusual traits in hischaracter which his brother officers had observed. The latter peculiaritytook the form of a dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. Thispuerile feature in a nature which was conspicuously manly had oftengiven rise to comment and conjecture.
The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is the old OneHundred and Seventeenth) has been stationed at Aldershot for someyears. The married officers live out of barracks, and the colonel hasduring all this time occupied a villa called Lachine, about half a milefrom the north camp. The house stands in its own grounds, but the westside of it is not more than thirty yards from the highroad. A coachman andtwo maids form the staff of servants. These with their master and mistresswere the sole occupants of Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, norwas it usual for them to have resident visitors.
Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the evening oflast Monday.
Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman CatholicChurch and had interested herself very much in the establishment of theGuild of St. George, which was formed in connection with the Watt StreetChapel for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off clothing. Ameeting of the Guild had been held that evening at eight, and Mrs.
Barclay had hurried over her dinner in order to [414] be present at it.
When leaving the house she was heard by the coachman to make somecommonplace remark to her husband, and to assure him that she would beback before very long. She then called for Miss Morrison, a young ladywho lives in the next villa, and the two went off together to their meeting.
It lasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returnedhome, having left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed.
There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine. Thisfaces the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to the lawn. Thelawn is thirty yards across and is only divided from the highway by a lowwall with an iron rail above it. It was into this room that Mrs. Barclaywent upon her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was seldomused in the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rangthe bell, asking Jane Stewart, the housemaid, to bring her a cup of tea,which was quite contrary to her usual habits. The colonel had been sittingin the dining-room, but, hearing that his wife had returned, he joined herin the morning-room. The coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it.
He was never seen again alive.
The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of tenminutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to hearthe voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation. She knockedwithout receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but only tofind that the door was locked upon the inside. Naturally enough she randown to tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman came upinto the hall and listened to the dispute which was still raging. They allagreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of hiswife. Barclays remarks were subdued and abrupt so that none of themwere audible to the listeners. The ladys, on the other hand, were mostbitter, and when she raised her voice could be plainly heard. Youcoward! she repeated over and over again. What can be done now?
What can be done now? Give me back my life. I will never so much asbreathe the same air with you again! You coward! You coward! Thosewere scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in themans voice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the woman.
Convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to thedoor and strove to force it, while scream after scream issued from within.
He was unable, however, to make his way in, and the maids were toodistracted with fear to be of any assistance to him. A sudden thoughtstruck him, however, and he ran through the hall door and round to thelawn upon which the long French windows open. One side of the windowwas open, which I understand was quite usual in the summertime, and hepassed without difficulty into the room. His mistress had ceased to screamand was stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted overthe side of an armchair, and his head upon the ground near the corner ofthe fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of hisown blood.
Naturally, the coachmans first thought, on finding that he could donothing for his master, was to open the door. But here an unexpected andsingular difficulty presented itself. The key was not in the inner side ofthe door, nor could he find it anywhere in the room. He went out again,therefore, through the window, and, having obtained the help of apoliceman and of a medical man, he returned. The lady, against whomnaturally the strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still ina state of insensibility. The colonels body was then placed upon the sofaand a careful examination made of the scene of the tragedy.
[415] The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering wasfound to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part of hishead, which had evidently been caused by a violent blow from a bluntweapon. Nor was it difficult to guess what that weapon may have been.
Upon the floor, close to the body, was lying a singular club of hard carvedwood with a bone handle. The colonel possessed a varied collection ofweapons brought from the different countries in which he had fought, andit is conjectured by the police that this club was among his trophies. Theservants deny having seen it before, but among the numerous curiositiesin the house it is possible that it may have been overlooked. Nothing elseof importance was discovered in the room by the police, save theinexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs. Barclays person nor upon that ofthe victim nor in any part of the room was the missing key to be found.
The door had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from Aldershot.
That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tuesday morningI, at the request of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershot to supplementthe efforts of the police. I think that you will acknowledge that theproblem was already one of interest, but my observations soon made merealize that it was in truth much more extraordinary than would at firstsight appear.
Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants, but onlysucceeded in eliciting the facts which I have already stated. One otherdetail of interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, the housemaid. Youwill remember that on hearing the sound of the quarrel she descended andreturned with the other servants. On that first occasion, when she wasalone, she says that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk solow that she could hardly hear anything, and judged by their tones ratherthan their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her, however,she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice by the lady.
The point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason ofthe sudden quarrel. The colonels name, you remember, was James.
There was one thing in the case which had made the deepestimpression both upon the servants and the police. This was the contortionof the colonels face. It had set, according to their account, into the mostdreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance iscapable of assuming. More than one person fainted at the mere sight ofhim, so terrible was the effect. It was quite certain that he had foreseen hisfate, and that it had caused him the utmost horror. This, of course, fittedin well enough with the police theory, if the colonel could have seen hiswife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was the fact of the woundbeing on the back of his head a fatal objection to this, as he might haveturned to avoid the blow. No information could be got from the ladyherself, who was temporarily insane from an acute attack of brain-fever.
From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you rememberwent out that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having any knowledge ofwhat it was which had caused the ill-humour in which her companion hadreturned.
Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes overthem, trying to separate those which were crucial from others which weremerely incidental. There could be no question that the most distinctiveand suggestive point in the case was the singular disappearance of thedoor-key. A most careful search had failed to discover it in the room.
Therefore it must have been taken from it. But neither the colonel nor thecolonels wife could have taken it. That was perfectly clear. Therefore athird person must have entered the room. And that third person [416] couldonly have come in through the window. It seemed to me that a carefulexamination of the room and the lawn might possibly reveal some tracesof this mysterious individual. You know my methods, Watson. There wasnot one of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And it ended by mydiscovering traces, but very different ones from those which I hadexpected. There had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawncoming from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear impressions ofhis footmarks: one in the roadway itself, at the point where he hadclimbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint ones upon thestained boards near the window where he had entered. He had apparentlyrushed across the lawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than hisheels. But it was not the man who surprised me. It was his companion.
His companion!
Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket andcarefully unfolded it upon his knee.
What do you make of that? he asked.
The paper was covered with the tracings of the footmarks of somesmall animal. It had five well-marked footpads, an indication of longnails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as a dessert-spoon.
Its a dog, said I.
Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found distincttraces that this creature had done so.
A monkey, then?
But it is not the print of a monkey.
What can it be, then?
Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiarwith. I have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. Here are fourprints where the beast has been standing motionless. You see that it is noless than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. Add to that the length ofneck and head, and you get a creature not much less than two feetlongCprobably more if there is any tail. But now observe this othermeasurement. The animal has been moving, and we have the length of itsstride. In each case it is only about three inches. You have an indication,you see, of a long body with very short legs attached to it. It has not beenconsiderate enough to leave any of its hair behind it. But its general shapemust be what I have indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and it iscarnivorous.
How do you deduce that?
Because it ran up the curtain. A canarys cage was hanging in thewindow, and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird.
Then what was the beast?
Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way towards solvingthe case. On the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel andstoat tribe Cand yet it is larger than any of these that I have seen.
But what had it to do with the crime?
That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal, youperceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at the quarrelbetween the BarclaysCthe blinds were up and the room lighted. We know,also, that he ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by astrange animal, and that he either struck the colonel or, as is equallypossible, that the colonel fell down from sheer fright at [417] the sight ofhim, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. Finally we have thecurious fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he left.
Your discoveries seem to have left the business more obscure than itwas before, said I.
Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was much deeperthan was at first conjectured. I thought the matter over, and I came to theconclusion that I must approach the case from another aspect. But really,Watson, I am keeping you up, and I might just as well tell you all this onour way to Aldershot to-morrow.
Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop.
It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house at half-pastseven she was on good terms with her husband. She was never, as I thinkI have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by thecoachman chatting with the colonel in a friendly fashion. Now, it wasequally certain that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the roomin which she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as anagitated woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken intoviolent recriminations. Therefore something had occurred between seventhirtyand nine oclock which had completely altered her feelings towardshim. But Miss Morrison had been with her during the whole of that hourand a half. It was absolutely certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, thatshe must know something of the matter.
My first conjecture was that possibly there had been some passagesbetween this young lady and the old soldier, which the former had nowconfessed to the wife. That would account for the angry return, and alsofor the girls denial that anything had occurred. Nor would it be entirelyincompatible with most of the words overheard. But there was thereference to David, and there was the known affection of the colonel forhis wife to weigh against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of thisother man, which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with whathad gone before. It was not easy to pick ones steps, but, on the whole, Iwas inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anything between thecolonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever convinced that the younglady held the clue as to what it was which had turned Mrs. Barclay tohatred of her husband. I took the obvious course, therefore, of callingupon Miss M., of explaining to her that I was perfectly certain that sheheld the facts in her possession, and of assuring her that her friend, Mrs.
Barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a capital charge unless thematter were cleared up.
Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid eyes andblond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in shrewdness andcommon sense. She sat thinking for some time after I had spoken, andthen, turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she broke into aremarkable statement which I will condense for your benefit.
 I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the matter, and apromise is a promise, said she; but if I can really help her when soserious a charge is laid against her, and when her own mouth, poordarling, is closed by illness, then I think I am absolved from my promise.
I will tell you exactly what happened upon Monday evening.
 We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a quarter tonine oclock. On our way we had to pass through Hudson Street, which isa very quiet thoroughfare. There is only one lamp in it, upon the left-handside, and as we approached this lamp I saw a man coming towards us withhis back very bent, [418] and something like a box slung over one of hisshoulders. He appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low andwalked with his knees bent. We were passing him when he raised his faceto look at us in the circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did so hestopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice, My God, its Nancy!
Mrs. Barclay turned as white as death and would have fallen down hadthe dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. I was going to callfor the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow.
  I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry, said she in ashaking voice.
  So I have, said he, and it was awful to hear the tones that he said itin. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that comesback to me in my dreams. His hair and whiskers were shot with gray, andhis face was all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple.
  Just walk on a little way, dear, said Mrs. Barclay; I want to havea word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid of. She tried to speakboldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her words outfor the trembling of her lips.
 I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few minutes.
Then she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and I saw thecrippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fistsin the air as if he were mad with rage. She never said a word until wewere at the door here, when she took me by the hand and begged me totell no one what had happened.
  Its an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in the world,
said she. When I promised her I would say nothing she kissed me, and Ihave never seen her since. I have told you now the whole truth, and if Iwithheld it from the police it is because I did not realize then the dangerin which my dear friend stood. I know that it can only be to her advantagethat everything should be known.
There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can imagine, itwas like a light on a dark night. Everything which had been disconnectedbefore began at once to assume its true place, and I had a shadowypresentiment of the whole sequence of events. My next step obviouslywas to find the man who had produced such a remarkable impressionupon Mrs. Barclay. If he were still in Aldershot it should not be a verydifficult matter. There are not such a very great number of civilians, and adeformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day in thesearch, and by eveningCthis very evening, WatsonCI had run him down.
The mans name is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this samestreet in which the ladies met him. He has only been five days in theplace. In the character of a registration-agent I had a most interestinggossip with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer and performer,going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little entertainmentat each. He carries some creature about with him in that box, about whichthe landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation, for she had neverseen an animal like it. He uses it in some of his tricks according to heraccount. So much the woman was able to tell me, and also that it was awonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he spoke in astrange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she had heardhim groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He was all right, as far asmoney went, but in his deposit he had given her what looked like a badflorin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it was an Indian rupee.
So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why it is Iwant [419] you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted from thisman he followed them at a distance, that he saw the quarrel betweenhusband and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and that thecreature which he carried in his box got loose. That is all very certain. Buthe is the only person in this world who can tell us exactly what happenedin that room.
And you intend to ask him?
Most certainlyCbut in the presence of a witness.
And I am the witness?
If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well and good. Ifhe refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a warrant.
But how do you know hell be there when we return?
You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of my BakerStreet boys mounting guard over him who would stick to him like a burr,go where he might. We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow,Watson, and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I kept you outof bed any longer.
It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the tragedy,and, under my companions guidance, we made our way at once toHudson Street. In spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, Icould easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement,while I was myself tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectualpleasure which I invariably experienced when I associated myself withhim in his investigations.
This is the street, said he as we turned into a short thoroughfare linedwith plain two-storied brick houses. Ah, here is Simpson to report.
Hes in all right, Mr. Holmes, cried a small street Arab, running up tous.
Good, Simpson! said Holmes, patting him on the head. Come along,Watson. This is the house. He sent in his card with a message that he hadcome on important business, and a moment later we were face to facewith the man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm weather hewas crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven. The mansat all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave anindescribable impression of deformity; but the face which he turnedtowards us, though worn and swarthy, must at some time have beenremarkable for its beauty. He looked suspiciously at us now out of yellowshot,bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he waved towards twochairs.
Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe, said Holmes affably. Ivecome over this little matter of Colonel Barclays death.
What should I know about that?
Thats what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, that unless thematter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will inall probability be tried for murder.
The man gave a violent start.
I dont know who you are, he cried, nor how you come to knowwhat you do know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?
Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to arrest her.
My God! Are you in the police yourself?
No.
What business is it of yours, then?
Its every mans business to see justice done.
You can take my word that she is innocent.
Then you are guilty.
[420] No, I am not.
Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?
It was a just Providence that killed him. But, mind you this, that if Ihad knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he would havehad no more than his due from my hands. If his own guilty consciencehad not struck him down it is likely enough that I might have had hisblood upon my soul. You want me to tell the story. Well, I dont knowwhy I shouldnt, for theres no cause for me to be ashamed of it.
It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like a camel andmy ribs all awry, but there was a time when Corporal Henry Wood wasthe smartest man in the One Hundred and Seventeenth foot. We were inIndia, then, in cantonments, at a place well call Bhurtee. Barclay, whodied the other day, was sergeant in the same company as myself, and thebelle of the regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of lifebetween her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the colour-sergeant.
There were two men that loved her, and one that she loved, and youllsmile when you look at this poor thing huddled before the fire and hearme say that it was for my good looks that she loved me.
Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her marryingBarclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an educationand was already marked for the sword-belt. But the girl held true to me,and it seemed that I would have had her when the Mutiny broke out, andall hell was loose in the country.
We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a battery ofartillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and women-folk.
There were ten thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a setof terriers round a rat-cage. About the second week of it our water gaveout, and it was a question whether we could communicate with GeneralNeills column, which was moving up-country. It was our only chance,for we could not hope to fight our way out with all the women andchildren, so I volunteered to go out and to warn General Neill of ourdanger. My offer was accepted, and I talked it over with SergeantBarclay, who was supposed to know the ground better than any otherman, and who drew up a route by which I might get through the rebellines. At ten oclock the same night I started off upon my journey. Therewere a thousand lives to save, but it was of only one that I was thinkingwhen I dropped over the wall that night.
My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped wouldscreen me from the enemys sentries; but as I crept round the corner of it Iwalked right into six of them, who were crouching down in the darkwaiting for me. In an instant I was stunned with a blow and bound handand foot. But the real blow was to my heart and not to my head, for as Icame to and listened to as much as I could understand of their talk, Iheard enough to tell me that my comrade, the very man who had arrangedthe way I was to take, had betrayed me by means of a native servant intothe hands of the enemy.
Well, theres no need for me to dwell on that part of it. You know nowwhat James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was relieved by Neill nextday, but the rebels took me away with them in their retreat, and it wasmany a long year before ever I saw a white face again. I was tortured andtried to get away, and was captured and tortured again. You can see foryourselves the state in which I was left. Some of them that fled into Nepaltook me with them, and then afterwards I was up past Darjeeling. The hillfolkup there murdered the rebels who had me, and I [421] became theirslave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going south I had to gonorth, until I found myself among the Afghans. There I wandered aboutfor many a year, and at last came back to the Punjab, where I lived mostlyamong the natives and picked up a living by the conjuring tricks that I hadlearned. What use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go back toEngland or to make myself known to my old comrades? Even my wishfor revenge would not make me do that. I had rather that Nancy and myold pals should think of Harry Wood as having died with a straight back,than see him living and crawling with a stick like a chimpanzee. Theynever doubted that I was dead, and I meant that they never should. I heardthat Barclay had married Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in theregiment, but even that did not make me speak.
But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For years Ive beendreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of England. At last Idetermined to see them before I died. I saved enough to bring me across,and then I came here where the soldiers are, for I know their ways andhow to amuse them and so earn enough to keep me.
Your narrative is most interesting, said Sherlock Holmes. I havealready heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and your mutualrecognition. You then, as I understand, followed her home and sawthrough the window an altercation between her husband and her, in whichshe doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own feelingsovercame you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them.
I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have never seen a manlook before, and over he went with his head on the fender. But he wasdead before he fell. I read death on his face as plain as I can read that textover the fire. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guiltyheart.
And then?
Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door from herhand, intending to unlock it and get help. But as I was doing it it seemedto me better to leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look blackagainst me, and anyway my secret would be out if I were taken. In myhaste I thrust the key into my pocket, and dropped my stick while I waschasing Teddy, who had run up the curtain. When I got him into his box,from which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could run.
Whos Teddy? asked Holmes.
The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in thecorner. In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown creature,thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose, and a pair of thefinest red eyes that ever I saw in an animals head.
Its a mongoose, I cried.
Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon, said theman. Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazing quick oncobras. I have one here without the fangs, and Teddy catches it everynight to please the folk in the canteen.
Any other point, sir?
Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay should proveto be in serious trouble.
In that case, of course, Id come forward.
But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against a deadman, [422] foully as he has acted. You have at least the satisfaction ofknowing that for thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly reproachedhim for his wicked deed. Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other sideof the street. Good-bye, Wood. I want to learn if anything has happenedsince yesterday.
We were in time to overtake the major before he reached the corner.
Ah, Holmes, he said, I suppose you have heard that all this fuss hascome to nothing?
What then?
The inquest is just over. The medical evidence showed conclusivelythat death was due to apoplexy. You see it was quite a simple case, afterall.
Oh, remarkably superficial, said Holmes, smiling. Come, Watson, Idont think we shall be wanted in Aldershot any more.
Theres one thing, said I as we walked down to the station. If thehusbands name was James, and the other was Henry, what was this talkabout David?
That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the whole storyhad I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting. It wasevidently a term of reproach.
Of reproach?
Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on oneoccasion in the same direction as Sergeant James Barclay. You rememberthe small affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My Biblical knowledge is a triflerusty, I fear, but you will find the story in the first or second of Samuel.
David Soucek, 1998 The Resident PatientThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE RESIDENT PATIENTIN GLANCING over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs withwhich I have endeavoured to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities ofmy friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficultywhich I have experienced in picking out examples which shall in everyway answer my purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes hasperformed some tour de force of analytical reasoning, and hasdemonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the factsthemselves have often been so slight or so commonplace that I could notfeel justified in laying them before the public. On the other hand, it hasfrequently happened that he has been concerned in some research wherethe facts have been of the most remarkable and dramatic character, butwhere the share which he has himself taken in determining their causeshas been less pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. The smallmatter which I have chronicled under the heading of A Study inScarlet, and that other later one connected with the loss of the GloriaScott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis which areforever threatening the historian. It may be that in the business of which Iam now about to write the part which my friend played is not sufficientlyaccentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkablethat I cannot bring myself to omit it entirely from this series.
It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn,and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letterwhich he had [423] received by the morning post. For myself, my term ofservice in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and athermometer of ninety was no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting.
Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for theglades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bankaccount had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion,neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him.
He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with hisfilaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to everylittle rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature foundno place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turnedhis mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of thecountry.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossedaside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I fell into a brownstudy. Suddenly my companions voice broke in upon my thoughts.
You are right, Watson, said he. It does seem a very preposterousway of settling a dispute.
Most preposterous! I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how hehad echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and staredat him in blank amazement.
What is this, Holmes? I cried. This is beyond anything which Icould have imagined.
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
You remember, said he, that some little time ago, when I read youthe passage in one of Poes sketches, in which a close reasoner followsthe unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat thematter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I wasconstantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.
Oh, no!
Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly withyour eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enterupon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity ofreading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had beenin rapport with you.
But I was still far from satisfied. In the example which you read tome, said I, the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of theman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap ofstones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly inmy chair, and what clues can I have given you?
You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as themeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithfulservants.
Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?
Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourselfrecall how your reverie commenced?
No, I cannot.
Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was theaction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with avacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newlyframed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in yourface that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far.
Your eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher,which stands upon the top of your books. You then [424] glanced up at thewall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that ifthe portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space andcorrespond with Gordons picture over there.
You have followed me wonderfully! I exclaimed.
So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts wentback to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying thecharacter in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but youcontinued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You wererecalling the incidents of Beechers career. I was well aware that youcould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook onbehalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember youexpressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about itthat I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also.
When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when Iobserved that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, Iwas positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which wasshown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your facegrew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadnessand horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your ownold wound, and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that theridiculous side of this method of settling international questions hadforced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it waspreposterous, and was glad to find that all my deductions had beencorrect.
Absolutely! said I. And now that you have explained it, I confessthat I am as amazed as before.
It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should nothave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulitythe other day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do yousay to a ramble through London?
I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For threehours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changingkaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and theStrand. His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail andsubtle power of inference, held me amused and enthralled. It was tenoclock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waitingat our door.
Hum! A doctorsCgeneral practitioner, I perceive, said Holmes. Notbeen long in practice, but has a good deal to do. Come to consult us, Ifancy! Lucky we came back!
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmess methods to be able tofollow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the variousmedical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamp-lightinside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. Thelight in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed intendedfor us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico tous at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair bythe fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or fourand thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a lifewhich had sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His mannerwas nervous and shy, like that of a [425] sensitive gentleman, and the thinwhite hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of anartist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombreCa blackfrock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of colour about his necktie.
Good-evening, Doctor, said Holmes cheerily. I am glad to see thatyou have only been waiting a very few minutes.
You spoke to my coachman, then?
No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume yourseat and let me know how I can serve you.
My name is Dr. Percy Trevelyan, said our visitor, and I live at 403Brook Street.
Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervouslesions? I asked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work wasknown to me.
I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead, said he.
My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You areyourself, I presume, a medical man?
A retired army surgeon.
My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish tomake it an absolute specialty, but of course a man must take what he canget at first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a verysingular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street,and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite impossiblefor me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and assistance.
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. You are very welcome toboth, said he. Pray let me have a detailed account of what thecircumstances are which have disturbed you.
One or two of them are so trivial, said Dr. Trevelyan, that really Iam almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable,and the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shall lay it allbefore you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not.
I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own collegecareer. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that youwill not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that mystudent career was considered by my professors to be a very promisingone. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research,occupying a minor position in Kings College Hospital, and I wasfortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into thepathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize andmedal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has justalluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a generalimpression at that time that a distinguished career lay before me.
But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As youwill readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start inone of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which entailenormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay,he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire apresentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power,and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten years time saveenough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, anunexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.
This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, whowas a [426] complete stranger to me. He came up into my room onemorning, and plunged into business in an instant.
 You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished acareer and won a great prize lately? said he.
I bowed.
 Answer me frankly, he continued, for you will find it to yourinterest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successfulman. Have you the tact?
I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question.
 I trust that I have my share, I said.
 Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?
 Really, sir! I cried.
 Quite right! Thats all right! But I was bound to ask. With all thesequalities, why are you not in practice?
I shrugged my shoulders.
 Come, come! said he in his bustling way. Its the old story. More inyour brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to startyou in Brook Street?
I stared at him in astonishment.
 Oh, its for my sake, not for yours, he cried. Ill be perfectly frankwith you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a fewthousands to invest, dye see, and I think Ill sink them in you.
 But why? I gasped.
 Well, its just like any other speculation, and safer than most.
 What am I to do, then?
 Ill tell you. Ill take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run thewhole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in theconsulting-room. Ill let you have pocket-money and everything. Thenyou hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep theother quarter for yourself.
This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the manBlessington approached me. I wont weary you with the account of howwe bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house nextLady Day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions ashe had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of aresident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constantmedical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into asitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits,shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, butin one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour,he walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down fiveand three-pence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest offto the strong-box in his own room.
I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret hisspeculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and thereputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to thefront, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man.
So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr.
Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred tobring me here to-night.
Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed tome, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which,he said, had been [427] committed in the West End, and he appeared, Iremember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a dayshould not pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows anddoors. For a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness,peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walkwhich had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner itstruck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, butwhen I questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I wascompelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fearsappeared to die away, and he renewed his former habits, when a freshevent reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies.
What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which Inow read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.
A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England [it runs],would be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr.
Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to catalepticattacks, on which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority.
He proposes to call at about a quarter-past six to-morrow evening,if Dr. Trevelyan will make it convenient to be at home.
This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in thestudy of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may believe, then,that I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the pageshowed in the patient.
He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplaceCby no meansthe conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struckby the appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man,surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest ofa Hercules. He had his hand under the others arm as they entered, andhelped him to a chair with a tenderness which one would hardly haveexpected from his appearance.
 You will excuse my coming in, Doctor, said he to me, speakingEnglish with a slight lisp. This is my father, and his health is a matter ofthe most overwhelming importance to me.
I was touched by this filial anxiety. You would, perhaps, care toremain during the consultation? said I.
 Not for the world, he cried with a gesture of horror. It is morepainful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father in one of thesedreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never survive it. My ownnervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your permission, Iwill remain in the waiting-room while you go into my fathers case.
To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. Thepatient and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I tookexhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and his answerswere frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limited acquaintancewith our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he ceased to giveany answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I wasshocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at mewith a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in the grip of hismysterious malady.
My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror. Mysecond, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I made notes ofmy patients pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles, andexamined his [428] reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormal in anyof these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences. I hadobtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl,and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues.
The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so, leaving my patient seatedin his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little delay in findingitCfive minutes, let us sayCand then I returned. Imagine my amazement tofind the room empty and the patient gone.
Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. The son hadgone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. My page whoadmits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He waits downstairsand runs up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. Hehad heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr.
Blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not sayanything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got in theway of late of holding as little communication with him as possible.
Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the Russianand his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very samehour this evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, justas they had done before.
 I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departureyesterday, Doctor, said my patient.
 I confess that I was very much surprised at it, said I.
 Well, the fact is, he remarked, that when I recover from theseattacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. Iwoke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out intothe street in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.
 And I, said the son, seeing my father pass the door of the waitingroom,naturally thought that the consultation had come to an end. It wasnot until we had reached home that I began to realize the true state ofaffairs.
 Well, said I, laughing, there is no harm done except that youpuzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the waitingroomI shall be happy to continue our consultation which was brought toso abrupt an ending.
For half an hour or so I discussed the old gentlemans symptoms withhim, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the armof his son.
I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hour of theday for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs.
An instant later I heard him running down, and he burst into myconsulting-room like a man who is mad with panic.
 Who has been in my room? he cried.
 No one, said I.
 Its a lie! he yelled. Come up and look!
I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out ofhis mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointed to severalfootprints upon the light carpet.
 Do you mean to say those are mine? he cried.
They were certainly very much larger than any which he could havemade, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as youknow, and my patients were the only people who called. It must havebeen the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for someunknown reason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room ofmy resident patient. Nothing had been touched [429] or taken, but therewere the footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.
Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I shouldhave thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturbanybodys peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an armchair, and Icould hardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that Ishould come round to you, and of course I at once saw the propriety of it,for certainly the incident is a very singular one, though he appears tocompletely overrate its importance. If you would only come back with mein my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I canhardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence.
Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentnesswhich showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was asimpassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes,and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasizeeach curious episode in the doctors tale. As our visitor concluded,Holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his ownfrom the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarterof an hour we had been dropped at the door of the physicians residencein Brook Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which oneassociates with a West End practice. A small page admitted us, and webegan at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at the topwas suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy,quavering voice.
I have a pistol, it cried. I give you my word that Ill fire if you comeany nearer.
This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington, cried Dr. Trevelyan.
Oh, then it is you, Doctor, said the voice with a great heave of relief.
But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
Yes, yes, its all right, said the voice at last. You can come up, and Iam sorry if my precautions have annoyed you.
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a singularlookingman, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to hisjangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time beenmuch fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like thecheeks of a bloodhound. He was of a sickly colour, and his thin, sandyhair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand heheld a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced.
Good-evening, Mr. Holmes, said he. I am sure I am very muchobliged to you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice morethan I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this mostunwarrantable intrusion into my rooms.
Quite so, said Holmes. Who are these two men, Mr. Blessington,and why do they wish to molest you?
Well, well, said the resident patient in a nervous fashion, of course itis hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer that, Mr. Holmes.
Do you mean that you dont know?
Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in here.
He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortablyfurnished.
You see that, said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of hisbed. I have never been a very rich man, Mr. HolmesCnever made but oneinvestment in [430] my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I dontbelieve in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Betweenourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what itmeans to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms.
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook hishead.
I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me, said he.
But I have told you everything.
Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. Good-night, Dr.
Trevelyan, said he.
And no advice for me? cried Blessington in a breaking voice.
My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth.
A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We hadcrossed Oxford Street and were halfway down Harley Street before Icould get a word from my companion.
Sorry to bring you out on such a fools errand, Watson, he said atlast. It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it.
I can make little of it, I confessed.
Well, it is quite evident that there are two menCmore, perhaps, but atleast twoCwho are determined for some reason to get at this fellowBlessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and on thesecond occasion that young man penetrated to Blessingtons room, whilehis confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from interfering.
And the catalepsy?
A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint asmuch to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have doneit myself.
And then?
By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Theirreason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviouslyto insure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. It justhappened, however, that this hour coincided with Blessingtonsconstitutional, which seems to show that they were not very wellacquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they had been merely afterplunder they would at least have made some attempt to search for it.
Besides, I can read in a mans eye when it is his own skin that he isfrightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have made twosuch vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. Ihold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, andthat for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible that tomorrowmay find him in a more communicative mood.
Is there not one alternative, I suggested, grotesquely improbable, nodoubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the catalepticRussian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyans, who has, for hisown purposes, been in Blessingtons rooms?
I saw in the gas-light that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliantdeparture of mine.
My dear fellow, said he, it was one of the first solutions whichoccurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctors tale. Thisyoung man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quitesuperfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room.
When I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointedlike Blessingtons, and were quite an inch and a [431] third longer than thedoctors, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to hisindividuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if wedo not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning.
Sherlock Holmess prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramaticfashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first dim glimmer ofdaylight, I found him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown.
Theres a brougham waiting for us, Watson, said he.
Whats the matter, then?
The Brook Street business.
Any fresh news?
Tragic, but ambiguous, said he, pulling up the blind. Look at thisCasheet from a notebook, with For Gods sake come at once. P. T.,
scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it whenhe wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for its an urgent call.
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physicians house. Hecame running out to meet us with a face of horror.
Oh, such a business! he cried with his hands to his temples.
What then?
Blessington has committed suicide!
Holmes whistled.
Yes, he hanged himself during the night.
We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what wasevidently his waiting-room.
I really hardly know what I am doing, he cried. The police arealready upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully.
When did you find it out?
He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When themaid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging inthe middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which theheavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the verybox that he showed us yesterday.
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
With your permission, said he at last, I should like to go upstairs andlook into the matter.
We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. Ihave spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessingtonconveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated andintensified until he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck wasdrawn out like a plucked chickens, making the rest of him seem the moreobese and unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long nightdress,and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly frombeneath it. Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who wastaking notes in a pocketbook.
Ah, Mr. Holmes, said he heartily as my friend entered, I amdelighted to see you.
Good-morning, Lanner, answered Holmes; you wont think me anintruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to thisaffair?
Yes, I heard something of them.
[432] Have you formed any opinion?
As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by fright.
The bed has been well slept in, you see. Theres his impression, deepenough. Its about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are mostcommon. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems tohave been a very deliberate affair.
I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by therigidity of the muscles, said I.
Noticed anything peculiar about the room? asked Holmes.
Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. Seemsto have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four cigar-endsthat I picked out of the fireplace.
Hum! said Holmes, have you got his cigar-holder?
No, I have seen none.
His cigar-case, then?
Yes, it was in his coat-pocket.
Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained.
Oh, this is a Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sortwhich are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. Theyare usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their lengththan any other brand. He picked up the four ends and examined themwith his pocket-lens.
Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without, saidhe. Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had theends bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner.
It is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder.
Impossible! cried the inspector.
And why?
Why should anyone murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as byhanging him?
That is what we have to find out.
How could they get in?
Through the front door.
It was barred in the morning.
Then it was barred after them.
How do you know?
I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give yousome further information about it.
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in hismethodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, andinspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs, the mantelpiece, thedead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last heprofessed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cutdown the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet.
How about this rope? he asked.
It is cut off this, said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from underthe bed. He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this besidehim, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs wereburning.
That must have saved them trouble, said Holmes thoughtfully. Yes,the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the afternoonI cannot [433] give you the reasons for them as well. I will take thisphotograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it mayhelp me in my inquiries.
But you have told us nothing! cried the doctor.
Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events, said Holmes.
There were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a third,to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardly remark, arethe same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son, so we cangive a very full description of them. They were admitted by a confederateinside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice, Inspector, it wouldbe to arrest the page, who, as I understand, has only recently come intoyour service, Doctor.
The young imp cannot be found, said Dr. Trevelyan; the maid andthe cook have just been searching for him.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
He has played a not unimportant part in this drama, said he. Thethree men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elderman first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the rearC C
My dear Holmes! I ejaculated.
Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of thefootmarks. I had the advantage of learning which was which last night.
They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessingtons room, the door of which theyfound to be locked. With the help of a wire, however, they forced roundthe key. Even without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on thisward, where the pressure was applied.
On entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag Mr.
Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzedwith terror as to have been unable to cry out. These walls are thick, and itis conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was unheard.
Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of somesort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicialproceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that thesecigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he whoused the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked hisash off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow paced up and down.
Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot beabsolutely certain.
Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. Thematter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with themsome sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That screwdriverand those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing thehook, however, they naturally saved themselves the trouble. Havingfinished their work they made off, and the door was barred behind themby their confederate.
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the nightsdoings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute that,even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow him inhis reasonings. The inspector hurried away on the instant to makeinquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street forbreakfast.
Ill be back by three, said he when we had finished our meal. Boththe inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope bythat time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may stillpresent.
[434] Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter tofour before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as heentered, however, I could see that all had gone well with him.
Any news, Inspector?
We have got the boy, sir.
Excellent, and I have got the men.
You have got them! we cried, all three.
Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called Blessington is, asI expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants. Theirnames are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat.
The Worthingdon bank gang, cried the inspector.
Precisely, said Holmes.
Then Blessington must have been Sutton.
Exactly, said Holmes.
Why, that makes it as clear as crystal, said the inspector.
But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank business,
said Holmes. Five men were in itCthese four and a fifth calledCartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got awaywith seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all fivearrested, but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. ThisBlessington or Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer.
On his evidence Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteenyears apiece. When they got out the other day, which was some yearsbefore their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt downthe traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice theytried to get at him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is thereanything further which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?
I think you have made it all remarkably clear, said the doctor. Nodoubt the day on which he was so perturbed was the day when he hadseen of their release in the newspapers.
Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind.
But why could he not tell you this?
Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his oldassociates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as longas he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he could not bringhimself to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living underthe shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will seethat, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still thereto avenge.
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the ResidentPatient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has beenseen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at ScotlandYard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer NorahCreina, which was lost some years ago with all hands upon thePortuguese coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto. The proceedingsagainst the page broke down for want of evidence, and the Brook StreetMystery, as it was called, has never until now been fully dealt with in anypublic print.
David Soucek, 1998 The Greek InterpreterThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE GREEK INTERPRETERDURING my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes Ihad never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his ownearly life. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhatinhuman effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I foundmyself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart,as deficient in human sympathy as he was preeminent in intelligence. Hisaversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships wereboth typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than hiscomplete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come tobelieve that he was an orphan with no relatives living; but one day, to myvery great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother.
It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which hadroamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes ofthe change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to thequestion of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under discussionwas, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry andhow far to his own early training.
In your own case, said I, from all that you have told me, it seemsobvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility fordeduction are due to your own systematic training.
To some extent, he answered thoughtfully. My ancestors werecountry squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is naturalto their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and mayhave come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, theFrench artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.
But how do you know that it is hereditary?
Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do.
This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with suchsingular powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public hadheard of him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companionsmodesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior.
Holmes laughed at my suggestion.
My dear Watson, said he, I cannot agree with those who rankmodesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seenexactly as they are, and to underestimate ones self is as much a departurefrom truth as to exaggerate ones own powers. When I say, therefore, thatMycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I amspeaking the exact and literal truth.
Is he your junior?
Seven years my senior.
How comes it that he is unknown?
Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.
Where, then?
Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example.
I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimedas much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.
The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one ofthe [436] queerest men. Hes always there from quarter to five to twenty toeight. Its six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shallbe very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.
Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards RegentsCircus.
You wonder, said my companion, why it is that Mycroft does notuse his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.
But I thought you saidC C
I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the artof the detective began and ended in reasoning from an armchair, mybrother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has noambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify hisown solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take thetrouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem tohim, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to bethe correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out thepractical points which must be gone into before a case could be laidbefore a judge or jury.
It is not his profession, then?
By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the meresthobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, andaudits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodgesin Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morningand back every evening. From years end to years end he takes no otherexercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club,which is just opposite his rooms.
I cannot recall the name.
Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who,some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for thecompany of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairsand the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that theDiogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable andunclubable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least noticeof any other one. Save in the Strangers Room, no talking is, under anycircumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of thecommittee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one ofthe founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere.
We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it fromthe St. Jamess end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some littledistance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the wayinto the hall. Through the glass panelling I caught a glimpse of a large andluxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sittingabout and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed meinto a small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leavingme for a minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew couldonly be his brother.
Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. Hisbody was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, hadpreserved something of the sharpness of expression which was soremarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarlylight, watery gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspectivelook which I had only observed in Sherlocks when he was exerting hisfull powers.
I am glad to meet you, sir, said he, putting out a broad, fat hand likethe flipper [437] of a seal. I hear of Sherlock everywhere since youbecame his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you roundlast week to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you mightbe a little out of your depth.
No, I solved it, said my friend, smiling.
It was Adams, of course.
Yes, it was Adams.
I was sure of it from the first. The two sat down together in the bowwindowof the club. To anyone who wishes to study mankind this is thespot, said Mycroft. Look at the magnificent types! Look at these twomen who are coming towards us, for example.
The billiard-marker and the other?
Precisely. What do you make of the other?
The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marksover the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I couldsee in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hatpushed back and several packages under his arm.
An old soldier, I perceive, said Sherlock.
And very recently discharged, remarked the brother.
Served in India, I see.
And a non-commissioned officer.
Royal Artillery, I fancy, said Sherlock.
And a widower.
But with a child.
Children, my dear boy, children.
Come, said I, laughing, this is a little too much.
Surely, answered Holmes, it is not hard to say that a man with thatbearing, expression of authority, and sun-baked skin, is a soldier, is morethan a private, and is not long from India.
That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing hisammunition boots, as they are called, observed Mycroft.
He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as isshown by the lighter skin on that side of his brow. His weight is againsthis being a sapper. He is in the artillery.
Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lostsomeone very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks asthough it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, youperceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young.
The wife probably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-bookunder his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of.
I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that hisbrother possessed even keener faculties than he did himself. He glancedacross at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box andbrushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, redsilk handkerchief.
By the way, Sherlock, said he, I have had something quite after yourown heartCa most singular problemCsubmitted to my judgment. I reallyhad not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but itgave me a basis for some pleasing speculations. If you would care to hearthe factsC C
My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.
[438] The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and,ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.
I have asked Mr. Melas to step across, said he. He lodges on thefloor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which ledhim to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction,as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partlyas interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to anywealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. Ithink I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his ownfashion.
A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose oliveface and coal black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though hisspeech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly withSherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when heunderstood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story.
I do not believe that the police credit meCon my word, I do not, saidhe in a wailing voice. Just because they have never heard of it before,they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never beeasy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with thesticking-plaster upon his face.
I am all attention, said Sherlock Holmes.
This is Wednesday evening, said Mr. Melas. Well, then, it wasMonday nightConly two days ago, you understandCthat all this happened.
I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbour there has told you. Iinterpret all languagesCor nearly allCbut as I am a Greek by birth and witha Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principallyassociated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter inLondon, and my name is very well known in the hotels.
It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours byforeigners who get into difficulties, or by travellers who arrive late andwish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when aMr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to myrooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at thedoor. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and ashe could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreterwere indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was somelittle distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry,bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street.
I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was nota carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than theordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, thoughfrayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to meand we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue.
We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark asto this being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words werearrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion.
He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loadedwith lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward severaltimes, as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without aword upon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up thewindows on each side, and I found to my astonishment that they werecovered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them.
 I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas, said he. The fact is thatI have [439] no intention that you should see what the place is to which weare driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could findyour way there again.
As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. Mycompanion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apartfrom the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a strugglewith him.
 This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer, I stammered. Youmust be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.
 It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt, said he, but well make it upto you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-nightyou attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interest,you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no oneknows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in myhouse, you are equally in my power.
His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them, whichwas very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be hisreason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it mightbe, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting,and that I could only wait to see what might befall.
For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as towhere we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a pavedcauseway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but,save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in theremotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paperover each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain wasdrawn across the glasswork in front. It was a quarter-past seven when weleft Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to ninewhen we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window,and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burningabove it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I foundmyself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees oneach side of me as I entered. Whether these were private grounds,however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly venture tosay.
There was a coloured gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that Icould see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures.
In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the doorwas a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. Ashe turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearingglasses.
 Is this Mr. Melas, Harold? said he.
 Yes.
 Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we couldnot get on without you. If you deal fair with us youll not regret it, but ifyou try any tricks, God help you! He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion,and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed mewith fear more than the other.
 What do you want with me? I asked.
 Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us,and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say,orC here came the nervous giggle againCyou had better never have beenborn.
As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room whichappeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was affordedby a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly large, andthe way in which my [440] feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across ittold me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high whitemarble mantelpiece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armour atone side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly manmotioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenlyreturned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in somesort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As he cameinto the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly Iwas thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale andterribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whosespirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than anysigns of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely crisscrossedwith sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastenedover his mouth.
 Have you the slate, Harold? cried the older man, as this strangebeing fell rather than sat down into a chair. Are his hands loose? Now,then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and hewill write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to signthe papers?
The mans eyes flashed fire.
 Never! he wrote in Greek upon the slate.
 On no conditions? I asked at the bidding of our tyrant.
 Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom Iknow.
The man giggled in his venomous way.
 You know what awaits you, then?
 I care nothing for myself.
These are samples of the questions and answers which made up ourstrange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had toask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again andagain I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came tome. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question,innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knewanything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no sign Iplayed a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:
 You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?
 I care not. I am a stranger in London.
 Your fate will be on your own head. How long have you been here?
 Let it be so. Three weeks.
 The property can never be yours. What ails you?
 It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.
 You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?
 I will never sign. I do not know.
 You are not doing her any service. What is your name?
 Let me hear her say so. Kratides.
 You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?
 Then I shall never see her. Athens.
Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out thewhole story under their very noses. My very next question might havecleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a womanstepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know morethan that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sortof loose white gown.
[441]  Harold, said she, speaking English with a broken accent. Icould not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with onlyC C Oh, myGod, it is Paul!
These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man witha convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming outSophy! Sophy! rushed into the womans arms. Their embrace was butfor an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman andpushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered hisemaciated victim and dragged him away through the other door. For amoment I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with somevague idea that I might in some way get a clue to what this house was inwhich I found myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for lookingup I saw that the older man was standing in the doorway, with his eyesfixed upon me.
 That will do, Mr. Melas, said he. You perceive that we have takenyou into our confidence over some very private business. We should nothave troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who beganthese negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was quitenecessary for us to find someone to take his place, and we were fortunatein hearing of your powers.
I bowed.
 There are five sovereigns here, said he, walking up to me, whichwill, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember, he added, tapping melightly on the chest and giggling, if you speak to a human soul aboutthisCone human soul, mindCwell, may God have mercy upon your soul!
I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this insignificantlookingman inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamp-lightshone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his littlepointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face forwardas he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a manwith St. Vituss dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchylittle laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. The terror of hisface lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly with amalignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.
 We shall know if you speak of this, said he. We have our ownmeans of information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and myfriend will see you on your way.
I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtainingthat momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followedclosely at my heels and took his place opposite to me without a word. Insilence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windowsraised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.
 You will get down here, Mr. Melas, said my companion. I am sorryto leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Anyattempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury toyourself.
He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring outwhen the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. Ilooked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathycommon mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far awaystretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upperwindows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.
The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stoodgazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I sawsomeone coming [442] towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me Imade out that he was a railway porter.
 Can you tell me what place this is? I asked.
 Wandsworth Common, said he.
 Can I get a train into town?
 If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction, said he, youlljust be in time for the last to Victoria.
So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not knowwhere I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have toldyou. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help thatunhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes nextmorning, and subsequently to the police.
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to thisextraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.
Any steps? he asked.
Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.
Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of aGreek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who isunable to speak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paidto anyone giving information about a Greek lady whose first nameis Sophy. X 2473.
That was in all the dailies. No answer.
How about the Greek legation?
I have inquired. They know nothing.
A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?
Sherlock has all the energy of the family, said Mycroft, turning tome. Well, you take the case up by all means and let me know if you doany good.
Certainly, answered my friend, rising from his chair. Ill let youknow, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainlybe on my guard if I were you, for of course they must know through theseadvertisements that you have betrayed them.
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office andsent off several wires.
You see, Watson, he remarked, our evening has been by no meanswasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this waythrough Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although itcan admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features.
You have hopes of solving it?
Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we failto discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory whichwill explain the facts to which we have listened.
In a vague way, yes.
What was your idea, then?
It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried offby the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.
Carried off from where?
Athens, perhaps.
Sherlock Holmes shook his head. This young man could not talk aword of [443] Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well.
InferenceCthat she had been in England some little time, but he had notbeen in Greece.
Well, then, we will presume that she had once come on a visit toEngland, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.
That is more probable.
Then the brotherCfor that, I fancy, must be the relationshipCcomesover from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the powerof the young man and his older associate. They seize him and useviolence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to makeover the girls fortuneCof which he may be trusteeCto them. This herefuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get aninterpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some otherone before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother and finds it outby the merest accident.
Excellent, Watson! cried Holmes. I really fancy that you are not farfrom the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only tofear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time wemust have them.
But how can we find where this house lies?
Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girls name is or was SophyKratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be ourmain hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clearthat some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relationswith the girlC some weeks, at any rateCsince the brother in Greece has hadtime to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the sameplace during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer toMycrofts advertisement.
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking.
Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room hegave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equallyastonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the armchair.
Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir, said he blandly, smiling at oursurprised faces. You dont expect such energy from me, do you,Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.
How did you get here?
I passed you in a hansom.
There has been some new development?
I had an answer to my advertisement.
Ah!
Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.
And to what effect?
Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
Here it is, said he, written with a J pen on royal cream paper by amiddle-aged man with a weak constitution.
SIR [he says]:
In answer to your advertisement of to-days date, I beg toinform you that I know the young lady in question very well. Ifyou should care to call upon me I could give you some particularsas to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles,Beckenham.
Yours faithfully,J. DAVENPORT.
[444] He writes from Lower Brixton, said Mycroft Holmes. Do younot think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn theseparticulars?
My dear Mycroft, the brothers life is more valuable than the sistersstory. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson andgo straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done todeath, and every hour may be vital.
Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way, I suggested. We may need aninterpreter.
Excellent, said Sherlock Holmes. Send the boy for a four-wheeler,and we shall be off at once. He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, andI noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. Yes, said he inanswer to my glance, I should say, from what we have heard, that we aredealing with a particularly dangerous gang.
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the roomsof Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.
Can you tell me where? asked Mycroft Holmes.
I dont know, sir, answered the woman who had opened the door; Ionly know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage.
Did the gentleman give a name?
No, sir.
He wasnt a tall, handsome, dark young man?
Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face,but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he wastalking.
Come along! cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly. This grows serious,
he observed as we drove to Scotland Yard. These men have got hold ofMelas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well awarefrom their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorizehim the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want hisprofessional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined topunish him for what they will regard as his treachery.
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soonas or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, itwas more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson andcomply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter thehouse. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and halfpast before the four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive ofhalf a mile brought us to The MyrtlesCa large, dark house standing backfrom the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab and madeour way up the drive together.
The windows are all dark, remarked the inspector. The house seemsdeserted.
Our birds are flown and the nest empty, said Holmes.
Why do you say so?
A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the lasthour.
The inspector laughed. I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gatelamp,but where does the luggage come in?
You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way.
But the outward-bound ones were very much deeperCso much so that wecan say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on thecarriage.
You get a trifle beyond me there, said the inspector, shrugging hisshoulders. It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if wecannot make someone hear us.
[445] He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, butwithout any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a fewminutes.
I have a window open, said he.
It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it,Mr. Holmes, remarked the inspector as he noted the clever way in whichmy friend had forced back the catch. Well, I think that under thecircumstances we may enter without an invitation.
One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which wasevidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector hadlit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, thelamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the tablelay two glasses, an empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.
What is that? asked Holmes suddenly.
We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming fromsomewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into thehall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspectorand I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as hisgreat bulk would permit.
Three doors faced us upon the second floor, and it was from the centralof these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into adull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but thekey had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushedin, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.
Its charcoal, he cried. Give it time. It will clear.
Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from adull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. Itthrew a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadowsbeyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against thewall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalationwhich set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairsto draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up thewindow and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.
We can enter in a minute, he gasped, darting out again. Where is acandle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold thelight at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!
With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into thewell-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen,congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were theirfeatures that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might havefailed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had partedfrom us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feetwere securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of aviolent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tallman in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plasterarranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan aswe laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aidhad come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in less than anhour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy, I had the satisfaction of seeinghim open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him backfrom that dark valley in which all paths meet.
It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did butconfirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, haddrawn a life-preserver from [446] his sleeve, and had so impressed himwith the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him forthe second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which thisgiggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he couldnot speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He hadbeen taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a secondinterview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmenhad menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply withtheir demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they hadhurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching Melas with histreachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they hadstunned him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing moreuntil he found us bending over him.
And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, theexplanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able tofind out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered theadvertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecianfamily, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. Whilethere she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquiredan ascendency over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him.
Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves withinforming her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of thematter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placedhimself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name wasWilson Kemp Ca man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding thatthrough his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, hadkept him a prisoner, and had endeavoured by cruelty and starvation tomake him sign away his own and his sisters property. They had kept himin the house without the girls knowledge, and the plaster over the facehad been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case sheshould ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perceptions, however,had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of theinterpreters visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poor girl,however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the houseexcept the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom weretools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out, and that theirprisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl had fledaway at a few hours notice from the furnished house which they hadhired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon the manwho had defied and the one who had betrayed them.
Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been travelling with a womanhad met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and theHungarian police were of opinion that they had quarrelled and hadinflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, ofa different way of thinking, and he holds to this day that, if one could findthe Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and herbrother came to be avenged.
David Soucek, 1998 The Naval TreatyThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE NAVAL TREATYTHE JULY which immediately succeeded my marriage was madememorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of beingassociated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I findthem recorded in my notes under the headings of The Adventure of theSecond Stain, The Adventure of the Naval Treaty, and TheAdventure of the Tired Captain. The first of these, however, deals withinterests of such importance and implicates so many of the first familiesin the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public.
No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated thevalue of his analytical methods so clearly or has impressed those whowere associated with him so deeply. I still retain an almost verbatimreport of the interview in which he demonstrated the true facts of the caseto Monsieur Dubugue of the Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, thewell-known specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energiesupon what proved to be side-issues. The new century will have come,however, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile I pass on to thesecond on my list, which promised also at one time to be of nationalimportance and was marked by several incidents which give it a quiteunique character.
During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a ladnamed Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though hewas two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy and carriedaway every prize which the school had to offer, finishing his exploits bywinning a scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphantcareer at Cambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well connected, andeven when we were all little boys together we knew that his mothersbrother was Lord Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gaudyrelationship did him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemedrather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hithim over the shins with a wicket. But it was another thing when he cameout into the world. I heard vaguely that his abilities and the influenceswhich he commanded had won him a good position at the Foreign Office,and then he passed completely out of my mind until the following letterrecalled his existence:
Briarbrae, Woking.
MY DEAR WATSON:
I have no doubt that you can remember Tadpole Phelps, whowas in the fifth form when you were in the third. It is possibleeven that you may have heard that through my uncles influence Iobtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, and that I wasin a situation of trust and honour until a horrible misfortune camesuddenly to blast my career.
There is no use writing the details of that dreadful event. In theevent of your acceding to my request it is probable that I shallhave to narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nineweeks of brain-fever and am still exceedingly weak. Do you thinkthat you could bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? Ishould like to have his opinion of the case, [448] though theauthorities assure me that nothing more can be done. Do try tobring him down, and as soon as possible. Every minute seems anhour while I live in this state of horrible suspense. Assure him thatif I have not asked his advice sooner it was not because I did notappreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head eversince the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not thinkof it too much for fear of a relapse. I am still so weak that I have towrite, as you see, by dictating. Do try to bring him.
Your old school-fellow,PERCY PHELPS.
There was something that touched me as I read this letter, somethingpitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I thateven had it been a difficult matter I should have tried it, but of course Iknew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever as ready to bringhis aid as his client could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me thatnot a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and sowithin an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the oldrooms in Baker Street.
Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown andworking hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort wasboiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and the distilleddrops were condensing into a two-litre measure. My friend hardly glancedup as I entered, and I, seeing that his investigation must be of importance,seated myself in an armchair and waited. He dipped into this bottle orthat, drawing out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finallybrought a test-tube containing a solution over to the table. In his righthand he held a slip of litmus-paper.
You come at a crisis, Watson, said he. If this paper remains blue, allis well. If it turns red, it means a mans life. He dipped it into the testtubeand it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. Hum! I thought asmuch! he cried. I will be at your service in an instant, Watson. You willfind tobacco in the Persian slipper. He turned to his desk and scribbledoff several telegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy. Then hethrew himself down into the chair opposite and drew up his knees untilhis fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.
A very commonplace little murder, said he. Youve got somethingbetter, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it?
I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentratedattention.
It does not tell us very much, does it? he remarked as he handed itback to me.
Hardly anything.
And yet the writing is of interest.
But the writing is not his own.
Precisely. It is a womans.
A mans surely, I cried.
No, a womans, and a woman of rare character. You see, at thecommencement of an investigation it is something to know that yourclient is in close contact with someone who, for good or evil, has anexceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case. If you areready we will start at once for Woking and see this diplomatist who is insuch evil case and the lady to whom he dictates his letters.
[449] We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, andin a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and theheather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large detached housestanding in extensive grounds within a few minutes walk of the station.
On sending in our cards we were shown into an elegantly appointeddrawing-room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stoutman who received us with much hospitality. His age may have beennearer forty than thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes somerry that he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievousboy.
I am so glad that you have come, said he, shaking our hands witheffusion. Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah, poor oldchap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother asked me to seeyou, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them.
We have had no details yet, observed Holmes. I perceive that youare not yourself a member of the family.
Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he beganto laugh.
Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket, said he. For amoment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is myname, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be arelation by marriage. You will find my sister in his room, for she hasnursed him hand and foot this two months back. Perhaps wed better go inat once, for I know how impatient he is.
The chamber into which we were shown was on the same floor as thedrawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as abedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. Ayoung man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the openwindow, through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmysummer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered.
Shall I leave, Percy? she asked.
He clutched her hand to detain her. How are you, Watson? said hecordially. I should never have known you under that moustache, and Idaresay you would not be prepared to swear to me. This I presume is yourcelebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stoutyoung man had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in thatof the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a little short and thickfor symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark, Italianeyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the white faceof her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast.
I wont waste your time, said he, raising himself upon the sofa. Illplunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy andsuccessful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when asudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life.
I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, andthrough the influence of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to aresponsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister in thisadministration he gave me several missions of trust, and as I alwaysbrought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have theutmost confidence in my ability and tact.
Nearly ten weeks agoCto be more accurate, on the twenty-third ofMayC he called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me onthe good work [450] which I had done, he informed me that he had a newcommission of trust for me to execute.
 This, said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, is theoriginal of that secret treaty between England and Italy of which, I regretto say, some rumours have already got into the public press. It is ofenormous importance that nothing further should leak out. The French orthe Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents ofthese papers. They should not leave my bureau were it not that it isabsolutely necessary to have them copied. You have a desk in youroffice?
 Yes, sir.
 Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions thatyou may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy it atyour leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have finished,relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and hand them over tome personally to-morrow morning.
I took the papers andC C
Excuse me an instant, said Holmes. Were you alone during thisconversation?
Absolutely.
In a large room?
Thirty feet each way.
In the centre?
Yes, about it.
And speaking low?
My uncles voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all.
Thank you, said Holmes, shutting his eyes; pray go on.
I did exactly what he indicated and waited until the other clerks haddeparted. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had some arrears ofwork to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When Ireturned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew thatJosephCthe Mr. Harrison whom you saw just nowCwas in town, and thathe would travel down to Woking by the eleven-oclock train, and Iwanted if possible to catch it.
When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of suchimportance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what hesaid. Without going into details, I may say that it defined the position ofGreat Britain towards the Triple Alliance, and foreshadowed the policywhich this country would pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining acomplete ascendency over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. Thequestions treated in it were purely naval. At the end were the signatures ofthe high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes over it, and thensettled down to my task of copying.
It was a long document, written in the French language, andcontaining twenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I could, butat nine oclock I had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless forme to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling drowsy and stupid, partlyfrom my dinner and also from the effects of a long days work. A cup ofcoffee would clear my brain. A commissionaire remains all night in alittle lodge at the foot of the stairs and is in the habit of making coffee athis spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working overtime. Irang the bell, therefore, to summon him.
[451] To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, alarge, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained that shewas the commissionaires wife, who did the charing, and I gave her theorder for the coffee.
I wrote two more articles, and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, Irose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee hadnot yet come, and I wondered what the cause of the delay could be.
Opening the door, I started down the corridor to find out. There was astraight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which I hadbeen working, and was the only exit from it. It ended in a curvingstaircase, with the commissionaires lodge in the passage at the bottom.
Halfway down this staircase is a small landing, with another passagerunning into it at right angles. This second one leads by means of asecond small stair to a side door, used by servants, and also as a short cutby clerks when coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough chart of theplace.
Thank you. I think that I quite follow you, said Sherlock Holmes.
It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. I wentdown the stairs and into the hall, where I found the commissionaire fastasleep in his box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the spirit-lamp. Itook off the kettle and blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting overthe floor. Then I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, whowas still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and hewoke with a start.
 Mr. Phelps, sir! said he, looking at me in bewilderment.
 I came down to see if my coffee was ready.
 I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir. He looked at me andthen up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing astonishment uponhis face.
 If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell? he asked.
 The bell! I cried. What bell is it?
 Its the bell of the room you were working in.
A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Someone, then, was inthat room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran frantically upthe stair and along the passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr.
Holmes. There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left it, saveonly that the papers which had been committed to my care had been takenfrom the desk on which they lay. The copy was there, and the originalwas gone.
[452] Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see thatthe problem was entirely to his heart. Pray, what did you do then? hemurmured.
I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairsfrom the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had come theother way.
You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the roomall the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as dimlylighted?
It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either inthe room or the corridor. There is no cover at all.
Thank you. Pray proceed.
The commissionaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to befeared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the corridorand down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at thebottom was closed but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I candistinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from aneighbouring clock. It was a quarter to ten.
That is of enormous importance, said Holmes, making a note uponhis shirt-cuff.
The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. There wasno one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going on, as usual, inWhitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the pavement, bare-headedas we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing.
 A robbery has been committed, I gasped. A document of immensevalue has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has anyone passed thisway?
 I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir, said he, onlyone person has passed during that timeCa woman, tall and elderly, with aPaisley shawl.
 Ah, that is only my wife, cried the commissionaire; has no one elsepassed?
 No one.
 Then it must be the other way that the thief took, cried the fellow,tugging at my sleeve.
But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw meaway increased my suspicions.
 Which way did the woman go? I cried.
 I dont know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason forwatching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.
 How long ago was it?
 Oh, not very many minutes.
 Within the last five?
 Well, it could not be more than five.
 Youre only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is ofimportance, cried the commissionaire; take my word for it that my oldwoman has nothing to do with it and come down to the other end of thestreet. Well, if you wont, I will. And with that he rushed off in the otherdirection.
But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve.
 Where do you live? said I.
 16 Ivy Lane, Brixton, he answered. But dont let yourself be drawnaway upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end of the streetand let us see if we can hear of anything.
Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policemanwe both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, manypeople coming and [453] going, but all only too eager to get to a place ofsafety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who could tell us whohad passed.
Then we returned to the office and searched the stairs and the passagewithout result. The corridor which led to the room was laid down with akind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. Weexamined it very carefully, but found no outline of any footmark.
Had it been raining all evening?
Since about seven.
How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nineleft no traces with her muddy boots?
I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time. Thecharwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at thecommissionaires office, and putting on list slippers.
That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night was awet one? The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest.
What did you do next?
We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door,and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both of them werefastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a trapdoor,and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will pledge my lifethat whoever stole my papers could only have come through the door.
How about the fireplace?
They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the wirejust to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up tothe desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? It is amost insoluble mystery.
Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? Youexamined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left anytracesCany cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?
There was nothing of the sort.
No smell?
Well, we never thought of that.
Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us insuch an investigation.
I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if there hadbeen any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any kind. Theonly tangible fact was that the commissionaires wifeCMrs. Tangey wasthe nameChad hurried out of the place. He could give no explanation savethat it was about the time when the woman always went home. Thepoliceman and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the womanbefore she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them.
The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes,the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great dealof energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the addresswhich had been given to us. A young woman opened the door, whoproved to be Mrs. Tangeys eldest daughter. Her mother had not comeback yet, and we were shown into the front room to wait.
About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we madethe one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening thedoor ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, Mother,there are two men in the [454] house waiting to see you, and an instantafterwards we heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbesflung open the door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, butthe woman had got there before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes, andthen, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute astonishmentcame over her face.
 Why, if it isnt Mr. Phelps, of the office! she cried.
 Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away fromus? asked my companion.
 I thought you were the brokers, said she, we have had some troublewith a tradesman.
 Thats not quite good enough, answered Forbes. We have reason tobelieve that you have taken a paper of importance from the ForeignOffice, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back withus to Scotland Yard to be searched.
It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler wasbrought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made anexamination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to seewhether she might have made away with the papers during the instant thatshe was alone. There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps.
When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to thefemale searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until she came backwith her report. There were no signs of the papers.
Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full force.
Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I had been soconfident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not dared to think ofwhat would be the consequence if I failed to do so. But now there wasnothing more to be done, and I had leisure to realize my position. It washorrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive boyat school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle and of his colleagues inthe Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself,upon everyone connected with me. What though I was the victim of anextraordinary accident? No allowance is made for accidents wherediplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined, shamefully, hopelesslyruined. I dont know what I did. I fancy I must have made a scene. I havea dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me,endeavouring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me toWaterloo, and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he would havecome all the way had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, wasgoing down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of me,and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station, and before wereached home I was practically a raving maniac.
You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused fromtheir beds by the doctors ringing and found me in this condition. PoorAnnie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr. Ferrier had justheard enough from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea ofwhat had happened, and his story did not mend matters. It was evident toall that I was in for a long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of thischeery bedroom, and it was turned into a sick-room for me. Here I havelain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving withbrain-fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the doctorscare, I should not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day anda hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I wascapable of anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only duringthe last three days [455] that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes Iwish that it never had. The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes,who had the case in hand. He came out, and assures me that, thougheverything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered. Thecommissionaire and his wife have been examined in every way withoutany light being thrown upon the matter. The suspicions of the police thenrested upon young Gorot, who, as you may remember, stayed over-timein the office that night. His remaining behind and his French name werereally the only two points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matterof fact, I did not begin work until he had gone, and his people are ofHuguenot extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as you andI are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there thematter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely my last hope. Ifyou fail me, then my honour as well as my position are forever forfeited.
The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long recital,while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating medicine.
Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in anattitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which I knewbetokened the most intense self-absorption.
Your statement has been so explicit, said he at last, that you havereally left me very few questions to ask. There is one of the very utmostimportance, however. Did you tell anyone that you had this special task toperform?
No one.
Not Miss Harrison here, for example?
No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order andexecuting the commission.
And none of your people had by chance been to see you?
None.
Did any of them know their way about in the office?
Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it.
Still, of course, if you said nothing to anyone about the treaty theseinquiries are irrelevant.
I said nothing.
Do you know anything of the commissionaire?
Nothing except that he is an old soldier.
What regiment?
Oh, I have heardCColdstream Guards.
Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. Theauthorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not always usethem to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!
He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the droopingstalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson andgreen. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never beforeseen him show any keen interest in natural objects.
There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,
said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. It can be built up as anexact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness ofProvidence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, ourpowers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence inthe first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are anembellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only [456] goodness whichgives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from theflowers.
Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this demonstrationwith surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their faces.
He had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his fingers. Ithad lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in upon it.
Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes? sheasked with a touch of asperity in her voice.
Oh, the mystery! he answered, coming back with a start to therealities of life. Well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is a veryabstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you that I will look intothe matter and let you know any points which may strike me.
Do you see any clue?
You have furnished me with seven, but of course I must test thembefore I can pronounce upon their value.
You suspect someone?
I suspect myself.
What!
Of coming to conclusions too rapidly.
Then go to London and test your conclusions.
Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison, said Holmes, rising. Ithink, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow yourself to indulge infalse hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a very tangled one.
I shall be in a fever until I see you again, cried the diplomatist.
Well, Ill come out by the same train to-morrow, though its more thanlikely that my report will be a negative one.
God bless you for promising to come, cried our client. It gives mefresh life to know that something is being done. By the way, I have had aletter from Lord Holdhurst.
Ha! what did he say?
He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illness prevented himfrom being that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmostimportance, and added that no steps would be taken about my futureCbywhich he means, of course, my dismissalCuntil my health was restoredand I had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune.
Well, that was reasonable and considerate, said Holmes. Come,Watson, for we have a good days work before us in town.
Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soonwhirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profound thoughtand hardly opened his mouth until we had passed Clapham Junction.
Its a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lineswhich run high and allow you to look down upon the houses like this.
I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soonexplained himself.
Look at those big, isolated clumps of buildings rising up above theslates, like brick islands in a lead-coloured sea.
The board-schools.
Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundredsof bright [457] little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wiser,better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not drink?
I should not think so.
Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into account.
The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water, and its aquestion whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore. What do youthink of Miss Harrison?
A girl of strong character.
Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother arethe only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland way.
He got engaged to her when travelling last winter, and she came down tobe introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. Then came thesmash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph, findinghimself pretty snug, stayed on, too. Ive been making a few independentinquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of inquiries.
My practiceC C I began.
Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mineC C saidHolmes with some asperity.
I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a dayor two, since it is the slackest time in the year.
Excellent, said he, recovering his good-humour. Then well lookinto this matter together. I think that we should begin by seeing Forbes.
He can probably tell us all the details we want until we know from whatside the case is to be approached.
You said you had a clue?
Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by furtherinquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one which is purposeless.
Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profits by it? There is theFrench ambassador, there is the Russian, there is whoever might sell it toeither of these, and there is Lord Holdhurst.
Lord Holdhurst!
Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in aposition where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentallydestroyed.
Not a statesman with the honourable record of Lord Holdhurst?
It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We shall see thenoble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything. Meanwhile Ihave already set inquiries on foot.
Already?
Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper inLondon. This advertisement will appear in each of them.
He handed over a sheet torn from a notebook. On it was scribbled inpencil:
10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at orabout the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter toten in the evening of May 23d. Apply 221B, Baker Street.
You are confident that the thief came in a cab?
If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in statingthat there is no hiding-place either in the room or the corridors, then theperson must have come from outside. If he came from outside on so wet anight, and yet left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which wasexamined within a few minutes of [458] his passing, then it is exceedinglyprobable that he came in a cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce acab.
It sounds plausible.
That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to something.
And then, of course, there is the bellCwhich is the most distinctive featureof the case. Why should the bell ring? Was it the thief who did it out ofbravado? Or was it someone who was with the thief who did it in order toprevent the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was itC C? He sank backinto the state of intense and silent thought from which he had emerged;but it seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood, that somenew possibility had dawned suddenly upon him.
It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after ahasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland Yard.
Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him waiting to receiveusCa small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression.
He was decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially when he heard theerrand upon which we had come.
Ive heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes, said he tartly.
You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay atyour disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bringdiscredit on them.
On the contrary, said Holmes, out of my last fifty-three cases myname has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit inforty-nine. I dont blame you for not knowing this, for you are young andinexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will workwith me and not against me.
Id be very glad of a hint or two, said the detective, changing hismanner. Ive certainly had no credit from the case so far.
What steps have you taken?
Tangey, the commissionaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guardswith a good character, and we can find nothing against him. His wife is abad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about this than appears.
Have you shadowed her?
We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and ourwoman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could getnothing out of her.
I understand that they have had brokers in the house?
Yes, but they were paid off.
Where did the money come from?
That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown anysign of being in funds.
What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr.
Phelps rang for the coffee?
She said that her husband was very tired and she wished to relievehim.
Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little laterasleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but the womanscharacter. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night? Her hasteattracted the attention of the police constable.
She was later than usual and wanted to get home.
Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at leasttwenty minutes after her, got home before her?
She explains that by the difference between a bus and a hansom.
[459] Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran intothe back kitchen?
Because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers.
She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her whether inleaving she met anyone or saw anyone loitering about Charles Street?
She saw no one but the constable.
Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. Whatelse have you done?
The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but withoutresult. We can show nothing against him.
Anything else?
Well, we have nothing else to go uponCno evidence of any kind.
Have you formed any theory about how that bell rang?
Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever itwas, to go and give the alarm like that.
Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you havetold me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me.
Come along, Watson.
Where are we going to now? I asked as we left the office.
We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet ministerand future premier of England.
We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in hischambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we wereinstantly shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashionedcourtesy for which he is remarkable and seated us on the two luxuriantlounges on either side of the fireplace. Standing on the rug between us,with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curlinghair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not toocommon type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.
Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes, said he, smiling.
And of course I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit.
There has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call foryour attention. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?
In that of Mr. Percy Phelps, answered Holmes.
Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinshipmakes it the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I fear thatthe incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career.
But if the document is found?
Ah, that, of course, would be different.
I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, LordHoldhurst.
I shall be happy to give you any information in my power.
Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the copyingof the document?
It was.
Then you could hardly have been overheard?
It is out of the question.
Did you ever mention to anyone that it was your intention to giveanyone the treaty to be copied?
Never.
You are certain of that?
[460] Absolutely.
Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, andnobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thiefs presence in theroom was purely accidental. He saw his chance and he took it.
The statesman smiled. You take me out of my province there, said he.
Holmes considered for a moment. There is another very importantpoint which I wish to discuss with you, said he. You feared, as Iunderstand, that very grave results might follow from the details of thistreaty becoming known.
A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. Verygrave results indeed.
And have they occurred?
Not yet.
If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian ForeignOffice, you would expect to hear of it?
I should, said Lord Holdhurst with a wry face.
Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has beenheard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty has notreached them.
Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.
We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty inorder to frame it and hang it up.
Perhaps he is waiting for a better price.
If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The treaty willcease to be secret in a few months.
That is most important, said Holmes. Of course, it is a possiblesupposition that the thief has had a sudden illnessC C
An attack of brain-fever, for example? asked the statesman, flashinga swift glance at him.
I did not say so, said Holmes imperturbably. And now, LordHoldhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable time, andwe shall wish you good-day.
Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may,
answered the nobleman as he bowed us out at the door.
Hes a fine fellow, said Holmes as we came out into Whitehall. Buthe has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich and has manycalls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been resoled. Now,Watson, I wont detain you from your legitimate work any longer. I shalldo nothing more to-day unless I have an answer to my cab advertisement.
But I should be extremely obliged to you if you would come down withme to Woking to-morrow by the same train which we took yesterday.
I met him accordingly next morning and we travelled down to Wokingtogether. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no freshlight had been thrown upon the case. He had, when he so willed it, theutter immobility of countenance of a red Indian, and I could not gatherfrom his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with the position ofthe case. His conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon system ofmeasurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic admiration of the Frenchsavant.
We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, butlooking [461] considerably better than before. He rose from the sofa andgreeted us without difficulty when we entered.
Any news? he asked eagerly.
My report, as I expected, is a negative one, said Holmes. I have seenForbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one or two trains ofinquiry upon foot which may lead to something.
You have not lost heart, then?
By no means.
God bless you for saying that! cried Miss Harrison. If we keep ourcourage and our patience the truth must come out.
We have more to tell you than you have for us, said Phelps, reseatinghimself upon the couch.
I hoped you might have something.
Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which mighthave proved to be a serious one. His expression grew very grave as hespoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. Doyou know, said he, that I begin to believe that I am the unconsciouscentre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as wellas my honour?
Ah! cried Holmes.
It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in theworld. Yet from last nights experience I can come to no otherconclusion.
Pray let me hear it.
You must know that last night was the very first night that I have everslept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I though Icould dispense with one. I had a night-light burning, however. Well,about two in the morning I had sunk into a light sleep when I wassuddenly aroused by a slight noise. It was like the sound which a mousemakes when it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening to it for some timeunder the impression that it must come from that cause. Then it grewlouder, and suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic snick.
I sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt what the sounds werenow. The first ones had been caused by someone forcing an instrumentthrough the slit between the sashes, and the second by the catch beingpressed back.
There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person werewaiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I heard a gentlecreaking as the window was very slowly opened. I could stand it nolonger, for my nerves are not what they used to be. I sprang out of bedand flung open the shutters. A man was crouching at the window. I couldsee little of him, for he was gone like a flash. He was wrapped in somesort of cloak which came across the lower part of his face. One thing onlyI am sure of, and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. It looked tome like a long knife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run.
This is most interesting, said Holmes. Pray what did you do then?
I should have followed him through the open window if I had beenstronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took somelittle time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all sleepupstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down, and heroused the others. Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outsidethe window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found ithopeless to follow the trail across the grass. Theres a place, however, onthe wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, [462] they tellme, as if someone had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail indoing so. I have said nothing to the local police yet, for I thought I hadbest have your opinion first.
This tale of our clients appeared to have an extraordinary effect uponSherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced about the room inuncontrollable excitement.
Misfortunes never come single, said Phelps, smiling, though it wasevident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.
You have certainly had your share, said Holmes. Do you think youcould walk round the house with me?
Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too.
And I also, said Miss Harrison.
I am afraid not, said Holmes, shaking his head. I think I must askyou to remain sitting exactly where you are.
The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Herbrother, however, had joined us and we set off all four together. Wepassed round the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatists window.
There were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were hopelesslyblurred and vague. Holmes stooped over them for an instant, and thenrose shrugging his shoulders.
I dont think anyone could make much of this, said he. Let us goround the house and see why this particular room was chosen by theburglar. I should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-roomand dining-room would have had more attractions for him.
They are more visible from the road, suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison.
Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might haveattempted. What is it for?
It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is locked at night.
Have you ever had an alarm like this before?
Never, said our client.
Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?
Nothing of value.
Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and anegligent air which was unusual with him.
By the way, said he to Joseph Harrison, you found some place, Iunderstand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a look at that!
The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of thewooden rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood washanging down. Holmes pulled it off and examined it critically.
Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it not?
Well, possibly so.
There are no marks of anyone jumping down upon the other side. No,I fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and talkthe matter over.
Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of hisfuture brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and wewere at the open window of the bedroom long before the others came up.
Miss Harrison, said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity ofmanner, you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent youfrom staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance.
Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes, said the girl in astonishment.
[463] When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outsideand keep the key. Promise to do this.
But Percy?
He will come to London with us.
And am I to remain here?
It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!
She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.
Why do you sit moping there, Annie? cried her brother. Come outinto the sunshine!
No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room isdeliciously cool and soothing.
What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes? asked our client.
Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of ourmain inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would come up toLondon with us.
At once?
Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour.
I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help.
The greatest possible.
Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?
I was just going to propose it.
Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find thebird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell usexactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer that Josephcame with us so as to look after me?
Oh, no, my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and hell lookafter you. Well have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then weshall all three set off for town together.
It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herselffrom leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmess suggestion. Whatthe object of my friends manoeuvres was I could not conceive, unless itwere to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by his returninghealth and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the dining-room.
Holmes had a still more startling surprise for us, however, for, afteraccompanying us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, hecalmly announced that he had no intention of leaving Woking.
There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear upbefore I go, said he. Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some waysrather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige meby driving at once to Baker Street with our friend here, and remainingwith him until I see you again. It is fortunate that you are old schoolfellows,as you must have much to talk over. Mr. Phelps can have thespare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in time for breakfast, forthere is a train which will take me into Waterloo at eight.
But how about our investigation in London? asked Phelps ruefully.
We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of moreimmediate use here.
You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrownight, cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform.
[464] I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae, answered Holmes, andwaved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station.
Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us coulddevise a satisfactory reason for this new development.
I suppose he wants to find out some clues as to the burglary last night,if a burglar it was. For myself, I dont believe it was an ordinary thief.
What is your own idea, then?
Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but Ibelieve there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and thatfor some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by theconspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the facts!
Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window where therecould be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a longknife in his hand?
You are sure it was not a house-breakers jimmy?
Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly.
But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?
Ah, that is the question.
Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for hisaction, would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can layhis hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone along way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is absurd tosuppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while theother threatens your life.
But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae.
I have known him for some time, said I, but I never knew him doanything yet without a very good reason, and with that our conversationdrifted off on to other topics.
But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his longillness, and his misfortunes made him querulous and nervous. In vain Iendeavoured to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social questions,in anything which might take his mind out of the groove. He wouldalways come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating asto what Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, whatnews we should have in the morning. As the evening wore on hisexcitement became quite painful.
You have implicit faith in Holmes? he asked.
I have seen him do some remarkable things.
But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?
Oh, yes, I have known him solve questions which presented fewerclues than yours.
But not where such large interests are at stake?
I dont know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf ofthree of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters.
But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow thatI never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful? Doyou think he expects to make a success of it?
He has said nothing.
That is a bad sign.
On the contrary. I have noticed that when he is off the trail hegenerally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite absolutelysure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn. Now, my dearfellow, we cant help [465] matters by making ourselves nervous aboutthem, so let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for whatevermay await us to-morrow.
I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, thoughI knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep forhim. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the nightmyself, brooding over this strange problem and inventing a hundredtheories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why hadHolmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remainin the sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform thepeople at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled mybrains until I fell asleep in the endeavour to find some explanation whichwould cover all these facts.
It was seven oclock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelpssroom to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His firstquestion was whether Holmes had arrived yet.
Hell be here when he promised, said I, and not an instant sooner orlater.
And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up tothe door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw thathis left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grimand pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before he cameupstairs.
He looks like a beaten man, cried Phelps.
I was forced to confess that he was right. After all, said I, the clue ofthe matter lies probably here in town.
Phelps gave a groan.
I dont know how it is, said he, but I had hoped for so much fromhis return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. Whatcan be the matter?
You are not wounded, Holmes? I asked as my friend entered theroom.
Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness, he answered,nodding his good-morning to us. This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, iscertainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated.
I feared that you would find it beyond you.
It has been a most remarkable experience.
That bandage tells of adventures, said I. Wont you tell us what hashappened?
After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathedthirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has been noanswer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect toscore every time.
The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudsonentered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in threecovers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious, andPhelps in the gloomiest state of depression.
Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion, said Holmes, uncovering adish of curried chicken. Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has asgood an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman. What have you there,Watson?
Ham and eggs, I answered.
Good! What are you going to take, Mr. PhelpsCcurried fowl or eggs,or will you help yourself?
Thank you. I can eat nothing, said Phelps.
Oh, come! Try the dish before you.
Thank you, I would really rather not.
[466] Well, then, said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle, I supposethat you have no objection to helping me?
Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream and satthere staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked.
Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper. Hecaught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about theroom, pressing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then hefell back into an armchair, so limp and exhausted with his own emotionsthat we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.
There! there! said Holmes soothingly, patting him upon the shoulder.
It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell youthat I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.
Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. God bless you! he cried. Youhave saved my honour.
Well, my own was at stake, you know, said Holmes. I assure you itis just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder overa commission.
Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket ofhis coat.
I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet Iam dying to know how you got it and where it was.
Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee and turned his attention tothe ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself down intohis chair.
Ill tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it afterwards, saidhe. After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk throughsome admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village called Ripley,where I had my tea at an inn and took the precaution of filling my flaskand of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained untilevening, when I set off for Woking again and found myself in thehighroad outside Briarbrae just after sunset.
Well, I waited until the road was clearCit is never a very frequentedone at any time, I fancyCand then I clambered over the fence into thegrounds.
Surely the gate was open! ejaculated Phelps.
Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the placewhere the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I got over withoutthe least chance of anyone in the house being able to see me. I croucheddown among the bushes on the other side and crawled from one to theotherCwitness the disreputable state of my trouser kneesCuntil I hadreached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroomwindow. There I squatted down and awaited developments.
The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss Harrisonsitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past ten when she closedher book, fastened the shutters, and retired.
I heard her shut the door and felt quite sure that she had turned the keyin the lock.
The key! ejaculated Phelps.
Yes, I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on theoutside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried outevery one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without hercooperation you would not have that paper in your coat-pocket. Shedeparted then and the lights went out, and I was left squatting in therhododendron-bush.
The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of course it hasthe [467] sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when he liesbeside the watercourse and waits for the big game. It was very long,thoughCalmost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited in that deadlyroom when we looked into the little problem of the Speckled Band. Therewas a church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters, and Ithought more than once that it had stopped. At last, however, about two inthe morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushedback and the creaking of a key. A moment later the servants door wasopened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight.
Joseph! ejaculated Phelps.
He was bare-headed, but he had a black cloak thrown over hisshoulder, so that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were anyalarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when hereached the window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash andpushed back the catch. Then he flung open the window, and putting hisknife through the crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and swungthem open.
From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room and ofevery one of his movements. He lit the two candles which stood upon themantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the carpetin the neighbourhood of the door. Presently he stooped and picked out asquare piece of board, such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get atthe joints of the gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of fact, the Tjoint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath. Outof this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down theboard, rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked straightinto my arms as I stood waiting for him outside the window.
Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, hasMaster Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp himtwice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand ofhim. He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when wehad finished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. Having gotthem I let my man go, but I wired full particulars to Forbes this morning.
If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as Ishrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, allthe better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst, for one, andMr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather that the affairnever got as far as a police-court.
My God! gasped our client. Do you tell me that during these longten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with meall the time?
So it was.
And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!
Hum! I am afraid Josephs character is a rather deeper and moredangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. From what Ihave heard from him this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily indabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth to betterhis fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, when a chance presentsitself he did not allow either his sisters happiness or your reputation tohold his hand.
Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. My head whirls, said he. Yourwords have dazed me.
The principal difficulty in your case, remarked Holmes in his didacticfashion, lay in the fact of there being too much evidence. What was vitalwas overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. Of all the facts whichwere presented to us we had [468] to pick just those which we deemed tobe essential, and then piece them together in their order, so as toreconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. I had already begun tosuspect Joseph from the fact that you had intended to travel home withhim that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing that heshould call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well, upon his way.
When I heard that someone had been so anxious to get into the bedroom,in which no one but Joseph could have concealed anythingC you told us inyour narrative how you had turned Joseph out when you arrived with thedoctorCmy suspicions all changed to certainties, especially as the attemptwas made on the first night upon which the nurse was absent, showingthat the intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house.
How blind I have been!
The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these: ThisJoseph Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street door, andknowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after youleft it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the bell, and at the instantthat he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the table. A glance showedhim that chance had put in his way a State document of immense value,and in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and was gone. A fewminutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy commissionairedrew your attention to the bell, and those were just enough to give thethief time to make his escape.
He made his way to Woking by the first train, and, having examinedhis booty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he hadconcealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the intentionof taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to the Frenchembassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to be had. Thencame your sudden return. He, without a moments warning, was bundledout of his room, and from that time onward there were always at least twoof you there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. The situation tohim must have been a maddening one. But at last he thought he saw hischance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your wakefulness. Youmay remember that you did not take your usual draught that night.
I remember.
I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious, andthat he quite relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I understoodthat he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with safety.
Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. I kept MissHarrison in it all day so that he might not anticipate us. Then, havinggiven him the idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as I havedescribed. I already knew that the papers were probably in the room, but Ihad no desire to rip up all the planking and skirting in search of them. I lethim take them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself aninfinity of trouble. Is there any other point which I can make clear?
Why did he try the window on the first occasion, I asked, when hemight have entered by the door?
In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On theother hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anything else?
You do not think, asked Phelps, that he had any murderousintention? The knife was only meant as a tool.
It may be so, answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. I can onlysay for [469] certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whosemercy I should be extremely unwilling to trust.
David Soucek, 1998 The Final ProblemThe Memoirs of Sherlock HolmesTHE FINAL PROBLEMIT IS with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last wordsin which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr.
Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoherent and, as I deeplyfeel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavoured to give someaccount of my strange experiences in his company from the chance whichfirst brought us together at the period of the Study in Scarlet, up to thetime of his interference in the matter of the Naval TreatyCaninterference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a seriousinternational complication. It was my intention to have stopped there, andto have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my lifewhich the lapse of two years has done little to fill. My hand has beenforced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriartydefends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay thefacts before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolutetruth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when nogood purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know, therehave been only three accounts in the public press: that in the Journal deGenve on May 6th, 1891, the Reuters dispatch in the English papers onMay 7th, and finally the recent letters to which I have alluded. Of thesethe first and second were extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shallnow show, an absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell forthe first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.
It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent startin private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed betweenHolmes and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to mefrom time to time when he desired a companion in his investigations, butthese occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year1890 there were only three cases of which I retain any record. During thewinter of that year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers thathe had been engaged by the French government upon a matter of supremeimportance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonneand from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay in France was likelyto be a long one. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I saw him walkinto my consulting-room upon the evening of April 24th. It struck me thathe was looking even paler and thinner than usual.
Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely, he remarked, inanswer to my look rather than to my words; I have been a little pressedof late. Have you any objection to my closing your shutters?
The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at whichI had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall, and, flingingthe shutters together, he bolted them securely.
You are afraid of something? I asked.
[470] Well, I am.
Of what?
Of air-guns.
My dear Holmes, what do you mean?
I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that Iam by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity ratherthan courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you.
Might I trouble you for a match? He drew in the smoke of his cigaretteas if the soothing influence was grateful to him.
I must apologize for calling so late, said he, and I must further begyou to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presentlyby scrambling over your back garden wall.
But what does it all mean? I asked.
He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two of hisknuckles were burst and bleeding.
Its not an airy nothing, you see, said he, smiling. On the contrary, itis solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is Mrs. Watson in?
She is away upon a visit.
Indeed! You are alone?
Quite.
Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should comeaway with me for a week to the Continent.
Where?
Oh, anywhere. Its all the same to me.
There was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmessnature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, wornface told me that his nerves were at their highest tension. He saw thequestion in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips together and his elbowsupon his knees, he explained the situation.
You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty? said he.
Never.
Ay, theres the genius and the wonder of the thing! he cried. Theman pervades London, and no one has heard of him. Thats what puts himon a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you Watson, in all seriousness,that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should feelthat my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared toturn to some more placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent casesin which I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, andto the French republic, have left me in such a position that I couldcontinue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and toconcentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I could notrest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that such a manas Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London unchallenged.
What has he done, then?
His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birthand excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenalmathematical faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise uponthe binomial theorem, which has had a European vogue. On the strengthof it he won the mathematical chair at one of our smaller universities, andhad, to all appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the manhad hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical [471] kind. A criminalstrain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increasedand rendered infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mentalpowers. Dark rumours gathered round him in the university town, andeventually he was compelled to resign his chair and to come down toLondon, where he set up as an army coach. So much is known to theworld, but what I am telling you now is what I have myself discovered.
As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the highercriminal world of London so well as I do. For years past I havecontinually been conscious of some power behind the malefactor, somedeep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the law, andthrows its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of themost varying sortsCforgery cases, robberies, murdersCI have felt thepresence of this force, and I have deduced its action in many of thoseundiscovered crimes in which I have not been personally consulted. Foryears I have endeavoured to break through the veil which shrouded it, andat last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until it ledme, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty, ofmathematical celebrity.
He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half thatis evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius,a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sitsmotionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has athousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. Hedoes little himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous andsplendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted,we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be removedCthe word is passedto the professor, the matter is organized and carried out. The agent may becaught. In that case money is found for his bail or his defence. But thecentral power which uses the agent is never caughtCnever so much assuspected. This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and whichI devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up.
But the professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunninglydevised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidence whichwould convict in a court of law. You know my powers, my dear Watson,and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at lastmet an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimeswas lost in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a tripConly alittle, little tripCbut it was more than he could afford, when I was so closeupon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that point, I have wovenmy net round him until now it is all ready to close. In three daysCthat is tosay, on Monday nextCmatters will be ripe, and the professor, with all theprincipal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the police. Thenwill come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of overforty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we move at allprematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands even at thelast moment.
Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of ProfessorMoriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily for that. He sawevery step which I took to draw my toils round him. Again and again hestrove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you, my friend,that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it wouldtake its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in thehistory of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have Ibeen so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I just undercuthim. This morning the last steps were taken, and three days [472] onlywere wanted to complete the business. I was sitting in my room thinkingthe matter over when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stoodbefore me.
My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a start whenI saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts standing thereon my threshold. His appearance was quite familiar to me. He isextremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and histwo eyes are deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven, pale, andascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. Hisshoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forwardand is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilianfashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes.
 You have less frontal development than I should have expected,
said he at last. It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in thepocket of ones dressing-gown.
The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognized theextreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable escape forhim lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I had slipped the revolverfrom the drawer into my pocket and was covering him through the cloth.
At his remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. Hestill smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes whichmade me feel very glad that I had it there.
 You evidently dont know me, said he.
 On the contrary, I answered, I think it is fairly evident that I do.
Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you have anything tosay.
 All that I have to say has already crossed your mind, said he.
 Then possibly my answer has crossed yours, I replied.
 You stand fast?
 Absolutely.
He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol from thetable. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he hadscribbled some dates.
 You crossed my path on the fourth of January, said he. On thetwenty-third you incommoded me; by the middle of February I wasseriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutelyhampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myselfplaced in such a position through your continual persecution that I am inpositive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming animpossible one.
 Have you any suggestion to make? I asked.
 You must drop it, Mr. Holmes, said he, swaying his face about.
You really must, you know.
 After Monday, said I.
 Tut, tut! said he. I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence willsee that there can be but one outcome to this affair. It is necessary thatyou should withdraw. You have worked things in such a fashion that wehave only one resource left. It has been an intellectual treat to me to seethe way in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say,unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take anyextreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.
 Danger is part of my trade, I remarked.
 This is not danger, said he. It is inevitable destruction. You stand inthe way not merely of an individual but of a mighty organization, the fullextent of [473] which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable torealize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.
 I am afraid, said I, rising, that in the pleasure of this conversation Iam neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere.
He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly.
 Well, well, said he at last. It seems a pity, but I have done what Icould. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing beforeMonday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. You hopeto place me in the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock. Youhope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are cleverenough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as muchto you.
 You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty, said I. Letme pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the formereventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept thelatter.
 I can promise you the one, but not the other, he snarled, and soturned his rounded back upon me and went peering and blinking out ofthe room.
That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I confess thatit left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion ofspeech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could notproduce. Of course, you will say: Why not take police precautionsagainst him? The reason is that I am well convinced that it is from hisagents the blow would fall. I have the best of proofs that it would be so.
You have already been assaulted?
My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grassgrow under his feet. I went out about midday to transact some business inOxford Street. As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck Street onto the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzedround and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path and savedmyself by the fraction of a second. The van dashed round by MaryleboneLane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that,Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from theroof of one of the houses and was shattered to fragments at my feet. Icalled the police and had the place examined. There were slates andbricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they wouldhave me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. Of course Iknew better, but I could prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reachedmy brothers rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have comeround to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon.
I knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but I can tellyou with the most absolute confidence that no possible connection willever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front teeth I havebarked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who is, Idaresay, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away. Youwill not wonder, Watson, that my first act on entering your rooms was toclose your shutters, and that I have been compelled to ask yourpermission to leave the house by some less conspicuous exit than thefront door.
I had often admired my friends courage, but never more than now, ashe sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must havecombined to make up a day of horror.
You will spend the night here? I said.
No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my planslaid, [474] and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they canmove without my help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence isnecessary for a conviction. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do betterthan get away for the few days which remain before the police are atliberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you couldcome on to the Continent with me.
The practice is quiet, said I, and I have an accommodatingneighbour. I should be glad to come.
And to start to-morrow morning?
If necessary.
Oh, yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions, and Ibeg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter, for you arenow playing a double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogueand the most powerful syndicate of criminals in Europe. Now listen! Youwill dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messengerunaddressed to Victoria to-night. In the morning you will send for ahansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second whichmay present itself. Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive tothe Strand end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the cabmanupon a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. Haveyour fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash through theArcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine. Youwill find a small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven by a fellowwith a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. Into this you willstep, and you will reach Victoria in time for the Continental express.
Where shall I meet you?
At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front will bereserved for us.
The carriage is our rendezvous, then?
Yes.
It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It wasevident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the roof he wasunder, and that that was the motive which impelled him to go. With a fewhurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose and came out withme into the garden, clambering over the wall which leads into MortimerStreet, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard himdrive away.
In the morning I obeyed Holmess injunctions to the letter. A hansomwas procured with such precautions as would prevent its being one whichwas placed ready for us, and I drove immediately after breakfast to theLowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the top of my speed. Abrougham was waiting with a very massive driver wrapped in a darkcloak, who, the instant that I had stepped in, whipped up the horse andrattled off to Victoria Station. On my alighting there he turned thecarriage, and dashed away again without so much as a look in mydirection.
So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and Ihad no difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had indicated, theless so as it was the only one in the train which was marked Engaged.
My only source of anxiety now was the non-appearance of Holmes. Thestation clock marked only seven minutes from the time when we were dueto start. In vain I searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takersfor the lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a fewminutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who was endeavouring tomake a porter understand, in his broken English, that his luggage [475]
was to be booked through to Paris. Then, having taken another lookround, I returned to my carriage, where I found that the porter, in spite ofthe ticket, had given me my decrepit Italian friend as a travellingcompanion. It was useless for me to explain to him that his presence wasan intrusion, for my Italian was even more limited than his English, so Ishrugged my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out anxiouslyfor my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as I thought that hisabsence might mean that some blow had fallen during the night. Alreadythe doors had all been shut and the whistle blown, whenC CMy dear Watson, said a voice, you have not even condescended tosay good-morning.
I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic hadturned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were smoothedaway, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrudeand the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their fire, the droopingfigure expanded. The next the whole frame collapsed again, and Holmeshad gone as quickly as he had come.
Good heavens! I cried, how you startled me!
Every precaution is still necessary, he whispered. I have reason tothink that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself.
The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back,I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and wavinghis hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late,however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant laterhad shot clear of the station.
With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine, saidHolmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black cassock and hatwhich had formed his disguise, he packed them away in a hand-bag.
Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?
No.
You havent seen about Baker Street, then?
Baker Street?
They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.
Good heavens, Holmes, this is intolerable!
They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeonman wasarrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had returned tomy rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of watching you,however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to Victoria. You couldnot have made any slip in coming?
I did exactly what you advised.
Did you find your brougham?
Yes, it was waiting.
Did you recognize your coachman?
No.
It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such acase without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But we must planwhat we are to do about Moriarty now.
As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with it, Ishould think we have shaken him off very effectively.
My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when Isaid that this man may be taken as being quite on the same intellectualplane as myself. [476] You do not imagine that if I were the pursuer Ishould allow myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. Why, then,should you think so meanly of him?
What will he do?
What I should do.
What would you do, then?
Engage a special.
But it must be late.
By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always atleast a quarter of an hours delay at the boat. He will catch us there.
One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him arrestedon his arrival.
It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the bigfish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net. On Mondaywe should have them all. No, an arrest is inadmissible.
What then?
We shall get out at Canterbury.
And then?
Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, andso over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He will get onto Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot. Inthe meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags,encourage the manufactures of the countries through which we travel, andmake our way at our leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle.
At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we should haveto wait an hour before we could get a train to Newhaven.
I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly disappearing luggagevanwhich contained my wardrobe, when Holmes pulled my sleeve andpointed up the line.
Already, you see, said he.
Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray ofsmoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying alongthe open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly time to take ourplace behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a rattle and a roar,beating a blast of hot air into our faces.
There he goes, said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing androck over the points. There are limits, you see, to our friendsintelligence. It would have been a coup-de-ma.tre had he deduced what Iwould deduce and acted accordingly.
And what would he have done had he overtaken us?
There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a murderousattack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may play. Thequestion now is whether we should take a premature lunch here, or runour chance of starving before we reach the buffet at Newhaven.
We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there,moving on upon the third day as far as Strasbourg. On the Mondaymorning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in theevening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore it open,and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate.
I might have known it! he groaned. He has escaped!
Moriarty?
They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He hasgiven [477] them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country there wasno one to cope with him. But I did think that I had put the game in theirhands. I think that you had better return to England, Watson.
Why?
Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This mansoccupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read hischaracter right he will devote his whole energies to revenging himselfupon me. He said as much in our short interview, and I fancy that hemeant it. I should certainly recommend you to return to your practice.
It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an oldcampaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasbourg salle-mangerarguing the question for half an hour, but the same night we hadresumed our journey and were well on our way to Geneva.
For a charming week we wandered up the valley of the Rhone, andthen, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, stilldeep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen. It was a lovelytrip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the winterabove; but it was clear to me that never for one instant did Holmes forgetthe shadow which lay across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in thelonely mountain passes, I could still tell by his quick glancing eyes andhis sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well convincedthat, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of thedanger which was dogging our footsteps.
Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along theborder of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had beendislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared intothe lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and,standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It wasin vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a commonchance in the springtime at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at mewith the air of a man who sees the fulfilment of that which he hadexpected.
And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On thecontrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant spirits.
Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could be assured thatsociety was freed from Professor Moriarty he would cheerfully bring hisown career to a conclusion.
I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not livedwholly in vain, he remarked. If my record were closed to-night I couldstill survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for mypresence. In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever usedmy powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look intothe problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial onesfor which our artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs willdraw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by thecapture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal inEurope.
I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to tell.
It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I amconscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.
It was on the third of May that we reached the little village ofMeiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by PeterSteiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man and spoke excellentEnglish, having served for three [478] years as waiter at the GrosvenorHotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon of the fourth we set offtogether, with the intention of crossing the hills and spending the night atthe hamlet of Rosenlaui. We had strict injunctions, however, on noaccount to pass the falls of Reichenbach, which are about halfway up thehills, without making a small detour to see them.
It is, indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow,plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like thesmoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself isan immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowinginto a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over andshoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of greenwater roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of sprayhissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl andclamour. We stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of thebreaking water far below us against the black rocks, and listening to thehalf-human shout which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss.
The path has been cut halfway round the fall to afford a complete view,but it ends abruptly, and the traveller has to return as he came. We hadturned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come running along it with aletter in his hand. It bore the mark of the hotel which we had just left andwas addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared that within a very fewminutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the laststage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz and wasjourneying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhagehad overtaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a few hours,but it would be a great consolation to her to see an English doctor, and, ifI would only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me in a postscript thathe would himself look upon my compliance as a very great favour, sincethe lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not butfeel that he was incurring a great responsibility.
The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible torefuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. YetI had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally agreed, however,that he should retain the young Swiss messenger with him as guide andcompanion while I returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay somelittle time at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill toRosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away Isaw Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazingdown at the rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined tosee of him in this world.
When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It wasimpossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see the curvingpath which winds over the shoulder of the hills and leads to it. Along thisa man was, I remember, walking very rapidly.
I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behindhim. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked, but he passedfrom my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.
It may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. OldSteiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.
Well, said I, as I came hurrying up, I trust that she is no worse?
A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of hiseyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.
[479] You did not write this? I said, pulling the letter from my pocket.
There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?
Certainly not! he cried. But it has the hotel mark upon it! Ha, it musthave been written by that tall Englishman who came in after you hadgone. He saidC C
But I waited for none of the landlords explanation. In a tingle of fear Iwas already running down the village street, and making for the pathwhich I had so lately descended. It had taken me an hour to come down.
For all my efforts two more had passed before I found myself at the fall ofReichenbach once more. There was Holmess Alpine-stock still leaningagainst the rock by which I had left him. But there was no sign of him,and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voicereverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.
It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. Hehad not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-foot path,with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemyhad overtaken him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably beenin the pay of Moriarty and had left the two men together. And then whathad happened? Who was to tell us what had happened then?
I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with thehorror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmess own methods andto try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It was, alas, only too easyto do. During our conversation we had not gone to the end of the path,and the Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The blackishsoil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird wouldleave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked alongthe farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were nonereturning. A few yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into apatch of mud, and the brambles and ferns which fringed the chasm weretorn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and peered over with the sprayspouting up all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now I couldonly see here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black walls,and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. Ishouted; but only that same half-human cry of the fall was borne back tomy ears.
But it was destined that I should, after all, have a last word of greetingfrom my friend and comrade. I have said that his Alpine-stock had beenleft leaning against a rock which jutted on to the path. From the top of thisbowlder the gleam of something bright caught my eye, and raising myhand I found that it came from the silver cigarette-case which he used tocarry. As I took it up a small square of paper upon which it had lainfluttered down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted ofthree pages torn from his notebook and addressed to me. It wascharacteristic of the man that the direction was as precise, and the writingas firm and clear, as though it had been written in his study.
MY DEAR WATSON [it said]:
I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty,who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of thosequestions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch ofthe methods by which he avoided the English police and kepthimself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm thevery high opinion which I had formed of his abilities. I am pleasedto think that I shall be able to free society from any further effectsof his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will givepain to my [480] friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you. Ihave already explained to you, however, that my career had in anycase reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it couldbe more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a fullconfession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter fromMeiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errandunder the persuasion that some development of this sort wouldfollow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs toconvict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelopeand inscribed Moriarty. I made every disposition of my propertybefore leaving England and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Praygive my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dearfellow,Very sincerely yours,SHERLOCK HOLMES.
A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination byexperts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two menended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reelingover, locked in each others arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodieswas absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful cauldronof swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the mostdangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of theirgeneration. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can be nodoubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in hisemploy. As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public howcompletely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed theirorganization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed uponthem. Of their terrible chief few details came out during the proceedings,and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career,it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavoured to clearhis memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best andthe wisest man whom I have ever known.
David Soucek, 1998 The Return of Sherlock HolmesThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMESSecond Czech edition, 1926The Adventure of the Empty HouseFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Sep. 1903, with 7 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Oct. 1903, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Norwood BuilderFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Oct. 1903, with 7 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Nov. 1903, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Dancing MenFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Dec. 1903, with 6 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1903, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Solitary CyclistFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Dec. 1903, with 5 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1904, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Priory SchoolFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Jan. 1904, with 6 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Feb. 1904, with 9 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of Black PeterFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Feb. 1904, with 6 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Mar. 1904, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of Charles Augustus MilvertonFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Mar. 1904, with 6 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Apr. 1904, with 7illustrations by Sidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Six NapoleonsFirst published in Colliers Weekly, Apr. 1904, with 6 illustrations by FredericDorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, May 1904, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget.
The Adventure of the Three StudentsFirst published in the Strand Magazine, June 1904, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget, and in Colliers Weekly, Sep. 1904, with 9 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Golden Pince-NezFirst published in the Strand Magazine, July 1904, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget, and in Colliers Weekly, Oct. 1904, with 6 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Missing Three-QuarterFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Aug. 1904, with 7 illustrations bySidney Paget, and in Colliers Weekly, Nov. 1904, with 6 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Abbey GrangeFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Sep. 1904, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget, and in Colliers Weekly, Dec. 1904, with 6 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Second StainFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1904, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget, and in Colliers Weekly, Jan. 1905, with 6 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The whole collection was first published in the USA in Feb. 1905 by McClure,Phillips & Co., illustrated by Charles R. Macauley. The first British edition in Mar.
1905 by G. Newnes Ltd. (The Strand Library).
David Soucek, 1998The Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE EMPTY HOUSEIT WAS in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested, andthe fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the Honourable RonaldAdair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The public hasalready learned those particulars of the crime which came out in thepolice investigation, but a good deal was suppressed upon that occasion,since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that itwas not necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the end ofnearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those missing links which makeup the whole of that remarkable chain. The crime was of interest in itself,but that interest was as nothing to me compared to the inconceivablesequel, which afforded me the greatest shock and surprise of any event inmy adventurous life. Even now, after this long interval, I find myselfthrilling as I think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy,amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind. Let mesay to that public, which has shown some interest in those glimpses whichI have occasionally given them of the thoughts and actions of a veryremarkable man, that they are not to blame me if I have not shared myknowledge with them, for I should have considered it my first duty to doso, had I not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips,which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month.
It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes hadinterested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance I neverfailed to read with care the various problems which came before thepublic. And I even attempted, more than once, for my own privatesatisfaction, to employ his methods in their solution, though withindifferent success. There was none, however, which appealed to me likethis tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest, whichled up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person or personsunknown, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss which thecommunity had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes. There werepoints about this strange business which would, I was sure, have speciallyappealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have beensupplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observationand the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All day, as I droveupon my round, I turned over the case in my mind and found noexplanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of telling atwice-told tale, I will recapitulate the facts as they were known to thepublic at the conclusion of the inquest.
The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl ofMaynooth, at that time governor of one of the Australian colonies.
Adairs mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation forcataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were livingtogether at 427 Park Lane. The youth moved in the best societyChad, sofar as was known, no enemies and no particular vices. He had beenengaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement hadbeen broken off by mutual consent some months before, and there was nosign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest of themans life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his habits werequiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going youngaristocrat that death came, in [484] most strange and unexpected form,between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30,1894.
Ronald Adair was fond of cardsCplaying continually, but never for suchstakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin, theCavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that, after dinneron the day of his death, he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club.
He had also played there in the afternoon. The evidence of those who hadplayed with himCMr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and ColonelMoranCshowed that the game was whist, and that there was a fairly equalfall of the cards. Adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. Hisfortune was a considerable one, and such a loss could not in any wayaffect him. He had played nearly every day at one club or other, but hewas a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. It came out in evidencethat, in partnership with Colonel Moran, he had actually won as much asfour hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting, some weeks before, fromGodfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral. So much for his recent history as itcame out at the inquest.
On the evening of the crime, he returned from the club exactly at ten.
His mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation. Theservant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the secondfloor, generally used as his sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, and as itsmoked she had opened the window. No sound was heard from the roomuntil eleven-twenty, the hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and herdaughter. Desiring to say good-night, she attempted to enter her sonsroom. The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got totheir cries and knocking. Help was obtained, and the door forced. Theunfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head had beenhorribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of anysort was to be found in the room. On the table lay two banknotes for tenpounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the moneyarranged in little piles of varying amount. There were some figures alsoupon a sheet of paper, with the names of some club friends opposite tothem, from which it was conjectured that before his death he wasendeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards.
A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make thecase more complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why theyoung man should have fastened the door upon the inside. There was thepossibility that the murderer had done this, and had afterwards escaped bythe window. The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed ofcrocuses in full bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earthshowed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks uponthe narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road.
Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened thedoor. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed upto the window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired throughthe window, he would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with arevolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequentedthoroughfare; there is a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house. Noone had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man, and there therevolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will,and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death.
Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which werefurther complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said,young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had beenmade to remove the money or valuables in the room.
All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to hit uponsome [485] theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that line ofleast resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the starting-pointof every investigation. I confess that I made little progress. In the eveningI strolled across the Park, and found myself about six oclock at theOxford Street end of Park Lane. A group of loafers upon the pavements,all staring up at a particular window, directed me to the house which I hadcome to see. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom I stronglysuspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out some theoryof his own, while the others crowded round to listen to what he said. I gotas near him as I could, but his observations seemed to me to be absurd, soI withdrew again in some disgust. As I did so I struck against an elderly,deformed man, who had been behind me, and I knocked down severalbooks which he was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up, Iobserved the title of one of them, The Origin of Tree Worship, and itstruck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile, who, either as atrade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured toapologize for the accident, but it was evident that these books which I hadso unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of theirowner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw hiscurved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.
My observations of No. 427 Park Lane did little to clear up the problemin which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by alow wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It wasperfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but thewindow was entirely inaccessible, since there was no waterpipe oranything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzledthan ever, I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my studyfive minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me.
To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book collector,his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and hisprecious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm.
Youre surprised to see me, sir, said he, in a strange, croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
Well, Ive a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go intothis house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, Ill just stepin and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in mymanner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to himfor picking up my books.
You make too much of a trifle, said I. May I ask how you knew whoI was?
Well, sir, if it isnt too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours, foryoull find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and veryhappy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir. HeresBritish Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy WarCa bargain, every one ofthem. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf.
It looks untidy, does it not, sir?
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turnedagain, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my studytable. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utteramazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first andthe last time in my life. Certainly a gray mist swirled before my eyes, andwhen it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-tasteof brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask inhis hand.
My dear Watson, said the well-remembered voice, I owe you athousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.
[486] I gripped him by the arms.
Holmes! I cried. Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive?
Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?
Wait a moment, said he. Are you sure that you are really fit todiscuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarilydramatic reappearance.
I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Goodheavens! to think that youCyou of all menCshould be standing in mystudy. Again I gripped him by the sleeve, and felt the thin, sinewy armbeneath it. Well, youre not a spirit, anyhow, said I. My dear chap, Imoverjoyed to see you. Sit down, and tell me how you came alive out ofthat dreadful chasm.
He sat opposite to me, and lit a cigarette in his old, nonchalant manner.
He was dressed in the seedy frockcoat of the book merchant, but the restof that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table.
Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but there was a deadwhitetinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently had notbeen a healthy one.
I am glad to stretch myself, Watson, said he. It is no joke when a tallman has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. Now, mydear fellow, in the matter of these explanations, we have, if I may ask foryour cooperation, a hard and dangerous nights work in front of us.
Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situationwhen that work is finished.
I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now.
Youll come with me to-night?
When you like and where you like.
This is, indeed, like the old days. We shall have time for a mouthful ofdinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no seriousdifficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that I never wasin it.
You never were in it?
No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was absolutely genuine.
I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I perceivedthe somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing uponthe narrow pathway which led to safety. I read an inexorable purpose inhis gray eyes. I exchanged some remarks with him, therefore, andobtained his courteous permission to write the short note which youafterwards received. I left it with my cigarette-box and my stick, and Iwalked along the pathway, Moriarty still at my heels. When I reached theend I stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw hislong arms around me. He knew that his own game was up, and was onlyanxious to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon the brinkof the fall. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanesesystem of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. Islipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for afew seconds, and clawed the air with both his hands. But for all his effortshe could not get his balance, and over he went. With my face over thebrink, I saw him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off,and splashed into the water.
I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes deliveredbetween the puffs of his cigarette.
But the tracks! I cried. I saw, with my own eyes, that two wentdown the path and none returned.
It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor haddisappeared, it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance Fatehad placed in my way. I [487] knew that Moriarty was not the only manwho had sworn my death. There were at least three others whose desirefor vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of theirleader. They were all most dangerous men. One or other would certainlyget me. On the other hand, if all the world was convinced that I was deadthey would take liberties, these men, they would soon lay themselvesopen, and sooner or later I could destroy them. Then it would be time forme to announce that I was still in the land of the living. So rapidly doesthe brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before ProfessorMoriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.
I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In yourpicturesque account of the matter, which I read with great interest somemonths later, you assert that the wall was sheer. That was not literallytrue. A few small footholds presented themselves, and there was someindication of a ledge. The cliff is so high that to climb it all was anobvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my wayalong the wet path without leaving some tracks. I might, it is true, havereversed my boots, as I have done on similar occasions, but the sight ofthree sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested adeception. On the whole, then, it was best that I should risk the climb. Itwas not a pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared beneath me. I am nota fanciful person, but I give you my word that I seemed to hear Moriartysvoice screaming at me out of the abyss. A mistake would have been fatal.
More than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slippedin the wet notches of the rock, I thought that I was gone. But I struggledupward, and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and covered withsoft green moss, where I could lie unseen, in the most perfect comfort.
There I was stretched, when you, my dear Watson, and all your followingwere investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner thecircumstances of my death.
At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneousconclusions, you departed for the hotel, and I was left alone. I hadimagined that I had reached the end of my adventures, but a veryunexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in storefor me. A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the path,and bounded over into the chasm. For an instant I thought that it was anaccident, but a moment later, looking up, I saw a mans head against thedarkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon which I wasstretched, within a foot of my head. Of course, the meaning of this wasobvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A confederateCand even that oneglance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate wasChad keptguard while the Professor had attacked me. From a distance, unseen byme, he had been a witness of his friends death and of my escape. He hadwaited, and then making his way round to the top of the cliff, he hadendeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed.
I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw that grimface look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the precursor of anotherstone. I scrambled down on to the path. I dont think I could have done itin cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. But Ihad no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me as Ihung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped,but, by the blessing of God, I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. Itook to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and aweek later I found myself in Florence, with the certainty that no one in theworld knew what had become of me.
I had only one confidantCmy brother Mycroft. I owe you manyapologies, my [488] dear Watson, but it was all-important that it should bethought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have writtenso convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourselfthought that it was true. Several times during the last three years I havetaken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionateregard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betraymy secret. For that reason I turned away from you this evening when youupset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any show of surpriseand emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identityand led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. As to Mycroft, Ihad to confide in him in order to obtain the money which I needed. Thecourse of events in London did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trialof the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my ownmost vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelled for two years in Tibet,therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa, and spending some dayswith the head lama. You may have read of the remarkable explorations ofa Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that it never occurred to youthat you were receiving news of your friend. I then passed through Persia,looked in at Mecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa atKhartoum, the results of which I have communicated to the ForeignOffice. Returning to France, I spent some months in a research into thecoal-tar derivatives, which I conducted in a laboratory at Montpellier, inthe south of France. Having concluded this to my satisfaction andlearning that only one of my enemies was now left in London, I was aboutto return when my movements were hastened by the news of this veryremarkable Park Lane Mystery, which not only appealed to me by its ownmerits, but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personalopportunities. I came over at once to London, called in my own person atBaker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, and found thatMycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they hadalways been. So it was, my dear Watson, that at two oclock to-day Ifound myself in my old armchair in my own old room, and only wishingthat I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which hehas so often adorned.
Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that Aprilevening Ca narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me hadit not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall, spare figure and thekeen, eager face, which I had never thought to see again. In some mannerhe had learned of my own sad bereavement, and his sympathy was shownin his manner rather than in his words. Work is the best antidote tosorrow, my dear Watson, said he; and I have a piece of work for us bothto-night which, if we can bring it to a successful conclusion, will in itselfjustify a mans life on this planet. In vain I begged him to tell me more.
You will hear and see enough before morning, he answered. We havethree years of the past to discuss. Let that suffice until half-past nine,when we start upon the notable adventure of the empty house.
It was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myself seatedbeside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket, and the thrill ofadventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern and silent. As thegleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features, I saw that hisbrows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed. I knewnot what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle ofcriminal London, but I was well assured, from the bearing of this masterhuntsman, that the adventure was a most grave oneCwhile the sardonicsmile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded littlegood for the object of our quest.
[489] I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but Holmesstopped the cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. I observed that as hestepped out he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and at everysubsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was notfollowed. Our route was certainly a singular one. Holmess knowledge ofthe byways of London was extraordinary, and on this occasion he passedrapidly and with an assured step through a network of mews and stables,the very existence of which I had never known. We emerged at last into asmall road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us into ManchesterStreet, and so to Blandford Street. Here he turned swiftly down a narrowpassage, passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard, and thenopened with a key the back door of a house. We entered together, and heclosed it behind us.
The place was pitch dark, but it was evident to me that it was an emptyhouse. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and myoutstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging inribbons. Holmess cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led meforward down a long hall, until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over thedoor. Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselvesin a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners, butfaintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. There was nolamp near, and the window was thick with dust, so that we could only justdiscern each others figures within. My companion put his hand upon myshoulder and his lips close to my ear.
Do you know where we are? he whispered.
Surely that is Baker Street, I answered, staring through the dimwindow.
Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to our ownold quarters.
But why are we here?
Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile.
Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to thewindow, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to lookup at our old roomsCthe starting-point of so many of your little fairytales?
We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken awaymy power to surprise you.
I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyesfell upon it, I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down,and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man whowas seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon theluminous screen of the window. There was no mistaking the poise of thehead, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. Theface was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of those blacksilhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a perfectreproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my hand tomake sure that the man himself was standing beside me. He wasquivering with silent laughter.
Well? said he.
Good heavens! I cried. It is marvellous.
I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety,
said he, and I recognized in his voice the joy and pride which the artisttakes in his own creation. It really is rather like me, is it not?
I should be prepared to swear that it was you.
The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier, ofGrenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a bust in wax.
The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon.
[490] But why?
Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason forwishing certain people to think that I was there when I was reallyelsewhere.
And you thought the rooms were watched?
I knew that they were watched.
By whom?
By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose leaderlies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew, andonly they knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they believed that Ishould come back to my rooms. They watched them continuously, andthis morning they saw me arrive.
How do you know?
Because I recognized their sentinel when I glanced out of my window.
He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by trade, anda remarkable performer upon the jews-harp. I cared nothing for him. ButI cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behindhim, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped the rocks overthe cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London. That is theman who is after me to-night, Watson, and that is the man who is quiteunaware that we are after him.
My friends plans were gradually revealing themselves. From thisconvenient retreat, the watchers were being watched and the trackerstracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait, and we were thehunters. In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched thehurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmes wassilent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenly alert, and that hiseyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was a bleak andboisterous night, and the wind whistled shrilly down the long street. Manypeople were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in their coats andcravats. Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen the same figurebefore, and I especially noticed two men who appeared to be shelteringthemselves from the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up thestreet. I tried to draw my companions attention to them; but he gave alittle ejaculation of impatience, and continued to stare into the street.
More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with hisfingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that he was becoming uneasy,and that his plans were not working out altogether as he had hoped. Atlast, as midnight approached and the street gradually cleared, he paced upand down the room in uncontrollable agitation. I was about to make someremark to him, when I raised my eyes to the lighted window, and againexperienced almost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmess arm,and pointed upward.
The shadow has moved! I cried.
It was indeed no longer the profile, but the back, which was turnedtowards us.
Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper orhis impatience with a less active intelligence than his own.
Of course it has moved, said he. Am I such a farcical bungler,Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and expect that some ofthe sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? We have been inthis room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has made some change in thatfigure eight times, or once in every quarter of an hour. She works it fromthe front, so that her shadow may never be seen. Ah! He drew in hisbreath with a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head thrownforward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside the street wasabsolutely deserted. Those two men might still be crouching in thedoorway, but I [491] could no longer see them. All was still and dark, saveonly that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figureoutlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard that thin,sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. An instantlater he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt hiswarning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me werequivering. Never had I known my friend more moved, and yet the darkstreet still stretched lonely and motionless before us.
But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had alreadydistinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from thedirection of Baker Street, but from the back of the very house in which welay concealed. A door opened and shut. An instant later steps crept downthe passageCsteps which were meant to be silent, but which reverberatedharshly through the empty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall,and I did the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver.
Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a shadeblacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for an instant, andthen he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. He was withinthree yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced myself to meet hisspring, before I realized that he had no idea of our presence. He passedclose beside us, stole over to the window, and very softly and noiselesslyraised it for half a foot. As he sank to the level of this opening, the light ofthe street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face.
The man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. His two eyesshone like stars, and his features were working convulsively. He was anelderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and ahuge grizzled moustache. An opera hat was pushed to the back of hishead, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed out through his openovercoat. His face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines.
In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it downupon the floor it gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of hisovercoat he drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some taskwhich ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen intoits place. Still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all hisweight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there came along, whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. Hestraightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was asort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech,put something in, and snapped the breech-lock. Then, crouching down, herested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I sawhis long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peeredalong the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the buttinto his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on theyellow ground, standing clear at the end of his foresight. For an instant hewas rigid and motionless. Then his finger tightened on the trigger. Therewas a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At thatinstant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksmans back, and hurledhim flat upon his face. He was up again in a moment, and with convulsivestrength he seized Holmes by the throat, but I struck him on the head withthe butt of my revolver, and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell uponhim, and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle.
There was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and twopolicemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed throughthe front entrance and into the room.
That you, Lestrade? said Holmes.
[492] Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. Its good to see you backin London, sir.
I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders inone year wont do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery withless than your usualCthats to say, you handled it fairly well.
We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwartconstable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers had begun tocollect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, anddropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced two candles, and thepolicemen had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have a goodlook at our prisoner.
It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turnedtowards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of asensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for goodor for evil. But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, with theirdrooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and thethreatening, deep-lined brow, without reading Natures plainest dangersignals.
He took no heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed uponHolmess face with an expression in which hatred and amazement wereequally blended. You fiend! he kept on muttering. You clever, cleverfiend!
Ah, Colonel! said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar. Journeysend in lovers meetings, as the old play says. I dont think I have had thepleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as Ilay on the ledge above the Reichenbach Fall.
The colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. Youcunning, cunning fiend! was all that he could say.
I have not introduced you yet, said Holmes. This, gentlemen, isColonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majestys Indian Army, and thebest heavy-game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced. Ibelieve I am correct, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers stillremains unrivalled?
The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my companion. Withhis savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tigerhimself.
I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old ashikari, said Holmes. It must be very familiar to you. Have you nottethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with your rifle, and waitedfor the bait to bring up your tiger? This empty house is my tree, and youare my tiger. You have possibly had other guns in reserve in case thereshould be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aimfailing you. These, he pointed around, are my other guns. The parallelis exact.
Colonel Moran sprang forward with a snarl of rage, but the constablesdragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible to look at.
I confess that you had one small surprise for me, said Holmes. I didnot anticipate that you would yourself make use of this empty house andthis convenient front window. I had imagined you as operating from thestreet, where my friend Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you.
With that exception, all has gone as I expected.
Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.
You may or may not have just cause for arresting me, said he, but atleast there can be no reason why I should submit to the gibes of thisperson. If I am in the hands of the law, let things be done in a legal way.
Well, thats reasonable enough, said Lestrade. Nothing further youhave to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?
[493] Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor, andwas examining its mechanism.
An admirable and unique weapon, said he, noiseless and oftremendous power: I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic, whoconstructed it to the order of the late Professor Moriarty. For years I havebeen aware of its existence, though I have never before had theopportunity of handling it. I commend it very specially to your attention,Lestrade, and also the bullets which fit it.
You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes, said Lestrade, as thewhole party moved towards the door. Anything further to say?
Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?
What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.
Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at all. Toyou, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest whichyou have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your usualhappy mixture of cunning and audacity, you have got him.
Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?
The man that the whole force has been seeking in vainCColonelSebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with anexpanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the secondfloorfront of No. 427 Park Lane, upon the thirtieth of last month. Thatsthe charge, Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the draughtfrom a broken window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigarmay afford you some profitable amusement.
Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision ofMycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I entered Isaw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were all intheir place. There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained, dealtoppedtable. There upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-booksand books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would havebeen so glad to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the piperackCeven the Persian slipper which contained the tobaccoCall met myeyes as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the roomCone,Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we enteredCthe other, thestrange dummy which had played so important a part in the eveningsadventures. It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably donethat it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a small pedestal table with anold dressing-gown of Holmess so draped round it that the illusion fromthe street was absolutely perfect.
I hope you observed all precautions, Mrs. Hudson? said Holmes.
I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me.
Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observe wherethe bullet went?
Yes, sir. Im afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passed rightthrough the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked it up from thecarpet. Here it is!
Holmes held it out to me. A soft revolver bullet, as you perceive,Watson. Theres genius in that, for who would expect to find such a thingfired from an air-gun? All right, Mrs. Hudson. I am much obliged foryour assistance. And now, Watson, let me see you in your old seat oncemore, for there are several points which I should like to discuss with you.
[494] He had thrown off the seedy frockcoat, and now he was theHolmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took fromhis effigy.
The old shikaris nerves have not lost their steadiness, nor his eyestheir keenness, said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shatteredforehead of his bust.
Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through thebrain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that there are few betterin London. Have you heard the name?
No, I have not.
Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember right, you had notheard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one of the greatbrains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies fromthe shelf.
He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowinggreat clouds from his cigar.
My collection of Ms is a fine one, said he. Moriarty himself isenough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner,and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked outmy left canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here isour friend of to-night.
He handed over the book, and I read:
Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unemployed. Formerly 1stBangalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir AugustusMoran, C. B., once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton andOxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign,Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of HeavyGame of the Western Himalayas (1881); Three Months in theJungle (1884). Address: Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian,the Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club.
On the margin was written, in Holmess precise hand:
The second most dangerous man in London.
This is astonishing, said I, as I handed back the volume. The manscareer is that of an honourable soldier.
It is true, Holmes answered. Up to a certain point he did well. Hewas always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how hecrawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are sometrees, Watson, which grow to a certain height, and then suddenly developsome unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have atheory that the individual represents in his development the wholeprocession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evilstands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree.
The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of his ownfamily.
It is surely rather fanciful.
Well, I dont insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran beganto go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still made India too hot tohold him. He retired, came to London, and again acquired an evil name. Itwas at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty, to whomfor a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied him liberally withmoney, and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs, which noordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may have somerecollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well, Iam sure Moran was at the bottom of it, but nothing could be proved. Socleverly was the colonel concealed that, even when the Moriarty gangwas broken up, we could not incriminate him. You remember at that date,when I called upon [495] you in your rooms, how I put up the shutters forfear of air-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew exactly what Iwas doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, and I knewalso that one of the best shots in the world would be behind it. When wewere in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty, and it wasundoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the Reichenbachledge.
You may think that I read the papers with some attention during mysojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by theheels. So long as he was free in London, my life would really not havebeen worth living. Night and day the shadow would have been over me,and sooner or later his chance must have come. What could I do? I couldnot shoot him at sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was nouse appealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength ofwhat would appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing.
But I watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later I should gethim. Then came the death of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come atlast. Knowing what I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had doneit? He had played cards with the lad, he had followed him home from theclub, he had shot him through the open window. There was not a doubt ofit. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I came over atonce. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I knew, direct the colonelsattention to my presence. He could not fail to connect my sudden returnwith his crime, and to be terribly alarmed. I was sure that he would makean attempt to get me out of the way at once, and would bring round hismurderous weapon for that purpose. I left him an excellent mark in thewindow, and, having warned the police that they might be neededCby theway, Watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerringaccuracyCI took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post forobservation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spot for hisattack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for me to explain?
Yes, said I. You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moransmotive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair?
Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture,where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each may form his ownhypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correctas mine.
You have formed one, then?
I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out inevidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had, between them, won aconsiderable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foulCofthat I have long been aware. I believe that on the day of the murder Adairhad discovered that Moran was cheating. Very likely he had spoken tohim privately, and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarilyresigned his membership of the club, and promised not to play cardsagain. It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make ahideous scandal by exposing a well known man so much older thanhimself. Probably he acted as I suggest. The exclusion from his clubswould mean ruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card-gains. Hetherefore murdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work outhow much money he should himself return, since he could not profit byhis partners foul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprisehim and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names andcoins. Will it pass?
I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth.
[496] It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, comewhat may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more. The famous air-gun ofVon Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum, and once againMr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining thoseinteresting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifullypresents.
David Soucek, 1998 The Norwood BuilderThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE NORWOOD BUILDERFROM the point of view of the criminal expert, said Mr. SherlockHolmes, London has become a singularly uninteresting city since thedeath of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.
I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agreewith you, I answered.
Well, well, I must not be selfish, said he, with a smile, as he pushedback his chair from the breakfast-table. The community is certainly thegainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist, whoseoccupation has gone. With that man in the field, ones morning paperpresented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallest trace,Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that thegreat malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of theweb remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre. Petty thefts,wanton assaults, purposeless outrageCto the man who held the clue allcould be worked into one connected whole. To the scientific student ofthe higher criminal world, no capital in Europe offered the advantageswhich London then possessed. But nowC C He shrugged his shoulders inhumorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done somuch to produce.
At the time of which I speak, Holmes had been back for some months,and I at his request had sold my practice and returned to share the oldquarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchasedmy small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demurthe highest price that I ventured to askCan incident which only explaineditself some years later, when I found that Verner was a distant relation ofHolmes, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.
Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case ofthe papers of ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of theDutch steamship Friesland, which so nearly cost us both our lives. Hiscold and proud nature was always averse, however, from anything in theshape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms tosay no further word of himself, his methods, or his successesCaprohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsicalprotest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, whenour attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell, followedimmediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating onthe outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a tumultuous rushinto the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant later a wildeyedand frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst intothe room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under [497] our gazeof inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for thisunceremonious entry.
Im sorry, Mr. Holmes, he cried. You mustnt blame me. I amnearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane.
He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both hisvisit and its manner, but I could see, by my companions unresponsiveface, that it meant no more to him than to me.
Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane, said he, pushing his case across. Iam sure that, with your symptoms, my friend Dr. Watson here wouldprescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last fewdays. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if youwould sit down in that chair, and tell us very slowly and quietly who youare, and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name, as if I shouldrecognize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are abachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothingwhatever about you.
Familiar as I was with my friends methods, it was not difficult for meto follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheafof legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had promptedthem. Our client, however, stared in amazement.
Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes; and, in addition, I am the mostunfortunate man at this moment in London. For heavens sake, dontabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I havefinished my story, make them give me time, so that I may tell you thewhole truth. I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working forme outside.
Arrest you! said Holmes. This is really most gratiCmost interesting.
On what charge do you expect to be arrested?
Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood.
My companions expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, Iam afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.
Dear me, said he, it was only this moment at breakfast that I wassaying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappearedout of our papers.
Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DailyTelegraph, which still lay upon Holmess knee.
If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what theerrand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my nameand my misfortune must be in every mans mouth. He turned it over toexpose the central page. Here it is, and with your permission I will readit to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The headlines are: MysteriousAffair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well Known Builder.
Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal. That is the cluewhich they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leadsinfallibly to me. I have been followed from London Bridge Station, and Iam sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. It willbreak my mothers heartCit will break her heart! He wrung his hands inan agony of apprehension, and swayed backward and forward in his chair.
I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being theperpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome, ina washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes, and a cleanshavenface, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have been abouttwenty-seven, his dress and bearing that of [498] a gentleman. From thepocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of indorsedpapers which proclaimed his profession.
We must use what time we have, said Holmes. Watson, would youhave the kindness to take the paper and to read the paragraph in question?
Underneath the vigorous headlines which our client had quoted, I readthe following suggestive narrative:
Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred atLower Norwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr.
Jonas Oldacre is a well known resident of that suburb, where hehas carried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr.
Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in DeepDene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He hashad the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive andretiring. For some years he has practically withdrawn from thebusiness, in which he is said to have massed considerable wealth.
A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house,and last night, about twelve oclock, an alarm was given that oneof the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, butthe dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible toarrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.
Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinaryaccident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime.
Surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of theestablishment from the scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed,which showed that he had disappeared from the house. Anexamination of his room revealed that the bed had not been sleptin, that a safe which stood in it was open, that a number ofimportant papers were scattered about the room, and finally, thatthere were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of bloodbeing found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, whichalso showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr.
Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon thatnight, and the stick found has been identified as the property ofthis person, who is a young London solicitor named John HectorMcFarlane, junior partner of Graham and McFarlane, of 426Gresham Buildings, E. C. The police believe that they haveevidence in their possession which supplies a very convincingmotive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted thatsensational developments will follow.
LATER.CIt is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John HectorMcFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murderof Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has beenissued. There have been further and sinister developments in theinvestigation at Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in theroom of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the Frenchwindows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) werefound to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky objecthad been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it isasserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoalashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensational crimehas been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in hisown bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged acrossto the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all tracesof the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has beenleft in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of ScotlandYard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energyand sagacity.
[499] Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and fingertips togetherto this remarkable account.
The case has certainly some points of interest, said he, in his languidfashion. May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that youare still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to justifyyour arrest?
I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes,but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre, Istayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. Iknew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read what youhave just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position, and Ihurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that I should havebeen arrested either at my city office or at my home. A man followed mefrom London Bridge Station, and I have no doubtC C Great heaven! whatis that?
It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon thestair. A moment later, our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway.
Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemenoutside.
Mr. John Hector McFarlane? said Lestrade.
Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.
I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood.
McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into hischair once more like one who is crushed.
One moment, Lestrade, said Holmes. Half an hour more or less canmake no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us anaccount of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing itup.
I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up, said Lestrade,grimly.
None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested tohear his account.
Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for youhave been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe you agood turn at Scotland Yard, said Lestrade. At the same time I mustremain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything hemay say will appear in evidence against him.
I wish nothing better, said our client. All I ask is that you shouldhear and recognize the absolute truth.
Lestrade looked at his watch. Ill give you half an hour, said he.
I must explain first, said McFarlane, that I knew nothing of Mr.
Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago myparents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very muchsurprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three oclock in the afternoon,he walked into my office in the city. But I was still more astonished whenhe told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets of anotebook, covered with scribbled writingChere they areCand he laid themon my table.
 Here is my will, said he. I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it intoproper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.
I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when Ifound that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me. Hewas a strange little ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when Ilooked up at him I found his keen gray eyes fixed upon me with anamused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as I read theterms of the will; but he explained that he was a [500] bachelor withhardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, andthat he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and wasassured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could onlystammer out my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, andwitnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as Ihave explained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed methat there were a number of documentsCbuilding leases, title-deeds,mortgages, scrip, and so forthCwhich it was necessary that I should seeand understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the wholething was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwoodthat night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. Remember,my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything issettled. We will keep it as a little surprise for them. He was very insistentupon this point, and made me promise it faithfully.
You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refusehim anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desirewas to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home,therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it wasimpossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told methat he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not behome before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house,however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found himC C
One moment! said Holmes. Who opened the door?
A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper.
And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?
Exactly, said McFarlane.
Pray proceed.
McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative:
I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supperwas laid out. Afterwards, Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, inwhich there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass ofdocuments, which we went over together. It was between eleven andtwelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb thehousekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, whichhad been open all this time.
Was the blind down? asked Holmes.
I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, Iremember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I couldnot find my stick, and he said, Never mind, my boy, I shall see a gooddeal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back toclaim it. I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up inpackets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back toBlackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothingmore until I read of this horrible affair in the morning.
Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes? saidLestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during thisremarkable explanation.
Not until I have been to Blackheath.
You mean to Norwood, said Lestrade.
Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have meant, said Holmes, withhis enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than hewould care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut throughthat which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at mycompanion.
I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. SherlockHolmes, [501] said he. Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables areat the door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting. The wretched youngman arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room.
The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of thewill, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.
There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?
said he, pushing them over.
The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.
I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the secondpage, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print, said he, butthe writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where Icannot read it at all.
What do you make of that? said Holmes.
Well, what do you make of it?
That it was written in a train. The good writing represents stations, thebad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points. Ascientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on asuburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great citycould there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that his wholejourney was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was anexpress, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge.
Lestrade began to laugh.
You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr.
Holmes, said he. How does this bear on the case?
Well, it corroborates the young mans story to the extent that the willwas drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is curiousCis itnot?Cthat a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazarda fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of muchpractical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend everto be effective, he might do it so.
Well, he drew up his own death warrant at the same time, saidLestrade.
Oh, you think so?
Dont you?
Well, it is quite possible, but the case is not clear to me yet.
Not clear? Well, if that isnt clear, what could be clear? Here is ayoung man who learns suddenly that, if a certain older man dies, he willsucceed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but hearranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night.
He waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in thesolitude of a mans room he murders him, burns his body in the woodpile,and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the roomand also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined hiscrime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed itwould hide all traces of the method of his deathCtraces which, for somereason, must have pointed to him. Is not all this obvious?
It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious,
said Holmes. You do not add imagination to your other great qualities,but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this youngman, would you choose the very night after the will had been made tocommit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so veryclose a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose anoccasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has letyou in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body,[502] and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal?
Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely.
As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminalis often flurried, and does such things, which a cool man would avoid. Hewas very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory thatwould fit the facts.
I could very easily give you half a dozen, said Holmes. Here, forexample, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a freepresent of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evidentvalue. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of whichis only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick,which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning thebody.
Why should the tramp burn the body?
For the matter of that, why should McFarlane?
To hide some evidence.
Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had beencommitted.
And why did the tramp take nothing?
Because they were papers that he could not negotiate.
Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner wasless absolutely assured than before.
Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and whileyou are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will showwhich is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know,none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man inthe world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-atlaw,and would come into them in any case.
My friend seemed struck by this remark.
I dont mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very stronglyin favour of your theory, said he. I only wish to point out that there areother theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Good-morning!
I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and seehow you are getting on.
When the detective departed, my friend rose and made his preparationsfor the days work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial taskbefore him.
My first movement, Watson, said he, as he bustled into his frockcoat,must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath.
And why not Norwood?
Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to theheels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake ofconcentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be theone which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the logical wayto approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon thefirst incidentCthe curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected anheir. It may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow,I dont think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I shouldnot dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in theevening, I will be able to report that I have been able to do something forthis unfortunate youngster, who has thrown himself upon my protection.
It was late when my friend returned, and I could see, by a glance at hishaggard and anxious face, that the high hopes with which he had startedhad not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin,endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung down theinstrument, and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.
[503] Its all going wrong, WatsonCall as wrong as it can go. I kept abold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once thefellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instincts areone way, and all the facts are the other, and I much fear that British jurieshave not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give thepreference to my theories over Lestrades facts.
Did you go to Blackheath?
Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the latelamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard. The father wasaway in search of his son. The mother was at homeCa little, fluffy, blueeyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, she would notadmit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not express eithersurprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke ofhim with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerablystrengthening the case of the police for, of course, if her son had heard herspeak of the man in this fashion, it would predispose him towards hatredand violence. He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than ahuman being, said she, and he always was, ever since he was a youngman.
 You knew him at that time? said I.
 Yes, I knew him well, in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thankheaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, ifpoorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shockingstory of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrifiedat his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him. Sherummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of awoman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. That is my ownphotograph, she said. He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, uponmy wedding morning.
 Well, said I, at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left allhis property to your son.
 Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead oralive! she cried, with a proper spirit. There is a God in heaven, Mr.
Holmes, and that same God who has punished that wicked man willshow, in His own good time, that my sons hands are guiltless of hisblood.
Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which wouldhelp our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. Igave it up at last, and off I went to Norwood.
This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick,standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front ofit. To the right and some distance back from the road was the timber-yardwhich had been the scene of the fire. Heres a rough plan on a leaf of mynotebook. This window on the left is the one which opens into Oldacresroom. You can look into it from the road, you see. That is about the onlybit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his headconstable did the honours. They had just found a great treasure-trove.
They had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned woodpile,and besides the charred organic remains they had secured severaldiscoloured metal discs. I examined them with care, and there was nodoubt that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one of themwas marked with the name of Hyams, who was Oldacres tailor. I thenworked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought hasmade everything as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that somebody or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in aline with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits in with the official [504]
theory. I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I gotup at the end of an hour no wiser than before.
Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.
The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolourations, butundoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the markswere slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client. Headmits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet, butnone of any third person, which again is a trick for the other side. Theywere piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill.
Only one little gleam of hope did I getCand yet it amounted to nothing.
I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been taken out andleft on the table. The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, oneor two of which had been opened by the police. They were not, so far as Icould judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr.
Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed to me thatall the papers were not there. There were allusions to somedeedsCpossibly the more valuableCwhich I could not find. This, of course,if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrades argument againsthimself; for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortlyinherit it?
Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, Itried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her nameCa little,dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell ussomething if she wouldCI am convinced of it. But she was as close aswax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished herhand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed at halfpastten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she could hearnothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best ofher belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm offire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he anyenemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himselfvery much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. Shehad seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clothes whichhe had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rainedfor a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot,nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemen smelled theburned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr.
Oldacres private affairs.
So, my dear Watson, theres my report of a failure. And yetCand yetC
he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of convictionCI know its allwrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that has not come out,and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in hereyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However, theres no goodtalking any more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comesour way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure inthat chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public willsooner or later have to endure.
Surely, said I, the mans appearance would go far with any jury?
That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember thatterrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in 87? Wasthere ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?
It is true.
Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory, this man islost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presentedagainst him, and all [505] further investigation has served to strengthen it.
By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which mayserve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over the bankbookI found that the low state of the balance was principally due to largechecks which have been made out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. Iconfess that I should be interested to know who this Mr. Cornelius maybe with whom a retired builder has had such very large transactions. Is itpossible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker,but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments.
Failing any other indication, my researches must now take the direction ofan inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these checks.
But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestradehanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard.
I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, butwhen I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his brighteyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round hischair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of themorning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.
What do you think of this, Watson? he asked, tossing it across.
It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:
Important fresh evidence to hand. McFarlanes guilt definitelyestablished. Advise you to abandon case.
LESTRADE.
This sounds serious, said I.
It is Lestrades little cock-a-doodle of victory, Holmes answered,with a bitter smile. And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.
After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possiblycut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines. Takeyour breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and see what we cando. I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day.
My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiaritiesthat in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and Ihave known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted frompure inanition. At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force fordigestion, he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I wasnot surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched mealbehind him, and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbidsightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was justsuch a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us,his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant.
Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have youfound your tramp? he cried.
I have formed no conclusion whatever, my companion answered.
But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct, so youmust acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time, Mr.
Holmes.
You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred,
said Holmes.
Lestrade laughed loudly.
You dont like being beaten any more than the rest of us do, said he.
A man cant expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson?
Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I can convince youonce for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime.
[506] He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.
This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hatafter the crime was done, said he. Now look at this. With dramaticsuddenness he struck a match, and by its light exposed a stain of bloodupon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer, I saw that it wasmore than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.
Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes.
Yes, I am doing so.
You are aware that no two thumb-marks are alike?
I have heard something of the kind.
Well, then, will you please compare that print with this waximpression of young McFarlanes right thumb, taken by my orders thismorning?
As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain, it did not take amagnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the samethumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost.
That is final, said Lestrade.
Yes, that is final, I involuntarily echoed.
It is final, said Holmes.
Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. Anextraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inwardmerriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me that hewas making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.
Dear me! Dear me! he said at last. Well, now, who would havethought it? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such anice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our ownjudgment, is it not, Lestrade?
Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cock-sure, Mr.
Holmes, said Lestrade. The mans insolence was maddening, but wecould not resent it.
What a providential thing that this young man should press his rightthumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very naturalaction, too, if you come to think if it. Holmes was outwardly calm, buthis whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke.
By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?
It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the nightconstables attention to it.
Where was the night constable?
He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime wascommitted, so as to see that nothing was touched.
But why didnt the police see this mark yesterday?
Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination ofthe hall. Besides, its not in a very prominent place, as you see.
No, noCof course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark wasthere yesterday?
Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of hismind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious mannerand at his rather wild observation.
I dont know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail in thedead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself, saidLestrade. I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not themark of his thumb.
It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb.
[507] There, thats enough, said Lestrade. I am a practical man, Mr.
Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions. Ifyou have anything to say, you will find me writing my report in thesitting-room.
Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detectgleams of amusement in his expression.
Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not? said he.
And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes forour client.
I am delighted to hear it, said I, heartily. I was afraid it was all upwith him.
I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact isthat there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friendattaches so much importance.
Indeed, Holmes! What is it?
Only this: that I know that that mark was not there when I examinedthe hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in thesunshine.
With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth ofhope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden.
Holmes took each face of the house in turn, and examined it with greatinterest. He then led the way inside, and went over the whole buildingfrom basement to attic. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none theless Holmes inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor,which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with aspasm of merriment.
There are really some very unique features about this case, Watson,
said he. I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade into ourconfidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps wemay do as much by him, if my reading of this problem proves to becorrect. Yes, yes, I think I see how we should approach it.
The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour whenHolmes interrupted him.
I understood that you were writing a report of this case, said he.
So I am.
Dont you think it may be a little premature? I cant help thinking thatyour evidence is not complete.
Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid downhis pen and looked curiously at him.
What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?
Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen.
Can you produce him?
I think I can.
Then do so.
I will do my best. How many constables have you?
There are three within call.
Excellent! said Holmes. May I ask if they are all large, able-bodiedmen with powerful voices?
I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices have todo with it.
Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things as well, said Holmes. Kindly summon your men, and I will try.
Five minutes later, three policemen had assembled in the hall.
In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw, saidHolmes. [508] I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it willbe of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require.
Thank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket,Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the toplanding.
As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside threeempty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled bySherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at myfriend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each otheracross his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer whois performing a trick.
Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets ofwater? Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side.
Now I think that we are all ready.
Lestrades face had begun to grow red and angry.
I dont know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. SherlockHolmes, said he. If you know anything, you can surely say it without allthis tomfoolery.
I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason foreverything that I do. You may possibly remember that you chaffed me alittle, some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge, soyou must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I askyou, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge ofthe straw?
I did so, and driven by the draught, a coil of gray smoke swirled downthe corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.
Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. MightI ask you all to join in the cry of Fire!? Now then; one, two, threeC C
Fire! we all yelled.
Thank you. I will trouble you once again.
Fire!
Just once more, gentlemen, and all together.
Fire! The shout must have rung over Norwood.
It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A doorsuddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of thecorridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of itsburrow.
Capital! said Holmes, calmly. Watson, a bucket of water over thestraw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your principalmissing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre.
The detective stared at the newcomer with blank amazement. The latterwas blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and atthe smouldering fire. It was an odious faceCcrafty, vicious, malignant,with shifty, light-gray eyes and white lashes.
Whats this, then? said Lestrade, at last. What have you been doingall this time, eh?
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red faceof the angry detective.
I have done no harm.
No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. Ifit wasnt for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not havesucceeded.
The wretched creature began to whimper.
I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke.
Oh! a joke, was it? You wont find the laugh on your side, I promiseyou. Take [509] him down, and keep him in the sitting-room until I come.
Mr. Holmes, he continued, when they had gone, I could not speakbefore the constables, but I dont mind saying, in the presence of Dr.
Watson, that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it isa mystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent mans life,and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruinedmy reputation in the Force.
Holmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.
Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your reputationhas been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations in that reportwhich you were writing, and they will understand how hard it is to throwdust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade.
And you dont want your name to appear?
Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the creditalso at some distant day, when I permit my zealous historian to lay out hisfoolscap once moreCeh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat hasbeen lurking.
A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feetfrom the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within byslits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply of food andwater were within, together with a number of books and papers.
Theres the advantage of being a builder, said Holmes, as we cameout. He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without anyconfederateC save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom Ishould lose no time in adding to your bag, Lestrade.
Ill take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr.
Holmes?
I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. When Ipaced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the correspondingone below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not thenerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gonein and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself. Besides, Iowed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning.
Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in theworld did you know that he was in the house at all?
The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was, in avery different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I pay agood deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed, andI had examined the hall, and was sure that the wall was clear. Therefore, ithad been put on during the night.
But how?
Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre gotMcFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the softwax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally, that I daresay theyoung man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just sohappened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put itto. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him whatabsolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by usingthat thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to take awax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he couldget from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during the night,either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper. If you examineamong those documents which he took with him into his retreat, I will layyou a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it.
[510] Wonderful! said Lestrade. Wonderful! Its all as clear ascrystal, as you put it. But what is the object of this deep deception, Mr.
Holmes?
It was amusing to me to see how the detectives overbearing mannerhad changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher.
Well, I dont think that is very hard to explain. A very deep,malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now waiting usdownstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlanes mother?
You dont! I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwoodafterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in hiswicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance, butnever seen his chance. During the last year or two, things have goneagainst himCsecret speculation, I thinkCand he finds himself in a bad way.
He determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays largechecks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself underanother name. I have not traced these checks yet, but I have no doubt thatthey were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacrefrom time to time led a double existence. He intended to change his namealtogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere.
Well, thats likely enough.
It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit offhis track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge uponhis old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had beenmurdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and hecarried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would give anobvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents,the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons inthe wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from which it seemed tome, a few hours ago, that there was no possible escape. But he had notthat supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. He wishedto improve that which was already perfectCto draw the rope tighter yetround the neck of his unfortunate victimCand so he ruined all. Let usdescend, Lestrade. There are just one or two questions that I would askhim.
The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour, with a policemanupon each side of him.
It was a joke, my good sirCa practical joke, nothing more, he whinedincessantly. I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order tosee the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would not beso unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befall pooryoung Mr. McFarlane.
Thats for a jury to decide, said Lestrade. Anyhow, we shall haveyou on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder.
And youll probably find that your creditors will impound the bankingaccount of Mr. Cornelius, said Holmes.
The little man started, and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend.
I have to thank you for a good deal, said he. Perhaps Ill pay mydebt some day.
Holmes smiled indulgently.
I fancy that, for some few years, you will find your time very fullyoccupied, said he. By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pilebesides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You wonttell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I daresay that a coupleof rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes. Ifever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn.
David Soucek, 1998 The Dancing MenThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE DANCING MENHOLMES had been seated for some hours in silence with his long, thinback curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing aparticularly malodorous product. His head was sunk upon his breast, andhe looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull grayplumage and a black top-knot.
So, Watson, said he, suddenly, you do not propose to invest inSouth African securities?
I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmesscurious faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughtswas utterly inexplicable.
How on earth do you know that? I asked.
He wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in his hand,and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.
Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback, said he.
I am.
I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect.
Why?
Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple.
I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind.
You see, my dear WatsonChe propped his test-tube in the rack, andbegan to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his classCit is notreally difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon itspredecessor and each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simplyknocks out all the central inferences and presents ones audience with thestarting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, thoughpossibly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was not really difficult, by aninspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb, to feelsure that you did not propose to invest your small capital in the goldfields.
I see no connection.
Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection. Hereare the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You had chalk betweenyour left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night. 2.
You put chalk there when you play billiards, to steady the cue. 3. Younever play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me, four weeksago, that Thurston had an option on some South African property whichwould expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with him. 5.
Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked for thekey. 6. You do not propose to invest your money in this manner.
How absurdly simple! I cried.
Quite so! said he, a little nettled. Every problem becomes verychildish when once it is explained to you. Here is an unexplained one. Seewhat you can make of that, friend Watson. He tossed a sheet of paperupon the table, and turned once more to his chemical analysis.
I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper.
Why, Holmes, it is a childs drawing, I cried.
Oh, thats your idea!
What else should it be?
[512] That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Riding Thorpe Manor,Norfolk, is very anxious to know. This little conundrum came by the firstpost, and he was to follow by the next train. Theres a ring at the bell,Watson. I should not be very much surprised if this were he.
A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later thereentered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and floridcheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street. He seemed tobring a whiff of his strong, fresh, bracing, east-coast air with him as heentered. Having shaken hands with each of us, he was about to sit down,when his eye rested upon the paper with the curious markings, which Ihad just examined and left upon the table.
Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these? he cried. They toldme that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I dont think you can finda queerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead, so that you might havetime to study it before I came.
It is certainly rather a curious production, said Holmes. At first sightit would appear to be some childish prank. It consists of a number ofabsurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they are drawn.
Why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an object?
I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is frightening her todeath. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her eyes. Thats why Iwant to sift the matter to the bottom.
Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it. It wasa page torn from a notebook. The markings were done in pencil, and ranin this way:
Holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully up, heplaced it in his pocketbook.
This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case, said he.
You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but Ishould be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again forthe benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson.
Im not much of a story-teller, said our visitor, nervously claspingand unclasping his great, strong hands. Youll just ask me anything that Idont make clear. Ill begin at the time of my marriage last year, but Iwant to say first of all that, though Im not a rich man, my people havebeen at Riding Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and there is no betterknown family in the County of Norfolk. Last year I came up to Londonfor the Jubilee, and I stopped at a boardinghouse in Russell Square,because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. There was anAmerican young lady thereCPatrick was the nameCElsie Patrick. In someway we became friends, until before my month was up I was as much inlove as man could be. We were quietly married at a registry office, andwe returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. Youll think it very mad, Mr.
Holmes, that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in thisfashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her people, but if you saw herand knew her, it would help you to understand.
She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I cant say that she did notgive me [513] every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so. I havehad some very disagreeable associations in my life, said she, I wish toforget all about them. I would rather never allude to the past, for it is verypainful to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman who hasnothing that she need be personally ashamed of; but you will have to becontent with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all thatpassed up to the time when I became yours. If these conditions are toohard, then go back to Norfolk, and leave me to the lonely life in whichyou found me. It was only the day before our wedding that she said thosevery words to me. I told her that I was content to take her on her ownterms, and I have been as good as my word.
Well, we have been married now for a year, and very happy we havebeen. But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for the first timesigns of trouble. One day my wife received a letter from America. I sawthe American stamp. She turned deadly white, read the letter, and threw itinto the fire. She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I made none, for apromise is a promise, but she has never known an easy hour from thatmoment. There is always a look of fear upon her faceCa look as if shewere waiting and expecting. She would do better to trust me. She wouldfind that I was her best friend. But until she speaks, I can say nothing.
Mind you, she is a truthful woman, Mr. Holmes, and whatever troublethere may have been in her past life it has been no fault of hers. I am onlya simple Norfolk squire, but there is not a man in England who ranks hisfamily honour more highly than I do. She knows it well, and she knew itwell before she married me. She would never bring any stain upon itCofthat I am sure.
Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a week agoCitwas the Tuesday of last weekCI found on one of the window-sills anumber of absurd little dancing figures like these upon the paper. Theywere scrawled with chalk. I thought that it was the stable-boy who haddrawn them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. Anyhow, theyhad come there during the night. I had them washed out, and I onlymentioned the matter to my wife afterwards. To my surprise, she took itvery seriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them. Nonedid come for a week, and then yesterday morning I found this paper lyingon the sundial in the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and down she droppedin a dead faint. Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, halfdazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. It was then that I wroteand sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that I could taketo the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you will tell mewhat to do. I am not a rich man, but if there is any danger threatening mylittle woman, I would spend my last copper to shield her.
He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soilCsimple,straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad, comelyface. His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his features.
Holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention, and now he satfor some time in silent thought.
Dont you think, Mr. Cubitt, said he, at last, that your best planwould be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share hersecret with you?
Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.
A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell me shewould. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am justified intaking my own lineCand I will.
Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place, have youheard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?
[514] No.
I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face would causecomment?
In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several smallwatering-places not very far away. And the farmers take in lodgers.
These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a purelyarbitrary one, it may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on the other hand,it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom of it. Butthis particular sample is so short that I can do nothing, and the facts whichyou have brought me are so indefinite that we have no basis for aninvestigation. I would suggest that you return to Norfolk, that you keep akeen lookout, and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing menwhich may appear. It is a thousand pities that we have not a reproductionof those which were done in chalk upon the window-sill. Make a discreetinquiry also as to any strangers in the neighbourhood. When you havecollected some fresh evidence, come to me again. That is the best advicewhich I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt. If there are any pressing freshdevelopments, I shall be always ready to run down and see you in yourNorfolk home.
The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and several timesin the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper from his notebookand look long and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it. Hemade no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight orso later. I was going out when he called me back.
You had better stay here, Watson.
Why?
Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning. You rememberHilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reach Liverpool Street atone-twenty. He may be here at any moment. I gather from his wire thatthere have been some new incidents of importance.
We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straight from thestation as fast as a hansom could bring him. He was looking worried anddepressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead.
Its getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes, said he, as hesank, like a wearied man, into an armchair. Its bad enough to feel thatyou are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind ofdesign upon you, but when, in addition to that, you know that it is justkilling your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and bloodcan endure. Shes wearing away under itCjust wearing away before myeyes.
Has she said anything yet?
No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times when thepoor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bring herself to takethe plunge. I have tried to help her, but I daresay I did it clumsily, andscared her from it. She has spoken about my old family, and ourreputation in the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour, and Ialways felt it was leading to the point, but somehow it turned off beforewe got there.
But you have found out something for yourself?
A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing-men picturesfor you to examine, and, what is more important, I have seen the fellow.
What, the man who draws them?
Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything in order.
When I got back after my visit to you, the very first thing I saw nextmorning was a fresh [515] crop of dancing men. They had been drawn inchalk upon the black wooden door of the tool-house, which stands besidethe lawn in full view of the front windows. I took an exact copy, and hereit is. He unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a copy of thehieroglyphics:
Excellent! said Holmes. Excellent! Pray continue.
When I had taken the copy, I rubbed out the marks, but, two morningslater, a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy of it here:
Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight.
Our material is rapidly accumulating, said he.
Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placedunder a pebble upon the sundial. Here it is. The characters are, as you see,exactly the same as the last one. After that I determined to lie in wait, so Igot out my revolver and I sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawnand garden. About two in the morning I was seated by the window, allbeing dark save for the moonlight outside, when I heard steps behind me,and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. She implored me to come tobed. I told her frankly that I wished to see who it was who played suchabsurd tricks upon us. She answered that it was some senseless practicaljoke, and that I should not take any notice of it.
 If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go and travel, you and I,and so avoid this nuisance.
 What, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker? said I.
Why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.
 Well, come to bed, said she, and we can discuss it in the morning.
Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter yet in themoonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. Something wasmoving in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, creeping figurewhich crawled round the corner and squatted in front of the door. Seizingmy pistol, I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me andheld me with convulsive strength. I tried to throw her off, but she clung tome most desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I had opened thedoor and reached the house the creature was gone. He had left a trace ofhis presence, however, for there on the door was the very samearrangement of dancing men which had already twice appeared, andwhich I have copied on that paper. There was no other sign of the fellowanywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And yet the amazing thing isthat he must have been there all the time, for when I examined the dooragain in the morning, he had scrawled some more of his pictures underthe line which I had already seen.
Have you that fresh drawing?
Yes, it is very short, but I made a copy of it, and here it is.
Again he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:
Tell me, said HolmesCand I could see by his eyes that he was muchexcitedCwas this a mere addition to the first or did it appear to beentirely separate?
It was on a different panel of the door.
[516] Excellent! This is far the most important of all for our purpose. Itfills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, please continue your mostinteresting statement.
I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was angry withmy wife that night for having held me back when I might have caught theskulking rascal. She said that she feared that I might come to harm. For aninstant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared wasthat he might come to harm, for I could not doubt that she knew who thisman was, and what he meant by these strange signals. But there is a tonein my wifes voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbiddoubt, and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in hermind. Theres the whole case, and now I want your advice as to what Iought to do. My own inclination is to put half a dozen of my farm lads inthe shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again to give him such ahiding that he will leave us in peace for the future.
I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies, said Holmes.
How long can you stay in London?
I must go back to-day. I would not leave my wife alone all night foranything. She is very nervous, and begged me to come back.
I daresay you are right. But if you could have stopped, I mightpossibly have been able to return with you in a day or two. Meanwhileyou will leave me these papers, and I think that it is very likely that I shallbe able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon your case.
Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until ourvisitor had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, tosee that he was profoundly excited. The moment that Hilton Cubittsbroad back had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to thetable, laid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front ofhim, and threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation. For twohours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figuresand letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidentlyforgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and whistledand sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for longspells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he sprang from hischair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the roomrubbing his hands together. Then he wrote a long telegram upon a cableform. If my answer to this is as I hope, you will have a very pretty caseto add to your collection, Watson, said he. I expect that we shall be ableto go down to Norfolk to-morrow, and to take our friend some verydefinite news as to the secret of his annoyance.
I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that Holmesliked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way, so Iwaited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence.
But there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two days ofimpatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up his ears at everyring of the bell. On the evening of the second there came a letter fromHilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him, save that a long inscription hadappeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sundial. He inclosed acopy of it, which is here reproduced:
[517] Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and thensuddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay.
His face was haggard with anxiety.
We have let this affair go far enough, said he. Is there a train toNorth Walsham to-night?
I turned up the time-table. The last had just gone.
Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning,
said Holmes. Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah! here is ourexpected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson, there may be an answer.
No, that is quite as I expected. This message makes it even more essentialthat we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how mattersstand, for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our simpleNorfolk squire is entangled.
So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of a storywhich had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre, I experienceonce again the dismay and horror with which I was filled. Would that Ihad some brighter ending to communicate to my readers, but these are thechronicles of fact, and I must follow to their dark crisis the strange chainof events which for some days made Riding Thorpe Manor a householdword through the length and breadth of England.
We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the name ofour destination, when the stationmaster hurried towards us. I supposethat you are the detectives from London? said he.
A look of annoyance passed over Holmess face.
What makes you think such a thing?
Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through. Butmaybe you are the surgeons. Shes not deadCor wasnt by last accounts.
You may be in time to save her yetCthough it be for the gallows.
Holmess brow was dark with anxiety.
We are going to Riding Thorpe Manor, said he, but we have heardnothing of what has passed there.
Its a terrible business, said the stationmaster. They are shot, bothMr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then herselfCso theservants say. Hes dead and her life is despaired of. Dear, dear, one of theoldest families in the county of Norfolk, and one of the most honoured.
Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long sevenmiles drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have I seen him soutterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all our journey from town,and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers withanxious attention, but now this sudden realization of his worst fears lefthim in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomyspeculation. Yet there was much around to interest us, for we werepassing through as singular a countryside as any in England, where a fewscattered cottages represented the population of to-day, while on everyhand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from the flat greenlandscape and told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia. At lastthe violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over the green edge of theNorfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two old brick andtimber gables which projected from a grove of trees. Thats RidingThorpe Manor, said he.
As we drove up to the porticoed front door, I observed in front of it,beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the pedestalled sundialwith which we had such strange associations. A dapper little man, with aquick, alert manner and a [518] waxed moustache, had just descendedfrom a high dog-cart. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, of theNorfolk Constabulary, and he was considerably astonished when he heardthe name of my companion.
Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three thismorning. How could you hear of it in London and get to the spot as soonas I?
I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it.
Then you must have important evidence, of which we are ignorant, forthey were said to be a most united couple.
I have only the evidence of the dancing men, said Holmes. I willexplain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is too late to preventthis tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use the knowledge which Ipossess in order to insure that justice be done. Will you associate me inyour investigation, or will you prefer that I should act independently?
I should be proud to feel that we were acting together, Mr. Holmes,
said the inspector, earnestly.
In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to examine thepremises without an instant of unnecessary delay.
Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do things inhis own fashion, and contented himself with carefully noting the results.
The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just come down fromMrs. Hilton Cubitts room, and he reported that her injuries were serious,but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed through the front of herbrain, and it would probably be some time before she could regainconsciousness. On the question of whether she had been shot or had shotherself, he would not venture to express any decided opinion. Certainlythe bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. There was only theone pistol found in the room, two barrels of which had been emptied. Mr.
Hilton Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was equally conceivablethat he had shot her and then himself, or that she had been the criminal,for the revolver lay upon the floor midway between them.
Has he been moved? asked Holmes.
We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave her lyingwounded upon the floor.
How long have you been here, Doctor?
Since four oclock.
Anyone else?
Yes, the constable here.
And you have touched nothing?
Nothing.
You have acted with great discretion. Who sent for you?
The housemaid, Saunders.
Was it she who gave the alarm?
She and Mrs. King, the cook.
Where are they now?
In the kitchen, I believe.
Then I think we had better hear their story at once.
The old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been turned into acourt of investigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair, hisinexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. I could read in them aset purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he hadfailed to save should at last be [519] avenged. The trim Inspector Martin,the old, gray-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid villagepoliceman made up the rest of that strange company.
The two women told their story clearly enough. They had been arousedfrom their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which had been followed aminute later by a second one. They slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs.
King had rushed in to Saunders. Together they had descended the stairs.
The door of the study was open, and a candle was burning upon the table.
Their master lay upon his face in the centre of the room. He was quitedead. Near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning againstthe wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side of her face was red withblood. She breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything. Thepassage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell of powder.
The window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. Bothwomen were positive upon the point. They had at once sent for the doctorand for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the stable-boy,they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room. Both she and herhusband had occupied the bed. She was clad in her dressChe in hisdressing-gown, over his night-clothes. Nothing had been moved in thestudy. So far as they knew, there had never been any quarrel betweenhusband and wife. They had always looked upon them as a very unitedcouple.
These were the main points of the servants evidence. In answer toInspector Martin, they were clear that every door was fastened upon theinside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. In answer toHolmes, they both remembered that they were conscious of the smell ofpowder from the moment that they ran out of their rooms upon the topfloor. I commend that fact very carefully to your attention, said Holmesto his professional colleague. And now I think that we are in a positionto undertake a thorough examination of the room.
The study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides withbooks, and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window, which lookedout upon the garden. Our first attention was given to the body of theunfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretched across the room. Hisdisordered dress showed that he had been hastily aroused from sleep. Thebullet had been fired at him from the front, and had remained in his body,after penetrating the heart. His death had certainly been instantaneous andpainless. There was no powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown oron his hands. According to the country surgeon, the lady had stains uponher face, but none upon her hand.
The absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence maymean everything, said Holmes. Unless the powder from a badly fittingcartridge happens to spurt backward, one may fire many shots withoutleaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr. Cubitts body may now beremoved. I suppose, Doctor, you have not recovered the bullet whichwounded the lady?
A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done. Butthere are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have been fired and twowounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be accounted for.
So it would seem, said Holmes. Perhaps you can account also forthe bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the window?
He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing to a holewhich had been drilled right through the lower window-sash, about aninch above the bottom.
By George! cried the inspector. How ever did you see that?
Because I looked for it.
[520] Wonderful! said the country doctor. You are certainly right,sir. Then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third person musthave been present. But who could that have been, and how could he havegot away?
That is the problem which we are now about to solve, said SherlockHolmes. You remember, Inspector Martin, when the servants said thaton leaving their room they were at once conscious of a smell of powder, Iremarked that the point was an extremely important one?
Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you.
It suggested that at the time of the firing, the window as well as thedoor of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of powder couldnot have been blown so rapidly through the house. A draught in the roomwas necessary for that. Both door and window were only open for a veryshort time, however.
How do you prove that?
Because the candle was not guttered.
Capital! cried the inspector. Capital!
Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of the tragedy,I conceived that there might have been a third person in the affair, whostood outside this opening and fired through it. Any shot directed at thisperson might hit the sash. I looked, and there, sure enough, was the bulletmark!
But how came the window to be shut and fastened?
The womans first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window.
But, halloa! what is this?
It was a ladys hand-bag which stood upon the study tableCa trim littlehand-bag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it and turned thecontents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes of the Bank ofEngland, held together by an india-rubber bandCnothing else.
This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial, said Holmes, ashe handed the bag with its contents to the inspector. It is now necessarythat we should try to throw some light upon this third bullet, which hasclearly, from the splintering of the wood, been fired from inside the room.
I should like to see Mrs. King, the cook, again. You said, Mrs. King, thatyou were awakened by a loud explosion. When you said that, did youmean that it seemed to you to be louder than the second one?
Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, so it is hard to judge. But itdid seem very loud.
You dont think that it might have been two shots fired almost at thesame instant?
I am sure I couldnt say, sir.
I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, Inspector Martin,that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us. If you willkindly step round with me, we shall see what fresh evidence the gardenhas to offer.
A flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all broke intoan exclamation as we approached it. The flowers were trampled down,and the soft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks. Large, masculinefeet they were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted aboutamong the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then,with a cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazencylinder.
I thought so, said he; the revolver had an ejector, and here is thethird cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that our case is almostcomplete.
[521] The country inspectors face had shown his intense amazement atthe rapid and masterful progress of Holmess investigation. At first he hadshown some disposition to assert his own position, but now he wasovercome with admiration, and ready to follow without questionwherever Holmes led.
Whom do you suspect? he asked.
Ill go into that later. There are several points in this problem which Ihave not been able to explain to you yet. Now that I have got so far, I hadbest proceed on my own lines, and then clear the whole matter up onceand for all.
Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we get our man.
I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the momentof action to enter into long and complex explanations. I have the threadsof this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady should never recoverconsciousness, we can still reconstruct the events of last night, and insurethat justice be done. First of all, I wish to know whether there is any innin this neighbourhood known as Elriges?
The servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heard ofsuch a place. The stable-boy threw a light upon the matter byremembering that a farmer of that name lived some miles off, in thedirection of East Ruston.
Is it a lonely farm?
Very lonely, sir.
Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here during thenight?
Maybe not, sir.
Holmes thought for a little, and then a curious smile played over hisface.
Saddle a horse, my lad, said he. I shall wish you to take a note toElriges Farm.
He took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men. Withthese in front of him, he worked for some time at the study-table. Finallyhe handed a note to the boy, with directions to put it into the hands of theperson to whom it was addressed, and especially to answer no questionsof any sort which might be put to him. I saw the outside of the note,addressed in straggling, irregular characters, very unlike Holmess usualprecise hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elriges Farm, EastRuston, Norfolk.
I think, Inspector, Holmes remarked, that you would do well totelegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be correct, you mayhave a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county jail. Theboy who takes this note could no doubt forward your telegram. If there isan afternoon train to town, Watson, I think we should do well to take it, asI have a chemical analysis of some interest to finish, and this investigationdraws rapidly to a close.
When the youth had been dispatched with the note, Sherlock Holmesgave his instructions to the servants. If any visitor were to call asking forMrs. Hilton Cubitt, no information should be given as to her condition,but he was to be shown at once into the drawing-room. He impressedthese points upon them with the utmost earnestness. Finally he led theway into the drawing-room, with the remark that the business was nowout of our hands, and that we must while away the time as best we mightuntil we could see what was in store for us. The doctor had departed to hispatients, and only the inspector and myself remained.
I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interesting andprofitable manner, said Holmes, drawing his chair up to the table, andspreading out in front of him the various papers upon which wererecorded the antics of the dancing men. As to you, friend Watson, I oweyou every atonement for having allowed your [522] natural curiosity toremain so long unsatisfied. To you, Inspector, the whole incident mayappeal as a remarkable professional study. I must tell you, first of all, theinteresting circumstances connected with the previous consultationswhich Mr. Hilton Cubitt has had with me in Baker Street. He thenshortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded. I havehere in front of me these singular productions, at which one might smile,had they not proved themselves to be the forerunners of so terrible atragedy. I am fairly familiar with all forms of secret writings, and ammyself the author of a trifling monograph upon the subject, in which Ianalyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers, but I confess that this isentirely new to me. The object of those who invented the system hasapparently been to conceal that these characters convey a message, and togive the idea that they are the mere random sketches of children.
Having once recognized, however, that the symbols stood for letters,and having applied the rules which guide us in all forms of secretwritings, the solution was easy enough. The first message submitted to mewas so short that it was impossible for me to do more than to say, withsome confidence, that the symbol stood for E. As you are aware, E isthe most common letter in the English alphabet, and it predominates to somarked an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect to find itmost often. Out of fifteen symbols in the first message, four were thesame, so it was reasonable to set this down as E. It is true that in somecases the figure was bearing a flag, and in some cases not, but it wasprobable, from the way in which the flags were distributed, that they wereused to break the sentence up into words. I accepted this as a hypothesis,and noted that E was represented byBut now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order of theEnglish letters after E is by no means well marked, and anypreponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheet maybe reversed in a single short sentence. Speaking roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S,H, R, D, and L are the numerical order in which letters occur; but T, A, O,and I are very nearly abreast of each other, and it would be an endlesstask to try each combination until a meaning was arrived at. I thereforewaited for fresh material. In my second interview with Mr. Hilton Cubitthe was able to give me two other short sentences and one message, whichappearedCsince there was no flagCto be a single word. Here are thesymbols:
Now, in the single word I have already got the two Es coming secondand fourth in a word of five letters. It might be sever, or lever, ornever. There can be no question that the latter as a reply to an appeal isfar the most probable, and the circumstances pointed to its being a replywritten by the lady. Accepting it as correct, we are now able to say thatthe symbolsstand respectively for N, V, and R.
Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thought put mein possession of several other letters. It occurred to me that if theseappeals came, as I expected, from someone who had been intimate withthe lady in her early life, a combination which contained two Es withthree letters between might very well stand for the name ELSIE. Onexamination I found that such a combination formed the termination ofthe message which was three times repeated. It was certainly some appealto Elsie. In this way I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal could itbe? There were only four letters in the word which preceded Elsie, andit ended in E. Surely the word must be COME. I tried all other fourletters ending [523] in E, but could find none to fit the case. So now I wasin possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to attack the firstmessage once more, dividing it into words and putting dots for eachsymbol which was still unknown. So treated, it worked out in this fashion:
. M . ERE . . E SL . NE.
Now the first letter can only be A, which is a most useful discovery,since it occurs no fewer than three times in this short sentence, and the His also apparent in the second word. Now it becomes:
AM HERE A . E SLANE.
Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:
AM HERE ABE SLANEY.
I had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerableconfidence to the second message, which worked out in this fashion:
A . ELRI . ES. Here I could only make sense by putting T and G forthe missing letters, and supposing that the name was that of some houseor inn at which the writer was staying.
Inspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest to the fulland clear account of how my friend had produced results which had led toso complete a command over our difficulties.
What did you do then, sir? asked the inspector.
I had every reason to suppose that this Abe Slaney was an American,since Abe is an American contraction, and since a letter from Americahad been the starting-point of all the trouble. I had also every cause tothink that there was some criminal secret in the matter. The ladysallusions to her past, and her refusal to take her husband into herconfidence, both pointed in that direction. I therefore cabled to my friend,Wilson Hargreave, of the New York Police Bureau, who has more thanonce made use of my knowledge of London crime. I asked him whetherthe name of Abe Slaney was known to him. Here is his reply: The mostdangerous crook in Chicago. On the very evening upon which I had hisanswer, Hilton Cubitt sent me the last message from Slaney. Workingwith known letters, it took this form:
ELSIE . RE . ARE TO MEET THY GO .
The addition of a P and a D completed a message which showed me thatthe rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and my knowledgeof the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that he might very rapidlyput his words into action. I at once came to Norfolk with my friend andcolleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only in time to find that the worsthad already occurred.
It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a case,
said the inspector, warmly. You will excuse me, however, if I speakfrankly to you. You are only answerable to yourself, but I have to answerto my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, living at Elriges, is indeed themurderer, and if he has made his escape while I am seated here, I shouldcertainly get into serious trouble.
You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape.
How do you know?
To fly would be a confession of guilt.
[524] Then let us go to arrest him.
I expect him here every instant.
But why should he come?
Because I have written and asked him.
But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why should he come because youhave asked him? Would not such a request rather rouse his suspicions andcause him to fly?
I think I have known how to frame the letter, said Sherlock Holmes.
In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is the gentleman himselfcoming up the drive.
A man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was a tall,handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of gray flannel, with a Panamahat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked nose, andflourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered up the path as if the placebelonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at the bell.
I think, gentlemen, said Holmes, quietly, that we had best take upour position behind the door. Every precaution is necessary when dealingwith such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs, Inspector. You canleave the talking to me.
We waited in silence for a minuteCone of those minutes which one cannever forget. Then the door opened and the man stepped in. In an instantHolmes clapped a pistol to his head, and Martin slipped the handcuffsover his wrists. It was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow washelpless before he knew that he was attacked. He glared from one to theother of us with a pair of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a bitterlaugh.
Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem to haveknocked up against something hard. But I came here in answer to a letterfrom Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Dont tell me that she is in this? Dont tell methat she helped to set a trap for me?
Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured, and is at deaths door.
The man gave a hoarse cry of grief, which rang through the house.
Youre crazy! he cried, fiercely. It was he that was hurt, not she.
Who would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatened herCGod forgiveme! Cbut I would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. Take itbackCyou! Say that she is not hurt!
She was found, badly wounded, by the side of her dead husband.
He sank with a deep groan on to the settee, and buried his face in hismanacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then he raised his faceonce more, and spoke with the cold composure of despair.
I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen, said he. If I shot theman he had his shot at me, and theres no murder in that. But if you thinkI could have hurt that woman, then you dont know either me or her. I tellyou, there was never a man in this world loved a woman more than Iloved her. I had a right to her. She was pledged to me years ago. Who wasthis Englishman that he should come between us? I tell you that I had thefirst right to her, and that I was only claiming my own.
She broke away from your influence when she found the man that youare,  said Holmes, sternly. She fled from America to avoid you, and shemarried an honourable gentleman in England. You dogged her andfollowed her and made her life a misery to her, in order to induce her toabandon the husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly withyou, whom she feared and hated. You have ended by [525] bringing aboutthe death of a noble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is yourrecord in this business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will answer for it to thelaw.
If Elsie dies, I care nothing what becomes of me, said the American.
He opened one of his hands, and looked at a note crumpled up in hispalm. See here, mister, he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his eyes,youre not trying to scare me over this, are you? If the lady is hurt as badas you say, who was it that wrote this note? He tossed it forward on tothe table.
I wrote it, to bring you here.
You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint who knewthe secret of the dancing men. How came you to write it?
What one man can invent another can discover, said Holmes. Thereis a cab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But, meanwhile,you have time to make some small reparation for the injury you havewrought. Are you aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt has herself lain undergrave suspicion of the murder of her husband, and that it was only mypresence here, and the knowledge which I happened to possess, which hassaved her from the accusation? The least that you owe her is to make itclear to the whole world that she was in no way, directly or indirectly,responsible for his tragic end.
I ask nothing better, said the American. I guess the very best case Ican make for myself is the absolute naked truth.
It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you, cried theinspector, with the magnificent fair play of the British criminal law.
Slaney shrugged his shoulders.
Ill chance that, said he. First of all, I want you gentlemen tounderstand that I have known this lady since she was a child. There wereseven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsies father was the boss of theJoint. He was a clever man, was old Patrick. It was he who invented thatwriting, which would pass as a childs scrawl unless you just happened tohave the key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our ways, but she couldntstand the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her own, so shegave us all the slip and got away to London. She had been engaged to me,and she would have married me, I believe, if I had taken over anotherprofession, but she would have nothing to do with anything on the cross.
It was only after her marriage to this Englishman that I was able to findout where she was. I wrote to her, but got no answer. After that I cameover, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages where she could readthem.
Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm, where I hada room down below, and could get in and out every night, and no one thewiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knew that she read themessages, for once she wrote an answer under one of them. Then mytemper got the better of me, and I began to threaten her. She sent me aletter then, imploring me to go away, and saying that it would break herheart if any scandal should come upon her husband. She said that shewould come down when her husband was asleep at three in the morning,and speak with me through the end window, if I would go awayafterwards and leave her in peace. She came down and brought moneywith her, trying to bribe me to go. This made me mad, and I caught herarm and tried to pull her through the window. At that moment in rushedthe husband with his revolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon thefloor, and we were face to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my gunto scare him off and let me get away. He fired and missed me. I pulled offalmost at the same instant, and down he dropped. I made away across thegarden, and as [526] I went I heard the window shut behind me. ThatsGods truth, gentlemen, every word of it; and I heard no more about ituntil that lad came riding up with a note which made me walk in here,like a jay, and give myself into your hands.
A cab had driven up whilst the American had been talking. Twouniformed policemen sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and touched hisprisoner on the shoulder.
It is time for us to go.
Can I see her first?
No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I only hope that, ifever again I have an important case, I shall have the good fortune to haveyou by my side.
We stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As I turnedback, my eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossedupon the table. It was the note with which Holmes had decoyed him.
See if you can read it, Watson, said he, with a smile.
It contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:
If you use the code which I have explained, said Holmes, you willfind that it simply means Come here at once. I was convinced that it wasan invitation which he would not refuse, since he could never imaginethat it could come from anyone but the lady. And so, my dear Watson, wehave ended by turning the dancing men to good when they have so oftenbeen the agents of evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my promise ofgiving you something unusual for your notebook. Three-forty is our train,and I fancy we should be back in Baker Street for dinner.
Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, wascondemned to death at the winter assizes at Norwich, but his penalty waschanged to penal servitude in consideration of mitigating circumstances,and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt had fired the first shot. Of Mrs. HiltonCubitt I only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, and that shestill remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the poor andto the administration of her husbands estate.
David Soucek, 1998 The Solitary CyclistThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE SOLITARY CYCLISTFROM the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a verybusy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficultyin which he was not consulted during those eight years, and there werehundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate andextraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Manystartling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome ofthis long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notesof all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, itmay be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select tolay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, and givethe preference to those cases which derive their interest not so much fromthe brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of thesolution. For this reason I will now lay before the reader the factsconnected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, andthe curious sequel of our investigation, which culminated in [527]
unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstance did not admit of anystriking illustration of those powers for which my friend was famous, butthere were some points about the case which made it stand out in thoselong records of crime from which I gather the material for these littlenarratives.
On referring to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it was uponSaturday, the 23d of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Hervisit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he wasimmersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problemconcerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, thewell known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, wholoved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resentedanything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yet,without a harshness which was foreign to his nature, it was impossible torefuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall,graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in theevening, and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge thathis time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with thedetermination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short offorce could get her out of the room until she had done so. With a resignedair and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder totake a seat, and to inform us what it was that was troubling her.
At least it cannot be your health, said he, as his keen eyes darted overher; so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy.
She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slightroughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of thepedal.
Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to dowith my visit to you to-day.
My friend took the ladys ungloved hand, and examined it with as closean attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to aspecimen.
You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business, said he, as hedropped it. I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you weretypewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe thespatulate finger-ends, Watson, which is common to both professions?
There is a spirituality about the face, howeverCshe gently turned ittowards the lightCwhich the typewriter does not generate. This lady is amusician.
Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music.
In the country, I presume, from your complexion.
Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey.
A beautiful neighbourhood, and full of the most interestingassociations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we tookArchie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened toyou, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?
The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made thefollowing curious statement:
My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conductedthe orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were leftwithout a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who wentto Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from himsince. When father died, we were left very poor, but one day we were toldthat there was an advertisement in the Times, inquiring for ourwhereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought thatsomeone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose namewas [528] given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthersand Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. Theysaid that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he had died some monthsbefore in great poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them withhis last breath to hunt up his relations, and see that they were in no want.
It seemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us whenhe was alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead, butMr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just heardof the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate.
Excuse me, said Holmes. When was this interview?
Last DecemberCfour months ago.
Pray proceed.
Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was forever making eyes at meCa coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached youngman, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thoughtthat he was perfectly hatefulCand I was sure that Cyril would not wish meto know such a person.
Oh, Cyril is his name! said Holmes, smiling.
The young lady blushed and laughed.
Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope tobe married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how did I get talking abouthim? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious,but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable.
He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person, but he had politemanners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and onfinding that we were very poor, he suggested that I should come and teachmusic to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave mymother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her every weekend,and he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendidpay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange,about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he hadengaged a lady housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person, calledMrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was a dear, andeverything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind and verymusical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every week-end Iwent home to my mother in town.
The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustachedMr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh! it seemed threemonths to me. He was a dreadful personCa bully to everyone else, but tome something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of hiswealth, said that if I married him I could have the finest diamonds inLondon, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seizedme in his arms one day after dinner Che was hideously strongCand sworethat he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came inand tore him from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knockinghim down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, as youcan imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, and assured methat I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr.
Woodley since.
And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which hascaused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturdayforenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station, in order to get the12:22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at onespot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between CharlingtonHeath upon one side and the woods which lie round Charlington Hallupon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract of [529] roadanywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, untilyou reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I waspassing this place, when I chanced to look back over my shoulder, andabout two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. Heseemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked backbefore I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no moreabout it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when, onmy return on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch ofroad. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again,exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kepthis distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly wasvery odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested in whatI said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in future Ishould not pass over these lonely roads without some companion.
The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reasonthey were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station. That wasthis morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to CharlingtonHeath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been thetwo weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I could not clearlysee his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He wasdressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that Icould clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was not alarmed, but I wasfilled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what hewanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his. Then Istopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I laid a trap for him. Thereis a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled very quickly round this, andthen I stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round and pass mebefore he could stop. But he never appeared. Then I went back and lookedround the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To makeit the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down whichhe could have gone.
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. This case certainly presentssome features of its own, said he. How much time elapsed betweenyour turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?
Two or three minutes.
Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say thatthere are no side roads?
None.
Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other.
It could not have been on the side of the heath, or I should have seenhim.
So, by the process of exclusion, we arrive at the fact that he made hisway toward Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in itsown grounds on one side of the road. Anything else?
Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I shouldnot be happy until I had seen you and had your advice.
Holmes sat in silence for some little time.
Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged? he asked at last.
He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry.
He would not pay you a surprise visit?
Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!
Have you had any other admirers?
Several before I knew Cyril.
[530] And since?
There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him anadmirer.
No one else?
Our fair client seemed a little confused.
Who was he? asked Holmes.
Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it had seemed to mesometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interestin me. We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in theevening. He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girlalways knows.
Ha! Holmes looked grave. What does he do for a living?
He is a rich man.
No carriages or horses?
Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the city two orthree times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold shares.
You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am verybusy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case.
In the meantime, take no step without letting me know. Good-bye, and Itrust that we shall have nothing but good news from you.
It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should havefollowers, said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pipe, but forchoice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secretive lover,beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about thecase, Watson.
That he should appear only at that point?
Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants ofCharlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection betweenCarruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a differenttype? How came they both to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smithsrelations? One more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays doublethe market price for a governess but does not keep a horse, although sixmiles from the station? Odd, WatsonCvery odd!
You will go down?
No, my dear fellow, you will go down. This may be some triflingintrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it.
On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will conceal yourselfnear Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts for yourself, and actas your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired as to the occupantsof the Hall, you will come back to me and report. And now, Watson, notanother word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-stones onwhich we may hope to get across to our solution.
We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Mondayby the train which leaves Waterloo at 9:50, so I started early and caughtthe 9:13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed toCharlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the youngladys adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one sideand an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which isstudded with magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichenstuddedstone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldicemblems, but besides this central carriage drive I observed several pointswhere there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. Thehouse was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke ofgloom and decay.
The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse,gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behindone of these clumps I [531] took up my position, so as to command boththe gateway of the Hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. Ithad been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down itfrom the opposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in adark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of theCharlington grounds, he sprang from his machine and led it through a gapin the hedge, disappearing from my view.
A quarter of an hour passed, and then a second cyclist appeared. Thistime it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look abouther as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the manemerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her.
In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, thegraceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behindher bending low over his handle-bar with a curiously furtive suggestion inevery movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowedalso. She stopped. He at once stopped, too, keeping two hundred yardsbehind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. Shesuddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him. He was asquick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently shecame back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning totake any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and stillkept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my sight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, forpresently the man reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned in at theHall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For some minutes I couldsee him standing among the trees. His hands were raised, and he seemedto be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle, and rode away fromme down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peeredthrough the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old graybuilding with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through adense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morningswork, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house agentcould tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to a wellknown firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and met withcourtesy from the representative. No, I could not have Charlington Hallfor the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr.
Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable, elderlygentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as theaffairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which Iwas able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word ofcurt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On thecontrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as hecommented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.
Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should havebeen behind the hedge, then you would have had a close view of thisinteresting person. As it is, you were some hundreds of yards away andcan tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know theman; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be sodesperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see hisfeatures? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealmentagain, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to thehouse, and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London houseagent!
[532] What should I have done? I cried, with some heat.
Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country gossip.
They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullerymaid.
Williamson? It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly manhe is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that young ladysathletic pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition? Theknowledge that the girls story is true. I never doubted it. That there is aconnection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either.
That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Whos the better for that? Well,well, my dear sir, dont look so depressed. We can do little more untilnext Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiriesmyself.
Next morning, we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly andaccurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letterlay in the postscript:
I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes,when I tell you that my place here has become difficult, owing tothe fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I amconvinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable. Atthe same time, my promise is of course given. He took my refusalvery seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however,that the situation is a little strained.
Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters, said Holmes,thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. The case certainly presents morefeatures of interest and more possibility of development than I hadoriginally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day inthe country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one ortwo theories which I have formed.
Holmess quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for hearrived at Baker Street late in the evening, with a cut lip and a discolouredlump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which wouldhave made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland Yardinvestigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures andlaughed heartily as he recounted them.
I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat, said he. You areaware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport ofboxing. Occasionally, it is of service; to-day, for example, I should havecome to very ignominious grief without it.
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
I found that country pub which I had already recommended to yournotice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and agarrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is a whitebeardedman, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall.
There is some rumor that he is or has been a clergyman, but one or twoincidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarlyunecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency,and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders, whose careerhas been a singularly dark one. The landlord further informed me thatthere are usually week-end visitorsCa warm lot, sirCat the Hall, andespecially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name,who was always there. We had got as far as this, when who should walkin but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the taproomand had heard the whole conversation. Who was I? What did Iwant? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine flow oflanguage, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended a string ofabuse by a vicious back-hander, which I failed to entirely avoid. The nextfew minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a sloggingruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley [533] went home in a cart.
So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that, howeverenjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much moreprofitable than your own.
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear that Iam leaving Mr. Carrutherss employment. Even the high paycannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. OnSaturday I come up to town, and I do not intend to return. Mr.
Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, ifthere ever were any dangers, are now over.
As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely thestrained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance ofthat odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but helooks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had anaccident, and he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window,but I am glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk withMr. Carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodleymust be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here,and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning, slinkingabout in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animalloose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say.
How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment?
However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.
So I trust, Watson, so I trust, said Holmes, gravely. There is somedeep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to seethat no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson, that wemust spare time to run down together on Saturday morning and make surethat this curious and inclusive investigation has no untoward ending.
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case,which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous.
That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman isno unheard-of thing, and if he has so little audacity that he not only darednot address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a veryformidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very different person,but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now hevisited the house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence. Theman on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties atthe Hall of which the publican had spoken, but who he was, or what hewanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmess mannerand the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving ourrooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove tolurk behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the heathcoveredcountryside, with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse, seemedall the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs andslate grays of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad, sandy roadinhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of the birds andthe fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder ofCrooksbury Hill, we could see the grim Hall bristling out from amidst theancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the buildingwhich they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the long tract of roadwhich wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the heath andthe budding green of the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see avehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation ofimpatience.
[534] I have given a margin of half an hour, said he. If that is hertrap, she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she willbe past Charlington before we can possibly meet her.
From the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longer see thevehicle, but we hastened onward at such a pace that my sedentary lifebegan to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores ofnervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed untilsuddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and Isaw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At thesame instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing,appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
Too late, Watson, too late! cried Holmes, as I ran panting to his side.
Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! Its abduction, WatsonCabduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the horse!
Thats right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can repair the consequencesof my own blunder.
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse,gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. As weturned the curve, the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the heathwas opened up. I grasped Holmess arm.
Thats the man! I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and hisshoulders rounded, as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed onto the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his beardedface, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine.
That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face,and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and at thedog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face.
Halloa! Stop there! he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road.
Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man! he yelled, drawing apistol from his side pocket. Pull up, I say, or, by George, Ill put a bulletinto your horse.
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.
Youre the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith? he said,in his quick, clear way.
Thats what Im asking you. Youre in her dog-cart. You ought toknow where she is.
We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We droveback to help the young lady.
Good Lord! Good Lord! What shall I do? cried the stranger, in anecstasy of despair. Theyve got her, that hell-hound Woodley and theblackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Standby me and well save her, if I have to leave my carcass in CharlingtonWood.
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge.
Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road,followed Holmes.
This is where they came through, said he, pointing to the marks ofseveral feet upon the muddy path. Halloa! Stop a minute! Whos this inthe bush?
It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, withleather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, aterrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at hiswound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.
Thats Peter, the groom, cried the stranger. He drove her. The beasts[535] have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we cant do himany good, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall awoman.
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. Wehad reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmespulled up.
They didnt go to the house. Here are their marks on the leftChere,beside the laurel bushes. Ah! I said so.
As he spoke, a womans shrill screamCa scream which vibrated with afrenzy of horrorCburst from the thick, green clump of bushes in front ofus. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
This way! This way! They are in the bowling-alley, cried thestranger, darting through the bushes. Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me,gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!
We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surroundedby ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mightyoak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, ourclient, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite herstood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legsparted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding crop, his wholeattitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly, graybeardedman, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, hadevidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayerbookas we appeared, and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the backin jovial congratulation.
Theyre married? I gasped.
Come on! cried our guide; come on! He rushed across the glade,Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered againstthe trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed tous with mock politeness, and the bully, Woodley, advanced with a shoutof brutal and exultant laughter.
You can take your beard off, Bob, said he. I know you, rightenough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be ableto introduce you to Mrs. Woodley.
Our guides answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beardwhich had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long,sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver andcovered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with hisdangerous riding crop swinging in his hand.
Yes, said our ally, I am Bob Carruthers, and Ill see this womanrighted, if I have to swing for it. I told you what Id do if you molestedher, and, by the Lord! Ill be as good as my word.
Youre too late. Shes my wife.
No, shes your widow.
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front ofWoodleys waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon hisback, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor.
The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul oathsas I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but, before hecould raise it, he was looking down the barrel of Holmess weapon.
Enough of this, said my friend, coldly. Drop that pistol! Watson,pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me thatrevolver. Well have no more violence. Come, hand it over!
Who are you, then?
[536] My name is Sherlock Holmes.
Good Lord!
You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police untiltheir arrival. Here, you! he shouted to a frightened groom, who hadappeared at the edge of the glade. Come here. Take this note as hard asyou can ride to Farnham. He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from hisnotebook. Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Until hecomes, I must detain you all under my personal custody.
The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragicscene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson andCarruthers found themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into thehouse, and I gave my arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laidon his bed, and at Holmess request I examined him. I carried my reportto where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his twoprisoners before him.
He will live, said I.
What! cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. Ill go upstairsand finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tiedto Roaring Jack Woodley for life?
You need not concern yourself about that, said Holmes. There aretwo very good reasons why she should, under no circumstances, be hiswife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamsonsright to solemnize a marriage.
I have been ordained, cried the old rascal.
And also unfrocked.
Once a clergyman, always a clergyman.
I think not. How about the licence?
We had a licence for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket.
Then you got it by a trick. But, in any case, a forced marriage is nomarriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before youhave finished. Youll have time to think the point out during the next tenyears or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would havedone better to keep your pistol in your pocket.
I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all theprecaution I had taken to shield this girlCfor I loved her, Mr. Holmes, andit is the only time that ever I knew what love wasCit fairly drove me madto think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in SouthAfricaCa man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley toJohannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, youll hardly believe it, but ever sincethat girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past thishouse, where I knew the rascals were lurking, without following her onmy bicycle, just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance fromher, and I wore a beard, so that she should not recognize me, for she is agood and high-spirited girl, and she wouldnt have stayed in myemployment long if she had thought that I was following her about thecountry roads.
Why didnt you tell her of her danger?
Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldnt bear toface that. Even if she couldnt love me, it was a great deal to me just tosee her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her voice.
Well, said I, you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call itselfishness.
Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldnt let her go.
Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someonenear to look after her. Then, when the cable came, I knew they werebound to make a move.
What cable?
[537] Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.
Thats it, said he.
It was short and concise:
THE OLD MAN IS DEAD.
Hum! said Holmes. I think I see how things worked, and I canunderstand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head.
But while you wait, you might tell me what you can.
The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.
By heaven! said he, if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, Ill serveyou as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to yourhearts content, for thats your own affair, but if you round on your pals tothis plain-clothes copper, it will be the worst days work that ever youdid.
Your reverence need not be excited, said Holmes, lighting a cigarette.
The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details for myprivate curiosity. However, if theres any difficulty in your telling me, Illdo the talking, and then you will see how far you have a chance ofholding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you came from SouthAfrica on this gameCyou Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley.
Lie number one, said the old man; I never saw either of them untiltwo months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you canput that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!
What he says is true, said Carruthers.
Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our ownhomemade article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You hadreason to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niecewould inherit his fortune. Hows thatCeh?
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
She was next of kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellowwould make no will.
Couldnt read or write, said Carruthers.
So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The ideawas that one of you was to marry her, and the other have a share of theplunder. For some reason, Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why wasthat?
We played cards for her on the voyage. He won.
I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodleywas to do the courting. She recognized the drunken brute that he was, andwould have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement wasrather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady.
You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her?
No, by George, I couldnt!
There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began tomake his own plans independently of you.
It strikes me, Williamson, there isnt very much that we can tell thisgentleman, cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. Yes, we quarreled, andhe knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lostsight of him. That was when he picked up with this outcast padre here. Ifound that they had set up housekeeping together at this place on the linethat she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for Iknew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from [538] time totime, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days agoWoodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that RalphSmith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said Iwould not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him ashare. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. Hesaid, Let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may seethings a bit different. I said I would have nothing to do with violence. Sohe went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he was, andswearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this week-end,and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was so uneasy in mymind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a start, however, andbefore I could catch her, the mischief was done. The first thing I knewabout it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart.
Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. I havebeen very obtuse, Watson, said he. When in your report you said thatyou had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in theshrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we maycongratulate ourselves upon a curious and, in some respects, a uniquecase. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I amglad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them, so it islikely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanentlydamaged by their mornings adventures. I think, Watson, that in yourmedical capacity, you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her that if sheis sufficiently recovered, we shall be happy to escort her to her mothershome. If she is not quite convalescent, you will find that a hint that wewere about to telegraph to a young electrician in the Midlands wouldprobably complete the cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I think that youhave done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot.
There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help in your trial, itshall be at your disposal.
In the whirl of our incessant activity, it has often been difficult for me,as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and togive those final details which the curious might expect. Each case hasbeen the prelude to another, and the crisis once over, the actors havepassed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short note at theend of my manuscript dealing with this case, in which I have put it uponrecord that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and thatshe is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton &Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians. Williamson and Woodleywere both tried for abduction and assault, the former getting seven yearsand the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers, I have no record, but I amsure that his assault was not viewed very gravely by the court, sinceWoodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffian, and I thinkthat a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.
David Soucek, 1998 The Priory SchoolThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE PRIORY SCHOOLWE HAVE had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage atBaker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startlingthan the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc. Hiscard, which seemed too [539] small to carry the weight of his academicdistinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he enteredhimselfCso large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the veryembodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action, whenthe door had closed behind him, was to stagger against the table, whencehe slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic figureprostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug.
We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silentamazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of somesudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurriedwith a cushion for his head, and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy,white face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches underthe closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth droopeddolorously at the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar andshirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt fromthe well-shaped head. It was a sorely stricken man who lay before us.
What is it, Watson? asked Holmes.
Absolute exhaustionCpossibly mere hunger and fatigue, said I, withmy finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin andsmall.
Return ticket from Mackleton, in the north of England, said Holmes,drawing it from the watch-pocket. It is not twelve oclock yet. He hascertainly been an early starter.
The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacantgray eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on tohis feet, his face crimson with shame.
Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes, I have been a little overwrought.
Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit, I have no doubtthat I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to insurethat you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would convinceyou of the absolute urgency of the case.
When you are quite restoredC C
I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. Iwish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train.
My friend shook his head.
My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy atpresent. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and theAbergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issuecould call me from London at present.
Important! Our visitor threw up his hands. Have you heard nothingof the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?
What! the late Cabinet Minister?
Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was somerumor in the Globe last night. I thought it might have reached your ears.
Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume H in hisencyclopaedia of reference.
 Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.Chalf the alphabet! BaronBeverley, Earl of CarstonCdear me, what a list! Lord Lieutenant ofHallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir CharlesAppledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about twohundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales.
Address: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; CarstonCastle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary ofState [540] forC C Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatestsubjects of the Crown!
The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, thatyou take a very high line in professional matters, and that you areprepared to work for the works sake. I may tell you, however, that hisGrace has already intimated that a check for five thousand pounds will behanded over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and anotherthousand to him who can name the man or men who have taken him.
It is a princely offer, said Holmes. Watson, I think that we shallaccompany Dr. Huxtable back to the north of England. And now, Dr.
Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk, you will kindly tell mewhat has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally,what Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton,has to do with the matter, and why he comes three days after an eventCthestate of your chin gives the dateCto ask for my humble services.
Our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light had comeback to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks, as he set himself with greatvigour and lucidity to explain the situation.
I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatory school,of which I am the founder and principal. Huxtables Sidelights on Horacemay possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory is, withoutexception, the best and most select preparatory school in England. LordLeverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart SoamesCthey all haveintrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenithwhen, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder,his secretary, with the intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old,his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little didI think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune ofmy life.
On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summerterm. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may tellyouCI trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are absurd insuch a case Cthat he was not entirely happy at home. It is an open secretthat the Dukes married life had not been a peaceful one, and the matterhad ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up herresidence in the south of France. This had occurred very shortly before,and the boys sympathies are known to have been strongly with hismother. He moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it wasfor this reason that the Duke desired to send him to my establishment. In afortnight the boy was quite at home with us and was apparently absolutelyhappy.
He was last seen on the night of May 13thCthat is, the night of lastMonday. His room was on the second floor and was approached throughanother larger room, in which two boys were sleeping. These boys sawand heard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass outthat way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading tothe ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this isthe only possible exit.
His absence was discovered at seven oclock on Tuesday morning. Hisbed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully, before going off, inhis usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark gray trousers. Therewere no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain thatanything in the nature of cries or a struggle would have been heard, sinceCaunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper.
When Lord Saltires disappearance was discovered, I at once called aroll of the [541] whole establishmentCboys, masters, and servants. It wasthen that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his flight.
Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the secondfloor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as LordSaltires. His bed had also been slept in, but he had apparently gone awaypartly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He hadundoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks ofhis feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept in a smallshed beside this lawn, and it also was gone.
He had been with me for two years, and came with the best references,but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters orboys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and now, on Thursdaymorning, we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, ofcourse, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away, andwe imagined that, in some sudden attack of homesickness, he had goneback to his father, but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatlyagitated, and, as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervousprostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me.
Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, I implore you to doso now, for never in your life could you have a case which is more worthyof them.
Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to thestatement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and the deepfurrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation toconcentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apart from thetremendous interests involved, must appeal so directly to his love of thecomplex and the unusual. He now drew out his notebook and jotted downone or two memoranda.
You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner, said he,severely. You start me on my investigation with a very serious handicap.
It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn would haveyielded nothing to an expert observer.
I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirous toavoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness beingdragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything of the kind.
But there has been some official investigation?
Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparent clue wasat once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have beenseen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. Only last night wehad news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and theyprove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then itwas that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I camestraight to you by the early train.
I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue wasbeing followed up?
It was entirely dropped.
So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been mostdeplorably handled.
I feel it and admit it.
And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. I shall bevery happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace any connectionbetween the missing boy and this German master?
None at all.
Was he in the masters class?
[542] No, he never exchanged a word with him, so far as I know.
That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?
No.
Was any other bicycle missing?
No.
Is that certain?
Quite.
Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this Germanrode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night, bearing the boy in hisarms?
Certainly not.
Then what is the theory in your mind?
The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hiddensomewhere, and the pair gone off on foot.
Quite so, but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Were thereother bicycles in this shed?
Several.
Would he not have hidden a couple, had he desired to give the ideathat they had gone off upon them?
I suppose he would.
Of course he would. The blind theory wont do. But the incident is anadmirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, a bicycle is not aneasy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question. Did anyone call tosee the boy on the day before he disappeared?
No.
Did he get any letters?
Yes, one letter.
From whom?
From his father.
Do you open the boys letters?
No.
How do you know it was from the father?
The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in theDukes peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers having written.
When had he a letter before that?
Not for several days.
Had he ever one from France?
No, never.
You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boy wascarried off by force or he went of his own free will. In the latter case, youwould expect that some prompting from outside would be needed to makeso young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that promptingmust have come in letters; hence I try to find out who were hiscorrespondents.
I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so far as Iknow, was his own father.
Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Were therelations between father and son very friendly?
His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completelyimmersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to allordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way.
[543] But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?
Yes.
Did he say so?
No.
The Duke, then?
Good heaven, no!
Then how could you know?
I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Gracessecretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltiresfeelings.
I see. By the way, that last letter of the DukesCwas it found in theboys room after he was gone?
No, he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that wewere leaving for Euston.
I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour, we shall be at yourservice. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well toallow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is stillgoing on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack. Inthe meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhapsthe scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and myselfmay get a sniff of it.
That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peakcountry, in which Dr. Huxtables famous school is situated. It was alreadydark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table, and the butlerwhispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation inevery heavy feature.
The Duke is here, said he. The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in thestudy. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.
I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, butthe man himself was very different from his representation. He was a talland stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and anose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was of adead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindlingbeard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with hiswatch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately presencewho looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtables hearthrug.
Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, theprivate secretary. He was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent light-blueeyes and mobile features. It was he who at once, in an incisive andpositive tone, opened the conversation.
I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you fromstarting for London. I learned that your object was to invite Mr. SherlockHolmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace is surprised, Dr.
Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him.
When I learned that the police had failedC C
His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed.
But surely, Mr. WilderC C
You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularlyanxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take as few people aspossible into his confidence.
The matter can be easily remedied, said the browbeaten doctor; Mr.
Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train.
Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that, said Holmes, in his blandest voice.
This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend afew days upon your [544] moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may.
Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course,for you to decide.
I could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage ofindecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of thered-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.
I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you would have donewisely to consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been taken intoyour confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not availourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I shouldbe pleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall.
I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation, I think thatit would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery.
Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilder or Ican give you is, of course, at your disposal.
It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall, saidHolmes. I would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed anyexplanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of yourson?
No, sir, I have not.
Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but I have noalternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything to do with thematter?
The great minister showed perceptible hesitation.
I do not think so, he said, at last.
The other most obvious explanation is that the child has beenkidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. You have not had anydemand of the sort?
No, sir.
One more question, your Grace. I understand that you wrote to yourson upon the day when this incident occurred.
No, I wrote upon the day before.
Exactly. But he received it on that day?
Yes.
Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him orinduced him to take such a step?
No, sir, certainly not.
Did you post that letter yourself?
The noblemans reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke inwith some heat.
His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself, said he. Thisletter was laid with others upon the study table, and I myself put them inthe post-bag.
You are sure this one was among them?
Yes, I observed it.
How many letters did your Grace write that day?
Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence. But surely this issomewhat irrelevant?
Not entirely, said Holmes.
For my own part, the Duke continued, I have advised the police toturn their attention to the south of France. I have already said that I do notbelieve that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an action, but thelad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he mayhave fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr. Huxtable,that we will now return to the Hall.
[545] I could see that there were other questions which Holmes wouldhave wished to put, but the noblemans abrupt manner showed that theinterview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely aristocraticnature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger wasmost abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw afiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history.
When the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himselfat once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation.
The boys chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing savethe absolute conviction that it was only through the window that he couldhave escaped. The German masters room and effects gave no furtherclue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and wesaw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels hadcome down. That one dint in the short, green grass was the only materialwitness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight.
Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven.
He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this hebrought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, havingbalanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, andoccasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of hispipe.
This case grows upon me, Watson, said he. There are decidedlysome points of interest in connection with it. In this early stage, I wantyou to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal todo with our investigation.
Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. Ill put a pinin it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that it runs east and westpast the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile eitherway. If these two folk passed away by road, it was this road.
[546] Exactly.
By a singular and happy chance, we are able to some extent to checkwhat passed along this road during the night in question. At this point,where my pipe is now resting, a county constable was on duty fromtwelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross-road on the east side.
This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, andhe is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. Ihave spoken with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me to be aperfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal withthe other. There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which wasill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive untilmorning, being absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert allnight, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to havecontinually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no one passed. Iftheir evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to blockthe west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the roadat all.
But the bicycle? I objected.
Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continue ourreasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must havetraversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of thehouse. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On thesouth of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cutup into small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit that abicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country onthe north. Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the Ragged Shaw,
and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor,extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upward. Here, at one side ofthis wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road, but only six acrossthe moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few moor farmers have smallholdings, where they rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the plover andthe curlew are the only inhabitants until you come to the Chesterfield highroad. There is a church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyondthat the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north that ourquest must lie.
But the bicycle? I persisted.
Well, well! said Holmes, impatiently. A good cyclist does not needa high road. The moor is intersected with paths, and the moon was at thefull. Halloa! what is this?
There was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards Dr.
Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap with awhite chevron on the peak.
At last we have a clue! he cried. Thank heaven! at last we are on thedear boys track! It is his cap.
Where was it found?
In the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. They left onTuesday. To-day the police traced them down and examined theircaravan. This was found.
How do they account for it?
They shuffled and liedCsaid that they found it on the moor on Tuesdaymorning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they areall safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the law or the Dukes pursewill certainly get out of them all that they know.
So far, so good, said Holmes, when the doctor had at last left theroom. It at [547] least bears out the theory that it is on the side of theLower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have reallydone nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. Look here, Watson!
There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here in themap. In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly so in theregion between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to lookelsewhere for tracks in this dry weather, but at that point there is certainlya chance of some record being left. I will call you early to-morrowmorning, and you and I will try if we can throw some little light upon themystery.
The day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form ofHolmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had apparently alreadybeen out.
I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed, said he. I have also had aramble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready inthe next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before us.
His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of themaster workman who sees his work lie ready before him. A very differentHolmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamerof Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive withnervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us.
And yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With high hopes westruck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheeppaths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked themorass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gonehomeward, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it withoutleaving his traces. But no sign of him or the German could be seen. Witha darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant ofevery muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks there were inprofusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their tracks.
Nothing more.
Check number one, said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rollingexpanse of the moor. There is another morass down yonder, and anarrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?
We had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle of it,clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle.
Hurrah! I cried. We have it.
But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled andexpectant rather than joyous.
A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle, said he. I am familiar withforty-two different impressions left by tyres. This, as you perceive, is aDunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heideggers tyres werePalmers, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master,was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heideggers track.
The boys, then?
Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession.
But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, wasmade by a rider who was going from the direction of the school.
Or towards it?
No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk impression is, ofcourse, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You perceive severalplaces where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow markof the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It mayor may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow itbackwards before we go any farther.
[548] We did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks aswe emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following the pathbackwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across it.
Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliteratedby the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but the path ran righton into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. From thiswood the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder andrested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved.
Well, well, said he, at last. It is, of course, possible that a cunningman might change the tyres of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliartracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man whom Ishould be proud to do business with. We will leave this questionundecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good dealunexplored.
We continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portionof the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Rightacross the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry ofdelight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraphwires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer tyres.
Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough! cried Holmes, exultantly. Myreasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson.
I congratulate you.
But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of the path. Nowlet us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far.
We found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor isintersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of thetrack, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.
Do you observe, said Holmes, that the rider is now undoubtedlyforcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression,where you get both tires clear. The one is as deep as the other. That canonly mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar, as aman does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall.
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track.
Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyres reappeared once more.
A side-slip, I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my horror Iperceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On thepath, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood.
Bad! said Holmes. Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an unnecessaryfootstep! What do I read here? He fell woundedChe stood upCheremounted Che proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle on this sidepath. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no tracesof anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely, with stains as well asthe track to guide us, he cannot escape us now.
Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre began tocurve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I lookedahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorsebushes.
Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent,and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. Onthe other side of the bushes, a shoe was projecting. We ran round, andthere lay the unfortunate rider. He was a tall man, full-bearded, withspectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out. The cause of hisdeath [549] was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in partof his skull. That he could have gone on after receiving such an injurysaid much for the vitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but nosocks, and his open coat disclosed a nightshirt beneath it. It wasundoubtedly the German master.
Holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with greatattention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by hisruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced usmuch in our inquiry.
It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson, said he, at last. Myown inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already lost somuch time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the otherhand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see thatthis poor fellows body is looked after.
I could take a note back.
But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a fellowcutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide the police.
I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened manwith a note to Dr. Huxtable.
Now, Watson, said he, we have picked up two clues this morning.
One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to.
The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start toinvestigate that, let us try to realize what we do know, so as to make themost of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.
First of all, I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of hisown free-will. He got down from his window and he went off, eitheralone or with someone. That is sure.
I assented.
Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy wasfully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do. Butthe German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very shortnotice.
Undoubtedly.
Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flightof the boy; because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. Heseized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death.
So it would seem.
Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action ofa man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would knowthat he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He turns tohis bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not dothis, if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape.
The other bicycle.
Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles fromthe schoolCnot by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might conceivablydischarge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad, then,had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift one, since it tookfive miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey theground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattletracks,nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no pathwithin fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with theactual murder, nor were there any human footmarks.
Holmes, I cried, this is impossible.
[550] Admirable! he said. A most illuminating remark. It isimpossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated itwrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?
He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?
In a morass, Watson?
I am at my wits end.
Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least we haveplenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, havingexhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched coverhas to offer us.
We picked up the track and followed it onward for some distance, butsoon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left thewatercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped for. Atthe spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might equally haveled to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles toour left, or to a low, gray village which lay in front of us and marked theposition of the Chesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of agame-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan, and clutched meby the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of thoseviolent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty helimped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking ablack clay pipe.
How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes? said Holmes.
Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat? the countrymananswered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.
Well, its printed on the board above your head. Its easy to see a manwho is master of his own house. I suppose you havent such a thing as acarriage in your stables?
No, I have not.
I can hardly put my foot to the ground.
Dont put it to the ground.
But I cant walk.
Well, then, hop.
Mr. Reuben Hayess manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took itwith admirable good-humour.
Look here, my man, said he. This is really rather an awkward fix forme. I dont mind how I get on.
Neither do I, said the morose landlord.
The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the useof a bicycle.
The landlord pricked up his ears.
Where do you want to go?
To Holdernesse Hall.
Pals of the Dook, I suppose? said the landlord, surveying our mudstainedgarments with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
Hell be glad to see us, anyhow.
Why?
Because we bring him news of his lost son.
The landlord gave a very visible start.
What, youre on his track?
[551] He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him everyhour.
Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. Hismanner was suddenly genial.
Ive less reason to wish the Dook well than most men, said he, for Iwas his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him thatsacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. ButIm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and Illhelp you to take the news to the Hall.
Thank you, said Holmes. Well have some food first. Then you canbring round the bicycle.
I havent got a bicycle.
Holmes held up a sovereign.
I tell you, man, that I havent got one. Ill let you have two horses asfar as the Hall.
Well, well, said Holmes, well talk about it when weve hadsomething to eat.
When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen, it wasastonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearlynightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spentsome time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twicehe walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to asqualid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad wasat work. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down againafter one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chairwith a loud exclamation.
By heaven, Watson, I believe that Ive got it! he cried. Yes, yes, itmust be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?
Yes, several.
Where?
Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path,and again near where poor Heidegger met his death.
Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on themoor?
I dont remember seeing any.
Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, butnever a cow on the whole moor. Very strange, Watson, eh?
Yes, it is strange.
Now, Watson, make an effort, throw your mind back. Can you seethose tracks upon the path?
Yes, I can.
Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, WatsonChearranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashionC : : : : : Candsometimes like thisC : . : . : . : . Cand occasionally like thisC .  .  .  .
Can you remember that?
No, I cannot.
But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our leisureand verify it. What a blind beetle I have been, not to draw my conclusion.
And what is your conclusion?
Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. ByGeorge! Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought outsuch a blind as that. The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in thesmithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see.
[552] There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-downstable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.
Old shoes, but newly shodCold shoes, but new nails. This casedeserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmess eyedarting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which wasscattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us,and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savageeyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metalheadedstick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that Iwas right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.
You infernal spies! the man cried. What are you doing there?
Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes, said Holmes, coolly, one might think thatyou were afraid of our finding something out.
The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouthloosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.
Youre welcome to all you can find out in my smithy, said he. Butlook here, mister, I dont care for folk poking about my place without myleave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better Ishall be pleased.
All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant, said Holmes. We have beenhaving a look at your horses, but I think Ill walk, after all. Its not far, Ibelieve.
Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. Thats the road to the left.
He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.
We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instantthat the curve hid us from the landlords view.
We were warm, as the children say, at that inn, said he. I seem togrow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no, I cant possiblyleave it.
I am convinced, said I, that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. Amore self-evident villain I never saw.
Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, thereis the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I think weshall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way.
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with gray limestone boulders, stretchedbehind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way up thehill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a cyclistcoming swiftly along.
Get down, Watson! cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon myshoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us onthe road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust, I caught a glimpse of a pale,agitated faceCa face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, theeyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of thedapper James Wilder whom we had seen the night before.
The Dukes secretary! cried Holmes. Come, Watson, let us see whathe does.
We scrambled from rock to rock, until in a few moments we had madeour way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn.
Wilders bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one wasmoving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at thewindows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the hightowers of Holdernesse Hall. Then, in the gloom, we saw the two sidelampsof a trap light up in the stable-yard of the inn, and shortlyafterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road andtore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.
[553] What do you make of that, Watson? Holmes whispered.
It looks like a flight.
A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly wasnot Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of itwas the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out intothe night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at last therewere steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant againstthe light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later alamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.
It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the FightingCock, said Holmes.
The bar is on the other side.
Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, whatin the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night,and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson,we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely.
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of theinn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match andheld it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon apatched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.
I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back andsupport yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.
An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he was hardly upbefore he was down again.
Come, my friend, said he, our days work has been quite longenough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. Its a long walk tothe school, and the sooner we get started the better.
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, norwould he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to MackletonStation, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard himconsoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his masters death,and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had beenwhen he started in the morning. All goes well, my friend, said he. Ipromise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solutionof the mystery.
At eleven oclock next morning my friend and I were walking up thefamous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through themagnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Graces study. There wefound Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of thatwild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in histwitching features.
You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry, but the fact is that theDuke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news.
We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, whichtold us of your discovery.
I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.
But he is in his room.
Then I must go to his room.
I believe he is in his bed.
I will see him there.
[554] Holmess cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that itwas useless to argue with him.
Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that you are here.
After an hours delay, the great nobleman appeared. His face was morecadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me tobe an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. Hegreeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his redbeard streaming down on the table.
Well, Mr. Holmes? said he.
But my friends eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by hismasters chair.
I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wildersabsence.
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes.
If your Grace wishesC C
Yes, yes, you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?
My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreatingsecretary.
The fact is, your Grace, said he, that my colleague, Dr. Watson, andmyself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had beenoffered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your ownlips.
Certainly, Mr. Holmes.
It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds toanyone who will tell you where your son is?
Exactly.
And another thousand to the man who will name the person or personswho keep him in custody?
Exactly.
Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those whomay have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in hispresent position?
Yes, yes, cried the Duke, impatiently. If you do your work well, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardlytreatment.
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of aviditywhich was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
I fancy that I see your Graces check-book upon the table, said he. Ishould be glad if you would make me out a check for six thousandpounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital andCounties Bank, Oxford Street branch are my agents.
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair and looked stonily atmy friend.
Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry.
Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.
What do you mean, then?
I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and Iknow some, at least, of those who are holding him.
The Dukes beard had turned more aggressively red than ever againsthis ghastly white face.
Where is he? he gasped.
He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two milesfrom your park gate.
The Duke fell back in his chair.
And whom do you accuse?
[555] Sherlock Holmess answer was an astounding one. He steppedswiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
I accuse you, said he. And now, your Grace, Ill trouble you for thatcheck.
Never shall I forget the Dukes appearance as he sprang up and clawedwith his hands, like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with anextraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sankhis face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.
How much do you know? he asked at last, without raising his head.
I saw you together last night.
Does anyone else beside your friend know?
I have spoken to no one.
The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his checkbook.
I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write yourcheck, however unwelcome the information which you have gained maybe to me. When the offer was first made, I little thought the turn whichevents might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr.
Holmes?
I hardly understand your Grace.
I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of thisincident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think twelvethousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?
But Holmes smiled and shook his head.
I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. Thereis the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for.
But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible forthat. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune toemploy.
I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon acrime, he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it.
Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in theeyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which hewas not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. Theinstant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filledwas he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirelywith the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save himCyou must savehim! I tell you that you must save him! The Duke had dropped the lastattempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed faceand with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered himselfand sat down once more at his desk. I appreciate your conduct in cominghere before you spoke to anyone else, said he. At least, we may takecounsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal.
Exactly, said Holmes. I think, your Grace, that this can only be doneby absolute frankness between us. I am disposed to help your Grace to thebest of my ability, but, in order to do so, I must understand to the lastdetail how the matter stands. I realize that your words applied to Mr.
James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer.
No, the murderer has escaped.
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which Ipossess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr.
Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield, on my information, at elevenoclock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local policebefore I left the school this morning.
[556] The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement atmy friend.
You seem to have powers that are hardly human, said he. SoReuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react uponthe fate of James.
Your secretary?
No, sir, my son.
It was Holmess turn to look astonished.
I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg you tobe more explicit.
I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that completefrankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in thisdesperate situation to which Jamess folly and jealousy have reduced us.
When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love ascomes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she refusedit on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she lived, Iwould certainly never have married anyone else. She died, and left thisone child, whom for her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could notacknowledge the paternity to the world, but I gave him the best ofeducations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near myperson. He surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon theclaim which he has upon me, and upon his power of provoking a scandalwhich would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do withthe unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my younglegitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well askme why, under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. Ianswer that it was because I could see his mothers face in his, and thatfor her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her prettyways tooCthere was not one of them which he could not suggest and bringback to my memory. I could not send him away. But I feared so much lesthe should do ArthurCthat is, Lord SaltireC a mischief, that I dispatchedhim for safety to Dr. Huxtables school.
James came into contact with this fellow Hayes, because the man wasa tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal fromthe beginning, but, in some extraordinary way, James became intimatewith him. He had always a taste for low company. When Jamesdetermined to kidnap Lord Saltire, it was of this mans service that heavailed himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day.
Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meethim in a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school.
He used the Duchesss name, and in that way got the boy to come. Thatevening James bicycled overCI am telling you what he has himselfconfessed to meCand he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that hismother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, andthat if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find aman with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into thetrap. He came to the appointment, and found this fellow Hayes with a ledpony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appearsCthough thisJames only heard yesterday Cthat they were pursued, that Hayes struckthe pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayesbrought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he wasconfined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindlywoman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband.
Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw youtwo days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask mewhat was Jamess [557] motive in doing such a deed. I answer that therewas a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred whichhe bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all myestates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made itimpossible. At the same time, he had a definite motive also. He was eagerthat I should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in mypower to do so. He intended to make a bargain with meCto restore Arthurif I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the estate to be leftto him by will. He knew well that I should never willingly invoke the aidof the police against him. I say that he would have proposed such abargain to me; but he did not actually do so, for events moved too quicklyfor him, and he had not time to put his plans into practice.
What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery ofthis man Heideggers dead body. James was seized with horror at thenews. It came to us yesterday, as we sat together in this study. Dr.
Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief andagitation that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, roseinstantly to a certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made acomplete voluntary confession. Then he implored me to keep his secretfor three days longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance ofsaving his guilty life. I yieldedCas I have always yieldedCto his prayers,and instantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes andgive him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight withoutprovoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see my dearArthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by thedreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my promise, and muchagainst my will, I consented to leave him there for three days, under thecharge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible toinform the police where he was without telling them also who was themurderer, and I could not see how that murderer could be punishedwithout ruin to my unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr.
Holmes, and I have taken you at your word, for I have now told youeverything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do youin turn be as frank with me.
I will, said Holmes. In the first place, your Grace, I am bound to tellyou that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in the eyes ofthe law. You have condoned a felony, and you have aided the escape of amurderer, for I cannot doubt that any money which was taken by JamesWilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your Graces purse.
The Duke bowed his assent.
This is, indeed, a most serious matter. Even more culpable in myopinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. Youleave him in this den for three days.
Under solemn promisesC C
What are promises to such people as these? You have no guaranteethat he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son,you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent andunnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action.
The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in hisown ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead, but hisconscience held him dumb.
I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring for thefootman and let me give such orders as I like.
Without a word, the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant entered.
[558] You will be glad to hear, said Holmes, that your young masteris found. It is the Dukes desire that the carriage shall go at once to theFighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.
Now, said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared,having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past.
I am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the endsof justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know. As to Hayes, Isay nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing to save himfrom it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that yourGrace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be silent.
From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for thepurpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out, I see no reasonwhy I should prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warnyour Grace, however, that the continued presence of Mr. James Wilder inyour household can only lead to misfortune.
I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he shallleave me forever, and go to seek his fortune in Australia.
In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that anyunhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, I wouldsuggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and thatyou try to resume those relations which have been so unhappilyinterrupted.
That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess thismorning.
In that case, said Holmes, rising, I think that my friend and I cancongratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our littlevisit to the North. There is one other small point upon which I desiresome light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes whichcounterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learnedso extraordinary a device?
The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intensesurprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a largeroom furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in a corner,and pointed to the inscription.
These shoes, it ran, were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall.
They are for the use of horses, but they are shaped below with a clovenfoot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are supposed tohave belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in theMiddle Ages.
Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it alongthe shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.
Thank you, said he, as he replaced the glass. It is the second mostinteresting object that I have seen in the North.
And the first?
Holmes folded up his check and placed it carefully in his notebook. Iam a poor man, said he, as he patted it affectionately, and thrust it intothe depths of his inner pocket.
David Soucek, 1998 Black PeterThe Return of Sherlock HolmesBLACK PETERI HAVE never known my friend to be in better form, both mental andphysical, than in the year 95. His increasing fame had brought with it animmense practice, and I should be guilty of an indiscretion if I were evento hint at the identity of some of [559] the illustrious clients who crossedour humble threshold in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all greatartists, lived for his arts sake, and, save in the case of the Duke ofHoldernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for hisinestimable services. So unworldly was heCor so capriciousCthat hefrequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where theproblem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devote weeksof most intense application to the affairs of some humble client whosecase presented those strange and dramatic qualities which appealed to hisimagination and challenged his ingenuity.
In this memorable year 95, a curious and incongruous succession ofcases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation ofthe sudden death of Cardinal ToscaCan inquiry which was carried out byhim at the express desire of His Holiness the PopeCdown to his arrest ofWilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot fromthe East End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous casescame the tragedy of Woodmans Lee, and the very obscure circumstanceswhich surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of thedoings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not includesome account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July, my friend had been absent so often andso long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The factthat several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired forCaptain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhereunder one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealedhis own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in differentparts of London, in which he was able to change his personality. He saidnothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force aconfidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the directionwhich his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had goneout before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine when he strode into theroom, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked likean umbrella under his arm.
Good gracious, Holmes! I cried. You dont mean to say that youhave been walking about London with that thing?
I drove to the butchers and back.
The butchers?
And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question, mydear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am preparedto bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken.
I will not attempt it.
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
If you could have looked into Allardyces back shop, you would haveseen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in hisshirt sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energeticperson, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength canI transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?
Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?
Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mysteryof Woodmans Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I havebeen expecting you. Come and join us.
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed ina quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who wasaccustomed to official [560] uniform. I recognized him at once as StanleyHopkins, a young police inspector, for whose future Holmes had highhopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil forthe scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkinss brow wasclouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.
No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the nightin town, for I came up yesterday to report.
And what had you to report?
Failure, sir, absolute failure.
You have made no progress?
None.
Dear me! I must have a look at the matter.
I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. Its my first bigchance, and I am at my wits end. For goodness sake, come down andlend me a hand.
Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the availableevidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the way,what do you make of that tobacco pouch, found on the scene of thecrime? Is there no clue there?
Hopkins looked surprised.
It was the mans own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it wasof sealskinCand he was an old sealer.
But he had no pipe.
No, sir, we could find no pipe. Indeed, he smoked very little, and yethe might have kept some tobacco for his friends.
No doubt. I only mention it because, if I had been handling the case, Ishould have been inclined to make that the starting-point of myinvestigation. However, my friend, Dr. Watson, knows nothing of thismatter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of eventsonce more. Just give us some short sketches of the essentials.
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.
I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the deadman, Captain Peter Carey. He was born in 45Cfifty years of age. He wasa most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 hecommanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, of Dundee. He had then hadseveral successful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884,he retired. After that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought asmall place called Woodmans Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There hehas lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day.
There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinary life,he was a strict PuritanCa silent, gloomy fellow. His household consistedof his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female servants. Theselast were continually changing, for it was never a very cheery situation,and sometimes it became past all bearing. The man was an intermittentdrunkard, and when he had the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. He hasbeen known to drive his wife and daughter out of doors in the middle ofthe night and flog them through the park until the whole village outsidethe gates was aroused by their screams.
He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar, whohad called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct. In short,Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you found a more dangerous manthan Peter Carey, and I have heard that he bore the same character whenhe commanded his ship. He was known in the trade as Black Peter, andthe name was given him, not only on [561] account of his swarthy featuresand the colour of his huge beard, but for the humours which were theterror of all around him. I need not say that he was loathed and avoidedby every one of his neighbours, and that I have not heard one single wordof sorrow about his terrible end.
You must have read in the account of the inquest about the manscabin, Mr. Holmes, but perhaps your friend here has not heard of it. Hehad built himself a wooden outhouseChe always called it the cabinCafew hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept everynight. It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten. He kept thekey in his pocket, made his own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed noother foot to cross the threshold. There are small windows on each side,which were covered by curtains and never opened. One of these windowswas turned towards the high road, and when the light burned in it at nightthe folk used to point it out to each other and wonder what Black Peterwas doing in there. Thats the window, Mr. Holmes, which gave us one ofthe few bits of positive evidence that came out at the inquest.
You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking from ForestRow about one oclock in the morningCtwo days before themurderCstopped as he passed the grounds and looked at the square oflight still shining among the trees. He swears that the shadow of a manshead turned sideways was clearly visible on the blind, and that thisshadow was certainly not that of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It wasthat of a bearded man, but the beard was short and bristled forward in away very different from that of the captain. So he says, but he had beentwo hours in the public-house, and it is some distance from the road to thewindow. Besides, this refers to the Monday, and the crime was done uponthe Wednesday.
On the Tuesday, Peter Carey was in one of his blackest moods,flushed with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. He roamedabout the house, and the women ran for it when they heard him coming.
Late in the evening, he went down to his own hut. About two oclock thefollowing morning, his daughter, who slept with her window open, hearda most fearful yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing for himto bawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was taken. On risingat seven, one of the maids noticed that the door of the hut was open, butso great was the terror which the man caused that it was midday beforeanyone would venture down to see what had become of him. Peeping intothe open door, they saw a sight which sent them flying, with white faces,into the village. Within an hour, I was on the spot and had taken over thecase.
Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, but I giveyou my word, that I got a shake when I put my head into that little house.
It was droning like a harmonium with the flies and bluebottles, and thefloor and walls were like a slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin, anda cabin it was, sure enough, for you would have thought that you were ina ship. There was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, apicture of the Sea Unicorn, a line of logbooks on a shelf, all exactly asone would expect to find it in a captains room. And there, in the middleof it, was the man himselfChis face twisted like a lost soul in torment, andhis great brindled beard stuck upward in his agony. Right through hisbroad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep intothe wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card.
Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he haduttered that last yell of agony.
[562] I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before I permittedanything to be moved, I examined most carefully the ground outside, andalso the floor of the room. There were no footmarks.
Meaning that you saw none?
I assure you, sir, that there were none.
My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I have neveryet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. As long as thecriminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some indentation,some abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be detected by thescientific searcher. It is incredible that this blood-bespattered roomcontained no trace which could have aided us. I understand, however,from the inquest that there were some objects which you failed tooverlook?
The young inspector winced at my companions ironical comments.
I was a fool not to call you in at the time, Mr. Holmes. However,thats past praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in the roomwhich called for special attention. One was the harpoon with which thedeed was committed. It had been snatched down from a rack on the wall.
Two others remained there, and there was a vacant place for the third. Onthe stock was engraved SS. Sea Unicorn, Dundee. This seemed toestablish that the crime had been done in a moment of fury, and that themurderer had seized the first weapon which came in his way. The factthat the crime was committed at two in the morning, and yet Peter Careywas fully dressed, suggested that he had an appointment with themurderer, which is borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum and two dirtyglasses stood upon the table.
Yes, said Holmes; I think that both inferences are permissible. Wasthere any other spirit but rum in the room?
Yes, there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the seachest.
It is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters were full,and it had therefore not been used.
For all that, its presence has some significance, said Holmes.
However, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to youto bear upon the case.
There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table.
What part of the table?
It lay in the middle. It was of coarse sealskinCthe straight-haired skin,with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was P. C. on the flap. There washalf an ounce of strong ships tobacco in it.
Excellent! What more?
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered notebook. Theoutside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first pagewere written the initials J. H. N. and the date 1883. Holmes laid it onthe table and examined it in his minute way, while Hopkins and I gazedover each shoulder. On the second page were the printed letters C. P.
R., and then came several sheets of numbers. Another heading wasArgentine, another Costa Rica, and another San Paulo, each withpages of signs and figures after it.
What do you make of these? asked Holmes.
They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thought that J.
H. N. were the initials of a broker, and that C. P. R. may have been hisclient.
Try Canadian Pacific Railway, said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth, and struck his thigh with hisclenched hand.
[563] What a fool I have been! he cried. Of course, it is as you say.
Then J. H. N. are the only initials we have to solve. I have alreadyexamined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in 1883,either in the house or among the outside brokers, whose initialscorrespond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the most important onethat I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, that there is a possibility thatthese initials are those of the second person who was presentCin otherwords, of the murderer. I would also urge that the introduction into thecase of a document relating to large masses of valuable securities gives usfor the first time some indication of a motive for the crime.
Sherlock Holmess face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback bythis new development.
I must admit both your points, said he. I confess that this notebook,which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views which I may haveformed. I had come to a theory of the crime in which I can find no placefor this. Have you endeavoured to trace any of the securities herementioned?
Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that thecomplete register of the stockholders of these South American concerns isin South America, and that some weeks must elapse before we can tracethe shares.
Holmes had been examining the cover of the notebook with hismagnifying lens.
Surely there is some discolouration here, said he.
Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book off thefloor.
Was the blood-stain above or below?
On the side next the boards.
Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the crimewas committed.
Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured that itwas dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near the door.
I suppose that none of these securities have been found among theproperty of the dead man?
No, sir.
Have you any reason to suspect robbery?
No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been touched.
Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. Then there was a knife,was there not?
A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the dead man.
Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husbands property.
Holmes was lost in thought for some time.
Well, said he, at last, I suppose I shall have to come out and have alook at it.
Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.
Thank you, sir. That will, indeed, be a weight off my mind.
Holmes shook his finger at the inspector.
It would have been an easier task a week ago, said he. But even nowmy visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can spare the time, Ishould be very glad of your company. If you will call a four-wheeler,Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest Row in a quarter of anhour.
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some milesthrough the remains of widespread woods, which were once part of thatgreat forest which for [564] so long held the Saxon invaders at bayCtheimpenetrable weald, for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vastsections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first iron-worksof the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt the ore. Now thericher fields of the North have absorbed the trade, and nothing save theseravaged groves and great scars in the earth show the work of the past.
Here, in a clearing upon the green slope of a hill, stood a long, low, stonehouse, approached by a curving drive running through the fields. Nearerthe road, and surrounded on three sides by bushes, was a small outhouse,one window and the door facing in our direction. It was the scene of themurder.
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to ahaggard, gray-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whosegaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths ofher red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage which shehad endured. With her was her daughter, a pale, fair-haired girl, whoseeyes blazed defiantly at us as she told us that she was glad that her fatherwas dead, and that she blessed the hand which had struck him down. Itwas a terrible household that Black Peter Carey had made for himself, andit was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves in the sunlight againand making our way along a path which had been worn across the fieldsby the feet of the dead man.
The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled, shingleroofed,one window beside the door and one on the farther side. StanleyHopkins drew the key from his pocket and had stooped to the lock, whenhe paused with a look of attention and surprise upon his face.
Someone has been tampering with it, he said.
There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut, and thescratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that instantdone. Holmes had been examining the window.
Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed tomake his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar.
This is a most extraordinary thing, said the inspector, I could swearthat these marks were not here yesterday evening.
Some curious person from the village, perhaps, I suggested.
Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds, farless try to force their way into the cabin. What do you think of it, Mr.
Holmes?
I think that fortune is very kind to us.
You mean that the person will come again?
It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open. He triedto get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not manage it.
What would he do?
Come again next night with a more useful tool.
So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not there to receive him.
Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin.
The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within thelittle room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. For twohours, with most intense concentration, Holmes examined every object inturn, but his face showed that his quest was not a successful one. Onceonly he paused in his patient investigation.
Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?
No, I have moved nothing.
[565] Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner of theshelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side. It mayhave been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk in thesebeautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birds and theflowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we can come tocloser quarters with the gentleman who has paid this visit in the night.
It was past eleven oclock when we formed our little ambuscade.
Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of theopinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. The lock wasa perfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push itback. Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not inside the hut, butoutside it, among the bushes which grew round the farther window. Inthis way we should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and seewhat his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it somethingof the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water-pool, andwaits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. What savage creaturewas it which might steal upon us out of the darkness? Was it a fierce tigerof crime, which could only be taken fighting hard with flashing fang andclaw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous only to theweak and unguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting forwhatever might come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers, or thesound of voices from the village, lightened our vigil, but one by one theseinterruptions died away, and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save forthe chimes of the distant church, which told us of the progress of thenight, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid the foliagewhich roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedesthe dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from thedirection of the gate. Someone had entered the drive. Again there was along silence, and I had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, when astealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a moment latera metallic scraping and clinking. The man was trying to force the lock.
This time his skill was greater or his tool was better, for there was asudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then a match was struck, andnext instant the steady light from a candle filled the interior of the hut.
Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the scene within.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a blackmoustache, which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could nothave been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any humanbeing who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth werevisibly chattering, and he was shaking in every limb. He was dressed likea gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap uponhis head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then helaid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view into oneof the corners. He returned with a large book, one of the logbooks whichformed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table, he rapidly turnedover the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which he sought.
Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book,replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned toleave the hut when Hopkinss hand was on the fellows collar, and I heardhis loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken. The candle wasrelit, and there was our wretched captive, shivering [566] and cowering inthe grasp of the detective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and lookedhelplessly from one of us to the other.
Now, my fine fellow, said Stanley Hopkins, who are you, and whatdo you want here?
The man pulled himself together, and faced us with an effort at selfcomposure.
You are detectives, I suppose? said he. You imagine I am connectedwith the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I am innocent.
Well see about that, said Hopkins. First of all, what is your name?
It is John Hopley Neligan.
I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.
What are you doing here?
Can I speak confidentially?
No, certainly not.
Why should I tell you?
If you have no answer, it may go badly with you at the trial.
The young man winced.
Well, I will tell you, he said. Why should I not? And yet I hate tothink of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hear ofDawson and Neligan?
I could see, from Hopkinss face, that he never had, but Holmes waskeenly interested.
You mean the West Country bankers, said he. They failed for amillion, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligandisappeared.
Exactly. Neligan was my father.
At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a longgap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinnedagainst the wall with one of his own harpoons. We all listened intently tothe young mans words.
It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I wasonly ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel the shameand horror of it all. It has always been said that my father stole all thesecurities and fled. It is not true. It was his belief that if he were giventime in which to realize them, all would be well and every creditor paid infull. He started in his little yacht for Norway just before the warrant wasissued for his arrest. I can remember that last night, when he badefarewell to my mother. He left us a list of the securities he was taking, andhe swore that he would come back with his honour cleared, and that nonewho had trusted him would suffer. Well, no word was ever heard fromhim again. Both the yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed, mymother and I, that he and it, with the securities that he had taken with him,were at the bottom of the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, who is abusiness man, and it was he who discovered some time ago that some ofthe securities which my father had with him had reappeared on theLondon market. You can imagine our amazement. I spent months intrying to trace them, and at last, after many doubtings and difficulties, Idiscovered that the original seller had been Captain Peter Carey, theowner of this hut.
Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that he hadbeen in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arcticseas at the very time when my father was crossing to Norway. Theautumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession ofsoutherly gales. My fathers yacht may well have been blown to the north,and there met by Captain Peter Careys [567] ship. If that were so, whathad become of my father? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Careysevidence how these securities came on the market it would be a proof thatmy father had not sold them, and that he had no view to personal profitwhen he took them.
I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but itwas at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at the inquest adescription of his cabin, in which it stated that the old logbooks of hisvessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if I could see what occurredin the month of August, 1883, on board the Sea Unicorn, I might settlethe mystery of my fathers fate. I tried last night to get at these logbooks,but was unable to open the door. To-night I tried again and succeeded, butI find that the pages which deal with that month have been torn from thebook. It was at that moment I found myself a prisoner in your hands.
Is that all? asked Hopkins.
Yes, that is all. His eyes shifted as he said it.
You have nothing else to tell us?
He hesitated.
No, there is nothing.
You have not been here before last night?
No.
Then how do you account for that? cried Hopkins, as he held up thedamning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf andthe blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands, andtrembled all over.
Where did you get it? he groaned. I did not know. I thought I hadlost it at the hotel.
That is enough, said Hopkins, sternly. Whatever else you have tosay, you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to thepolice-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and toyour friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presencewas unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successfulissue without you, but, none the less, I am grateful. Rooms have beenreserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to thevillage together.
Well, Watson, what do you think of it? asked Holmes, as wetravelled back next morning.
I can see that you are not satisfied.
Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the same time,Stanley Hopkinss methods do not commend themselves to me. I amdisappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from him.
One should always look for a possible alternative, and provide against it.
It is the first rule of criminal investigation.
What, then, is the alternative?
The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It maygive us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the end.
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatchedone of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle oflaughter.
Excellent, Watson! The alternative develops. Have you telegraphforms? Just write a couple of messages for me: Sumner, Shipping Agent,Ratcliff Highway. [568] Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrowmorning.CBasil. Thats my name in those parts. The other is: InspectorStanley Hopkins, 46 Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast to-morrow atnine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come.CSherlock Holmes. There,Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish itcompletely from my presence. To-morrow, I trust that we shall hear thelast of it forever.
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and wesat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson hadprepared. The young detective was in high spirits at his success.
You really think that your solution must be correct? asked Holmes.
I could not imagine a more complete case.
It did not seem to me conclusive.
You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?
Does your explanation cover every point?
Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the BrambletyeHotel on the very day of the crime. He came on the pretence of playinggolf. His room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out when heliked. That very night he went down to Woodmans Lee, saw Peter Careyat the hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him with the harpoon. Then,horrified by what he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping thenotebook which he had brought with him in order to question Peter Careyabout these different securities. You may have observed that some ofthem were marked with ticks, and the othersCthe great majority Cwerenot. Those which are ticked have been traced on the London market, butthe others, presumably, were still in the possession of Carey, and youngNeligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover them inorder to do the right thing by his fathers creditors. After his flight he didnot dare to approach the hut again for some time, but at last he forcedhimself to do so in order to obtain the information which he needed.
Surely that is all simple and obvious?
Holmes smiled and shook his head.
It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and that is that itis intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drive a harpoon through abody? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to thesedetails. My friend Watson could tell you that I spent a whole morning inthat exercise. It is no easy matter, and requires a strong and practised arm.
But this blow was delivered with such violence that the head of theweapon sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youthwas capable of so frightful an assault? Is he the man who hobnobbed inrum and water with Black Peter in the dead of the night? Was it hisprofile that was seen on the blind two nights before? No, no, Hopkins, itis another and more formidable person for whom we must seek.
The detectives face had grown longer and longer during Holmessspeech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him. But hewould not abandon his position without a struggle.
You cant deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr. Holmes. Thebook will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury,even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have laidmy hand upon my man. As to this terrible person of yours, where is he?
I rather fancy that he is on the stair, said Holmes, serenely. I think,Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver where you can reachit. He rose and laid a written paper upon a side-table. Now we areready, said he.
[569] There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and nowMrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three men inquiringfor Captain Basil.
Show them in one by one, said Holmes.
The first who entered was a little Ribston pippin of a man, with ruddycheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had drawn a letter fromhis pocket.
What name? he asked.
James Lancaster.
I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half a sovereign foryour trouble. Just step into this room and wait there for a few minutes.
The second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair andsallow cheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received hisdismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait.
The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A fierce bulldogface was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold, darkeyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows. Hesaluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his hands.
Your name? asked Holmes.
Patrick Cairns.
Harpooner?
Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages.
Dundee, I suppose?
Yes, sir.
And ready to start with an exploring ship?
Yes, sir.
What wages?
Eight pounds a month.
Could you start at once?
As soon as I get my kit.
Have you your papers?
Yes, sir. He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from his pocket.
Holmes glanced over them and returned them.
You are just the man I want, said he. Heres the agreement on theside-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be settled.
The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.
Shall I sign here? he asked, stooping over the table.
Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck.
This will do, said he.
I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The nextinstant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground together. Hewas a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs whichHolmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists, he would have veryquickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed to hisrescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his templedid he at last understand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankleswith cord, and rose breathless from the struggle.
I must really apologize, Hopkins, said Sherlock Holmes. I fear thatthe scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will enjoy the rest of yourbreakfast all the better, will you not, for the thought that you have broughtyour case to a triumphant conclusion.
Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.
[570] I dont know what to say, Mr. Holmes, he blurted out at last,with a very red face. It seems to me that I have been making a fool ofmyself from the beginning. I understand now, what I should never haveforgotten, that I am the pupil and you are the master. Even now I see whatyou have done, but I dont know how you did it or what it signifies.
Well, well, said Holmes, good-humouredly. We all learn byexperience, and your lesson this time is that you should never lose sightof the alternative. You were so absorbed in young Neligan that you couldnot spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the true murderer of Peter Carey.
The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.
See here, mister, said he, I make no complaint of being manhandledin this fashion, but I would have you call things by their rightnames. You say I murdered Peter Carey, I say I killed Peter Carey, andtheres all the difference. Maybe you dont believe what I say. Maybe youthink I am just slinging you a yarn.
Not at all, said Holmes. Let us hear what you have to say.
Its soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I knew BlackPeter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped a harpoon through himsharp, for I knew that it was him or me. Thats how he died. You can callit murder. Anyhow, Id as soon die with a rope round my neck as withBlack Peters knife in my heart.
How came you there? asked Holmes.
Ill tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little, so as I canspeak easy. It was in 83 that it happenedCAugust of that year. PeterCarey was master of the Sea Unicorn, and I was spare harpooner. Wewere coming out of the ice-pack on our way home, with head winds and aweeks southerly gale, when we picked up a little craft that had beenblown north. There was one man on her Ca landsman. The crew hadthought she would founder and had made for the Norwegian coast in thedinghy. I guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on board, thisman, and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin. All thebaggage we took off with him was one tin box. So far as I know, themans name was never mentioned, and on the second night hedisappeared as if he had never been. It was given out that he had eitherthrown himself overboard or fallen overboard in the heavy weather thatwe were having. Only one man knew what had happened to him, and thatwas me, for, with my own eyes, I saw the skipper tip up his heels and puthim over the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before wesighted the Shetland Lights.
Well, I kept my knowledge to myself, and waited to see what wouldcome of it. When we got back to Scotland it was easily hushed up, andnobody asked any questions. A stranger died by accident, and it wasnobodys business to inquire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the sea,and it was long years before I could find where he was. I guessed that hehad done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box, and that hecould afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut.
I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him inLondon, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night he wasreasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would make me freeof the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nights later. When I came, Ifound him three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and wedrank and we yarned about old times, but the more he drank the less Iliked the look on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and Ithought I might need it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at[571] me, spitting and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great claspknifein his hand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I hadthe harpoon through him. Heavens! what a yell he gave! and his face getsbetween me and my sleep. I stood there, with his blood splashing roundme, and I waited for a bit, but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. Ilooked round, and there was the tin box on the shelf. I had as much rightto it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left the hut. Like afool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.
Now Ill tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had hardly gotoutside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hid among thebushes. A man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if hehad seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as he could run until he was out ofsight. Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell. For my part Iwalked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London,and no one the wiser.
Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no money init, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell. I had lost my holdon Black Peter and was stranded in London without a shilling. There wasonly my trade left. I saw these advertisements about harpooners, and highwages, so I went to the shipping agents, and they sent me here. Thats allI know, and I say again that if I killed Black Peter, the law should give methanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope.
A very clear statement, said Holmes, rising and lighting his pipe. Ithink, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveying your prisonerto a place of safety. This room is not well adapted for a cell, and Mr.
Patrick Cairns occupies too large a proportion of our carpet.
Mr. Holmes, said Hopkins, I do not know how to express mygratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attained this result.
Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from thebeginning. It is very possible if I had known about this notebook it mighthave led away my thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard pointed in theone direction. The amazing strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon,the rum and water, the sealskin tobacco-pouch with the coarse tobaccoCallthese pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. I wasconvinced that the initials P. C. upon the pouch were a coincidence, andnot those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe was foundin his cabin. You remember that I asked whether whisky and brandy werein the cabin. You said they were. How many landsmen are there whowould drink rum when they could get these other spirits? Yes, I wascertain it was a seaman.
And how did you find him?
My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If it were aseaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him on the SeaUnicorn. So far as I could learn he had sailed in no other ship. I spentthree days in wiring to Dundee, and at the end of that time I hadascertained the names of the crew of the Sea Unicorn in 1883. When Ifound Patrick Cairns among the harpooners, my research was nearing itsend. I argued that the man was probably in London, and that he woulddesire to leave the country for a time. I therefore spent some days in theEast End, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms forharpooners who would serve under Captain BasilCand behold the result!
Wonderful! cried Hopkins. Wonderful!
You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as possible,
said Holmes. [572] I confess that I think you owe him some apology. Thetin box must be returned to him, but, of course, the securities which PeterCarey has sold are lost forever. Theres the cab, Hopkins, and you canremove your man. If you want me for the trial, my address and that ofWatson will be somewhere in Norway CIll send particulars later.
David Soucek, 1998 Charles Augustus MilvertonThe Return of Sherlock HolmesCHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTONIT IS years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet it iswith diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even with theutmost discretion and reticence, it would have been impossible to makethe facts public, but now the principal person concerned is beyond thereach of human law, and with due suppression the story may be told insuch fashion as to injure no one. It records an absolutely uniqueexperience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. Thereader will excuse me if I conceal the date or any other fact by which hemight trace the actual occurrence.
We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, andhad returned about six oclock on a cold, frosty winters evening. AsHolmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. Heglanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on thefloor. I picked it up and read:
CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON,Appledore Towers,Hampstead.
Agent.
Who is he? I asked.
The worst man in London, Holmes answered, as he sat down andstretched his legs before the fire. Is anything on the back of the card?
I turned it over.
Will call at 6:30CC. A. M., I read.
Hum! Hes about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation,Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo, and see theslithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked,flattened faces? Well, thats how Milverton impresses me. Ive had to dowith fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never gave methe repulsion which I have for this fellow. And yet I cant get out of doingbusiness with himCindeed, he is here at my invitation.
But who is he?
Ill tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heavenhelp the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputationcome into the power of Milverton! With a smiling face and a heart ofmarble, he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. Thefellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his mark in somemore savoury trade. His method is as follows: He allows it to be knownthat he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromisepeople of wealth and position. He receives these wares not only fromtreacherous valets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians, whohave gained the confidence and affection of trusting women. He dealswith no niggard [573] hand. I happen to know that he paid seven hundredpounds to a footman for a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of anoble family was the result. Everything which is in the market goes toMilverton, and there are hundreds in this great city who turn white at hisname. No one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and fartoo cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back foryears in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worthwinning. I have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would askyou how could one compare the ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons hismate, with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the souland wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?
I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.
But surely, said I, the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?
Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit awoman, for example, to get him a few months imprisonment if her ownruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever heblackmailed an innocent person, then indeed we should have him, but heis as cunning as the Evil One. No, no, we must find other ways to fighthim.
And why is he here?
Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my hands.
It is the Lady Eva Blackwell, the most beautiful debutante of last season.
She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of Dovercourt. This fiendhas several imprudent lettersCimprudent, Watson, nothing worseCwhichwere written to an impecunious young squire in the country. They wouldsuffice to break off the match. Milverton will send the letters to the Earlunless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been commissioned tomeet him, andCto make the best terms I can.
At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below.
Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lampsgleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footmanopened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrakhan overcoatdescended. A minute later he was in the room.
Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen smile,and two keen gray eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad, goldrimmedglasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwicks benevolence inhis appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the fixed smile and bythe hard glitter of those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice was assmooth and suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump littlehand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his firstvisit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with aface of granite. Milvertons smile broadened, he shrugged his shoulders,removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of achair, and then took a seat.
This gentleman? said he, with a wave in my direction. Is it discreet?
Is it right?
Dr. Watson is my friend and partner.
Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your clients interests that Iprotested. The matter is so very delicateC C
Dr. Watson has already heard of it.
Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting forLady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?
What are your terms?
[574] Seven thousand pounds.
And the alternative?
My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it, but if the money is notpaid on the 14th, there certainly will be no marriage on the 18th. Hisinsufferable smile was more complacent than ever.
Holmes thought for a little.
You appear to me, he said, at last, to be taking matters too much forgranted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters. Myclient will certainly do what I may advise. I shall counsel her to tell herfuture husband the whole story and to trust to his generosity.
Milverton chuckled.
You evidently do not know the Earl, said he.
From the baffled look upon Holmess face, I could see clearly that hedid.
What harm is there in the letters? he asked.
They are sprightlyCvery sprightly, Milverton answered. The ladywas a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl ofDovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you thinkotherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of business. Ifyou think that it is in the best interests of your client that these lettersshould be placed in the hands of the Earl, then you would indeed befoolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them. He rose andseized his astrakhan coat.
Holmes was gray with anger and mortification.
Wait a little, he said. You go too fast. We should certainly makeevery effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter.
Milverton relapsed into his chair.
I was sure that you would see it in that light, he purred.
At the same time, Holmes continued, Lady Eva is not a wealthywoman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon herresources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power. I beg,therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you will returnthe letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure you, the highest thatyou can get.
Milvertons smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.
I am aware that what you say is true about the ladys resources, saidhe. At the same time you must admit that the occasion of a ladysmarriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives to make somelittle effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to an acceptablewedding present. Let me assure them that this little bundle of letterswould give more joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes in London.
It is impossible, said Holmes.
Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate! cried Milverton, taking out abulky pocketbook. I cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised innot making an effort. Look at this! He held up a little note with a coat-ofarmsupon the envelope. That belongs toCwell, perhaps it is hardly fair totell the name until to-morrow morning. But at that time it will be in thehands of the ladys husband. And all because she will not find a beggarlysum which she could get by turning her diamonds into paste. It is such apity! Now, you remember the sudden end of the engagement between theHonourable Miss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only two days before thewedding, there was a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that it was alloff. And why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve [575]
hundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Is it not pitiful?
And here I find you, a man of sense, boggling about terms, when yourclients future and honour are at stake. You surprise me, Mr. Holmes.
What I say is true, Holmes answered. The money cannot be found.
Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer than toruin this womans career, which can profit you in no way?
There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit meindirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar casesmaturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a severeexample of the Lady Eva, I should find all of them much more open toreason. You see my point?
Holmes sprang from his chair.
Get behind him, Watson! Dont let him out! Now, sir, let us see thecontents of that notebook.
Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room and stoodwith his back against the wall.
Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, he said, turning the front of his coat andexhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the insidepocket. I have been expecting you to do something original. This hasbeen done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I assure youthat I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared to use myweapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides, your suppositionthat I would bring the letters here in a notebook is entirely mistaken. Iwould do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two littleinterviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hampstead. He steppedforward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver, and turned to thedoor. I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook his head, and I laid it downagain. With a bow, a smile, and a twinkle, Milverton was out of the room,and a few moments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and therattle of the wheels as he drove away.
Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouserpockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowingembers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then, with the gesture ofa man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed intohis bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman, with a goatee beardand a swagger, lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into thestreet. Ill be back some time, Watson, said he, and vanished into thenight. I understood that he had opened his campaign against CharlesAugustus Milverton, but I little dreamed the strange shape which thatcampaign was destined to take.
For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, butbeyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was notwasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on a wild,tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against thewindows, he returned from his last expedition, and having removed hisdisguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent inwardfashion.
You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?
No, indeed!
Youll be interested to hear that Im engaged.
My dear fellow! I congratC C
To Milvertons housemaid.
Good heavens, Holmes!
[576] I wanted information, Watson.
Surely you have gone too far?
It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business,Escott, by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I havetalked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all Iwanted. I know Milvertons house as I know the palm of my hand.
But the girl, Holmes?
He shrugged his shoulders.
You cant help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as bestyou can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say that Ihave a hated rival, who will certainly cut me out the instant that my backis turned. What a splendid night it is!
You like this weather?
It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milvertons house tonight.
I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words,which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a flashof lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail of a wildlandscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible result of suchan actionCthe detection, the capture, the honoured career ending inirreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at the mercy ofthe odious Milverton.
For heavens sake, Holmes, think what you are doing, I cried.
My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am neverprecipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and, indeed, sodangerous a course, if any other were possible. Let us look at the matterclearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the action is morallyjustifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle his house is no morethan to forcibly take his pocketbookCan action in which you wereprepared to aid me.
I turned it over in my mind.
Yes, I said, it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to take noarticles save those which are used for an illegal purpose.
Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable, I have only to consider thequestion of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much stressupon this, when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?
You will be in such a false position.
Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way ofregaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and thereare none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is the lastday of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night, this villain will beas good as his word and will bring about her ruin. I must, therefore,abandon my client to her fate or I must play this last card. Betweenourselves, Watson, its a sporting duel between this fellow Milverton andme. He had, as you saw, the best of the first exchanges, but my selfrespectand my reputation are concerned to fight it to a finish.
Well, I dont like it, but I suppose it must be, said I. When do westart?
You are not coming.
Then you are not going, said I. I give you my word of honourCand Inever broke it in my lifeCthat I will take a cab straight to the policestationand give you away, unless you let me share this adventure withyou.
You cant help me.
How do you know that? You cant tell what may happen. Anyway, my[577] resolution is taken. Other people besides you have self-respect, andeven reputations.
Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped meon the shoulder.
Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this same roomfor some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the samecell. You know, Watson, I dont mind confessing to you that I havealways had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient criminal.
This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See here! He took aneat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited anumber of shining instruments. This is a first-class, up-to-date burglingkit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptablekeys, and every modern improvement which the march of civilizationdemands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in order. Have youa pair of silent shoes?
I have rubber-soled tennis shoes.
Excellent! And a mask?
I can make a couple out of black silk.
I can see that you have a strong, natural turn for this sort of thing.
Very good, do you make the masks. We shall have some cold supperbefore we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall drive as far asChurch Row. It is a quarter of an hours walk from there to AppledoreTowers. We shall be at work before midnight. Milverton is a heavysleeper, and retires punctually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should beback here by two, with the Lady Evas letters in my pocket.
Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to betwo theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up ahansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab,and with our great coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold, and the windseemed to blow through us, we walked along the edge of the heath.
Its a business that needs delicate treatment, said Holmes. Thesedocuments are contained in a safe in the fellows study, and the study isthe ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like all these stout,little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper. AgathaCthatsmy fianceeCsays it is a joke in the servants hall that its impossible towake the master. He has a secretary who is devoted to his interests, andnever budges from the study all day. Thats why we are going at night.
Then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha latethe last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me a clearrun. This is the house, this big one in its own grounds. Through thegateCnow to the right among the laurels. We might put on our masks here,I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of the windows,and everything is working splendidly.
With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of themost truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy house.
A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined by severalwindows and two doors.
Thats his bedroom, Holmes whispered. This door opens straightinto the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as locked, andwe should make too much noise getting in. Come round here. Theres agreenhouse which opens into the drawing-room.
The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turnedthe key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the doorbehind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The thick,warm air of the conservatory [578] and the rich, choking fragrance ofexotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness andled me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces.
Holmes had remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in thedark. Still holding my hand in one of his, he opened a door, and I wasvaguely conscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar hadbeen smoked not long before. He felt his way among the furniture,opened another door, and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I feltseveral coats hanging from the wall, and I understood that I was in apassage. We passed along it, and Holmes very gently opened a door uponthe right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang intomy mouth, but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. Afire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy withtobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, andthen very gently closed the door. We were in Milvertons study, and aportiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom.
It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door Isaw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even if it hadbeen safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was a heavy curtainwhich covered the bay window we had seen from outside. On the otherside was the door which communicated with the veranda. A desk stood inthe centre, with a turning-chair of shining red leather. Opposite was alarge bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top. In the corner,between the bookcase and the wall, there stood a tall, green safe, thefirelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs upon its face.
Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he crept to the door of thebedroom, and stood with slanting head listening intently. No sound camefrom within. Meanwhile it had struck me that it would be wise to secureour retreat through the outer door, so I examined it. To my amazement, itwas neither locked nor bolted. I touched Holmes on the arm, and heturned his masked face in that direction. I saw him start, and he wasevidently as surprised as I.
I dont like it, he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. I cantquite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose.
Can I do anything?
Yes, stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the inside,and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way, we can getthrough the door if our job is done, or hide behind these window curtainsif it is not. Do you understand?
I nodded, and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passedaway, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed whenwe were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The high object ofour mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous, thevillainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting interest ofthe adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in ourdangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his caseof instruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientific accuracy ofa surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I knew that the opening ofsafes was a particular hobby with him, and I understood the joy which itgave him to be confronted with this green and gold monster, the dragonwhich held in its maw the reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up thecuffs of his dress-coatChe had placed his overcoat on a chairCHolmes laidout two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at the centredoor with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready for anyemergency, though, indeed, my plans were [579] somewhat vague as towhat I should do if we were interrupted. For half an hour, Holmes workedwith concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking up another,handling each with the strength and delicacy of the trained mechanic.
Finally I heard a click, the broad green door swung open, and inside I hada glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed.
Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, andhe drew out his little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, withMilverton in the next room, to switch on the electric light. Suddenly I sawhim halt, listen intently, and then in an instant he had swung the door ofthe safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, anddarted behind the window curtain, motioning me to do the same.
It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmedhis quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. Adoor slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke itselfinto the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. They werein the passage outside the room. They paused at the door. The dooropened. There was a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. Thedoor closed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borneto our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backward and forward,backward and forward, within a few yards of us. Finally there was a creakfrom a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a lock, and Iheard the rustle of papers.
So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the divisionof the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure ofHolmess shoulder against mine, I knew that he was sharing myobservations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was thebroad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had entirelymiscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his bedroom, butthat he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the fartherwing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His broad,grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the immediateforeground of our vision. He was leaning far back in the red leather chair,his legs outstretched, a long, black cigar projecting at an angle from hismouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with ablack velvet collar. In his hand he held a long, legal document which hewas reading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke fromhis lips as he did so. There was no promise of a speedy departure in hiscomposed bearing and his comfortable attitude.
I felt Holmess hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, asif to say that the situation was within his powers, and that he was easy inhis mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only too obviousfrom my position, that the door of the safe was imperfectly closed, andthat Milverton might at any moment observe it. In my own mind I haddetermined that if I were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it hadcaught his eye, I would at once spring out, throw my great coat over hishead, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But Milverton neverlooked up. He was languidly interested by the papers in his hand, andpage after page was turned as he followed the argument of the lawyer. Atleast, I thought, when he has finished the document and the cigar he willgo to his room, but before he had reached the end of either, there came aremarkable development, which turned our thoughts into quite anotherchannel.
Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, andonce he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience. Theidea, however, [580] that he might have an appointment at so strange anhour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from theveranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair.
The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the door.
Milverton rose and opened it.
Well, said he, curtly, you are nearly half an hour late.
So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnalvigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a womans dress. I hadclosed the slit between the curtains as Milvertons face had turned in ourdirection, but now I ventured very carefully to open it once more. He hadresumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from thecorner of his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare of the electric light,there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, a mantle drawnround her chin. Her breath came quick and fast, and every inch of thelithe figure was quivering with strong emotion.
Well, said Milverton, you made me lose a good nights rest, mydear. I hope youll prove worth it. You couldnt come any other timeCeh?
The woman shook her head.
Well, if you couldnt you couldnt. If the Countess is a hard mistress,you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what areyou shivering about? Thats right. Pull yourself together. Now, let us getdown to business. He took a notebook from the drawer of his desk. Yousay that you have five letters which compromise the Countess dAlbert.
You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It only remainsto fix a price. I should want to inspect the letters, of course. If they arereally good specimensC C Great heavens, is it you?
The woman, without a word, had raised her veil and dropped themantle from her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face whichconfronted MilvertonC a face with a curved nose, strong, dark eyebrowsshading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in adangerous smile.
It is I, she said, the woman whose life you have ruined.
Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. You were so veryobstinate, said he. Why did you drive me to such extremities? I assureyou I wouldnt hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has hisbusiness, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means.
You would not pay.
So you sent the letters to my husband, and heCthe noblest gentlemanthat ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to laceChe brokehis gallant heart and died. You remember that last night, when I camethrough that door, I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed inmy face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannotkeep your lips from twitching. Yes, you never thought to see me hereagain, but it was that night which taught me how I could meet you face toface, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have you to say?
Dont imagine that you can bully me, said he, rising to his feet. Ihave only to raise my voice, and I could call my servants and have youarrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave theroom at once as you came, and I will say no more.
The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the samedeadly smile on her thin lips.
You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You will wringno more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonousthing. Take that, you houndCand that!Cand that!Cand that!Cand that!
[581] She had drawn a little gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel afterbarrel into Milvertons body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt front.
He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing furiouslyand clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his feet, receivedanother shot, and rolled upon the floor. Youve done me, he cried, andlay still. The woman looked at him intently, and ground her heel into hisupturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound or movement. Iheard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the heated room, and theavenger was gone.
No interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate,but, as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milvertons shrinkingbody I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmess cold, strong graspupon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraininggripCthat it was no affair of ours, that justice had overtaken a villain, thatwe had our own duties and our own objects, which were not to be lostsight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when Holmes,with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He turned the key inthe lock. At the same instant we heard voices in the house and the soundof hurrying feet. The revolver shots had roused the household. Withperfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two armswith bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. Again and againhe did it, until the safe was empty. Someone turned the handle and beatupon the outside of the door. Holmes looked swiftly round. The letterwhich had been the messenger of death for Milverton lay, all mottled withhis blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers.
Then he drew the key from the outer door, passed through after me, andlocked it on the outside. This way, Watson, said he, we can scale thegarden wall in this direction.
I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly.
Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door wasopen, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden wasalive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we emergedfrom the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes seemed to knowthe grounds perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among a plantationof small trees, I close at his heels, and our foremost pursuer pantingbehind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but he sprang tothe top and over. As I did the same I felt the hand of the man behind megrab at my ankle, but I kicked myself free and scrambled over a grassstrewncoping. I fell upon my face among some bushes, but Holmes hadme on my feet in an instant, and together we dashed away across the hugeexpanse of Hampstead Heath. We had run two miles, I suppose, beforeHolmes at last halted and listened intently. All was absolute silencebehind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and were safe.
We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the dayafter the remarkable experience which I have recorded, when Mr.
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered intoour modest sitting-room.
Good-morning, Mr. Holmes, said he; good-morning. May I ask ifyou are very busy just now?
Not too busy to listen to you.
I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, youmight care to assist us in a most remarkable case, which occurred onlylast night at Hampstead.
[582] Dear me! said Holmes. What was that?
A murderCa most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keenyou are upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if youwould step down to Appledore Towers, and give us the benefit of youradvice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.
Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain.
He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailingpurposes. These papers have all been burned by the murderers. No articleof value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of goodposition, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure.
Criminals? said Holmes. Plural?
Yes, there were two of them. They were as nearly as possible capturedred-handed. We have their footmarks, we have their description, its tento one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but thesecond was caught by the under-gardener, and only got away after astruggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly built manCsquare jaw, thickneck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.
Thats rather vague, said Sherlock Holmes. Why, it might be adescription of Watson!
Its true, said the inspector, with amusement. It might be adescription of Watson.
Well, Im afraid I cant help you, Lestrade, said Holmes. The fact isthat I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the mostdangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes whichthe law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify privaterevenge. No, its no use arguing. I have made up my mind. Mysympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I willnot handle this case.
Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we hadwitnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his mostthoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyesand his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall something tohis memory. We were in the middle of our lunch, when he suddenlysprang to his feet. By Jove, Watson, Ive got it! he cried. Take yourhat! Come with me! He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street andalong Oxford Street, until we had almost reached Regent Circus. Here, onthe left hand, there stands a shop window filled with photographs of thecelebrities and beauties of the day. Holmess eyes fixed themselves uponone of them, and following his gaze I saw the picture of a regal andstately lady in Court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noblehead. I looked at that delicately curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, atthe straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught mybreath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman andstatesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, andhe put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.
David Soucek, 1998 The Six NapoleonsThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE SIX NAPOLEONSIT WAS no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to lookin upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to SherlockHolmes, for they enabled [583] him to keep in touch with all that wasgoing on at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestradewould bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to thedetails of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was ableoccasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint orsuggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.
On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and thenewspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar.
Holmes looked keenly at him.
Anything remarkable on hand? he asked.
Oh, no, Mr. HolmesCnothing very particular.
Then tell me about it.
Lestrade laughed.
Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is something onmy mind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to botheryou about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedlyqueer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common.
But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watsons line than ours.
Disease? said I.
Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldnt thinkthere was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred ofNapoleon the First that he would break any image of him that he couldsee.
Holmes sank back in his chair.
Thats no business of mine, said he.
Exactly. Thats what I said. But then, when the man commits burglaryin order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away fromthe doctor and on to the policeman.
Holmes sat up again.
Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details.
Lestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his memory fromits pages.
The first case reported was four days ago, said he. It was at the shopof Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and statues inthe Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop for an instant,when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust ofNapoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter,lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, althoughseveral passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of theshop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any means ofidentifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts ofHooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to theconstable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than afew shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for anyparticular investigation.
The second case, however, was more serious, and also more singular.
It occurred only last night.
In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of MorseHudsons shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named Dr.
Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices upon the south side of theThames. His residence and principal consulting-room is at KenningtonRoad, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road,two miles away. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon,and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor.
Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two [584] duplicateplaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor,Devine. One of these he placed in his hall in the house at KenningtonRoad, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton.
Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished tofind that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing hadbeen taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out andhad been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which itssplintered fragments were discovered.
Holmes rubbed his hands.
This is certainly very novel, said he.
I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the end yet. Dr.
Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve oclock, and you can imaginehis amazement when, on arriving there, he found that the window hadbeen opened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bustwere strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where itstood. In neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue asto the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes,you have got the facts.
They are singular, not to say grotesque, said Holmes. May I askwhether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicots rooms were the exactduplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudsons shop?
They were taken from the same mould.
Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks themis influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how manyhundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is toomuch to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclastshould chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust.
Well, I thought as you do, said Lestrade. On the other hand, thisMorse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London, and thesethree were the only ones which had been in his shop for years. So,although, as you say, there are many hundreds of statues in London, it isvery probable that these three were the only ones in that district.
Therefore, a local fanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr.
Watson?
There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania, I answered.
There is the condition which the modern French psychologists havecalled the ide fixe, which may be trifling in character, and accompaniedby complete sanity in every other way. A man who had read deeply aboutNapoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary family injurythrough the great war, might conceivably form such an ide fixe andunder its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage.
That wont do, my dear Watson, said Holmes, shaking his head, forno amount of ide fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to findout where these busts were situated.
Well, how do you explain it?
I dont attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a certainmethod in the gentlemans eccentric proceedings. For example, in Dr.
Barnicots hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust wastaken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where therewas less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. The affairseems absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflectthat some of my most classic cases have had the least promisingcommencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful businessof the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth whichthe [585] parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I cant afford,therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall bevery much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any freshdevelopment of so singular a chain of events.
The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker andan infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was stilldressing in my bedroom next morning, when there was a tap at the doorand Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:
Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington.
LESTRADE.
What is it, then? I asked.
Dont knowCmay be anything. But I suspect it is the sequel of thestory of the statues. In that case our friend the image-breaker has begunoperations in another quarter of London. Theres coffee on the table,Watson, and I have a cab at the door.
In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little backwater justbeside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was one of arow, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings. As wedrove up, we found the railings in front of the house lined by a curiouscrowd. Holmes whistled.
By George! its attempted murder at the least. Nothing less will holdthe London message-boy. Theres a deed of violence indicated in thatfellows round shoulders and outstretched neck. Whats this, Watson?
The top steps swilled down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough,anyhow! Well, well, theres Lestrade at the front window, and we shallsoon know all about it.
The official received us with a very grave face and showed us into asitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man,clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. He wasintroduced to us as the owner of the houseCMr. Horace Harker, of theCentral Press Syndicate.
Its the Napoleon bust business again, said Lestrade. You seemedinterested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be gladto be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver turn.
What has it turned to, then?
To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactly what hasoccurred?
The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholyface.
Its an extraordinary thing, said he, that all my life I have beencollecting other peoples news, and now that a real piece of news hascome my own way I am so confused and bothered that I cant put twowords together. If I had come in here as a journalist, I should haveinterviewed myself and had two columns in every evening paper. As it is,I am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over to astring of different people, and I can make no use of it myself. However,Ive heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if youll only explainthis queer business, I shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the story.
Holmes sat down and listened.
It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which I bought forthis very room about four months ago. I picked it up cheap from HardingBrothers, two doors from the High Street Station. A great deal of myjournalistic work is done at night, and I often write until the earlymorning. So it was to-day. I was sitting [586] in my den, which is at theback of the top of the house, about three oclock, when I was convincedthat I heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were notrepeated, and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly,about five minutes later, there came a most horrible yellCthe mostdreadful sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears aslong as I live. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seizedthe poker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found thewindow wide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone fromthe mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes myunderstanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever.
You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that openwindow could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This wasclearly what the burglar had done, so I went round and opened the door.
Stepping out into the dark, I nearly fell over a dead man, who was lyingthere. I ran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash inhis throat and the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, hisknees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in mydreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I musthave fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the policemanstanding over me in the hall.
Well, who was the murdered man? asked Holmes.
Theres nothing to show who he was, said Lestrade. You shall seethe body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He isa tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. He is poorlydressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. A horn-handled claspknife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether it was the weaponwhich did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do notknow. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets savean apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph. Hereit is.
It was evidently taken by a snapshot from a small camera. Itrepresented an alert, sharp-featured simian man, with thick eyebrows anda very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face, like the muzzle ofa baboon.
And what became of the bust? asked Holmes, after a careful study ofthis picture.
We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in the frontgarden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken intofragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?
Certainly. I must just take one look round. He examined the carpetand the window. The fellow had either very long legs or was a mostactive man, said he. With an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reachthat window-ledge and open that window. Getting back wascomparatively simple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of yourbust, Mr. Harker?
The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table.
I must try and make something of it, said he, though I have no doubtthat the first editions of the evening papers are out already with fulldetails. Its like my luck! You remember when the stand fell atDoncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal theonly one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. Andnow Ill be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep.
As we left the room, we heard his pen travelling shrilly over thefoolscap.
[587] The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was onlya few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon thispresentment of the great emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic anddestructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered, insplintered shards, upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them andexamined them carefully. I was convinced, from his intent face and hispurposeful manner, that at last he was upon a clue.
Well? asked Lestrade.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
We have a long way to go yet, said he. And yetCand yetCwell, wehave some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession of this triflingbust was worth more, in the eyes of this strange criminal, than a humanlife. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not breakit in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was hissole object.
He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardlyknew what he was doing.
Well, thats likely enough. But I wish to call your attention veryparticularly to the position of this house, in the garden of which the bustwas destroyed.
Lestrade looked about him.
It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbedin the garden.
Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which hemust have passed before he came to this one. Why did he not break itthere, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased the riskof someone meeting him?
I give it up, said Lestrade.
Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads.
He could see what he was doing here, and he could not there. Thatwas his reason.
By Jove! thats true, said the detective. Now that I come to think ofit, Dr. Barnicots bust was broken not far from his red lamp. Well, Mr.
Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?
To remember itCto docket it. We may come on something later whichwill bear upon it. What steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?
The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identifythe dead man. There should be no difficulty about that. When we havefound who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good startin learning what he was doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was whomet him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Dont youthink so?
No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approachthe case.
What would you do then?
Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggest that yougo on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes afterwards, andeach will supplement the other.
Very good, said Lestrade.
If you are going back to Pitt Street, you might see Mr. Horace Harker.
Tell him for me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it is certainthat a dangerous homicidal lunatic, with Napoleonic delusions, was in hishouse last night. It will be useful for his article.
Lestrade stared.
[588] You dont seriously believe that?
Holmes smiled.
Dont I? Well, perhaps I dont. But I am sure that it will interest Mr.
Horace Harker and the subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate. Now,Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rather complexdays work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make itconvenient to meet us at Baker Street at six oclock this evening. Untilthen I should like to keep this photograph, found in the dead manspocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company and assistanceupon a small expedition which will have to be undertaken to-night, if mychain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then good-bye andgood luck!
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where westopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had beenpurchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would beabsent until afternoon, and that he was himself a newcomer, who couldgive us no information. Holmess face showed his disappointment andannoyance.
Well, well, we cant expect to have it all our own way, Watson, hesaid, at last. We must come back in the afternoon, if Mr. Harding willnot be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised, endeavouringto trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is notsomething peculiar which may account for their remarkable fate. Let usmake for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he canthrow any light upon the problem.
A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealers establishment. Hewas a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner.
Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir, said he. What we pay rates andtaxes for I dont know, when any ruffian can come in and break onesgoods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues.
Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plotCthats what I make it. No one but ananarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicansCthats what Icall em. Who did I get the statues from? I dont see what that has to dowith it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder & Co.,in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in the trade, andhave been this twenty years. How many had I? ThreeCtwo and one arethreeCtwo of Dr. Barnicots, and one smashed in broad daylight on myown counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I dont. Yes, I do, though.
Why, its Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who madehimself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and gild and frame, anddo odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and Ive heard nothing of himsince. No, I dont know where he came from nor where he went to. I hadnothing against him while he was here. He was gone two days before thebust was smashed.
Well, thats all we could reasonably expect from Morse Hudson, saidHolmes, as we emerged from the shop. We have this Beppo as acommon factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth aten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney,the source and origin of the busts. I shall be surprised if we dont getsome help down there.
In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionableLondon, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercialLondon, and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city ofa hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reekwith the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once theabode of wealthy City merchants, we found the [589] sculpture works forwhich we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumentalmasonry. Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving ormoulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly and gavea clear answer to all Holmess questions. A reference to his books showedthat hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devineshead of Napoleon, but that the three which had been sent to MorseHudson a year or so before had been half of a batch of six, the other threebeing sent to Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason whythose six should be different from any of the other casts. He could suggestno possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy themCin fact, helaughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but theretailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds fromeach side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris werejoined together to make the complete bust. The work was usually done byItalians, in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were put on atable in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all he couldtell us.
But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon themanager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his blueTeutonic eyes.
Ah, the rascal! he cried. Yes, indeed, I know him very well. Thishas always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that wehave ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more thana year ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he cameto the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppowas his nameChis second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaginga man with such a face. But he was a good workmanCone of the best.
What did he get?
The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he is outnow, but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of hishere, and I daresay he could tell you where he is.
No, no, cried Holmes, not a word to the cousinCnot a word, I beg ofyou. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it, the moreimportant it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger to the saleof those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year. Couldyou give me the date when Beppo was arrested?
I could tell you roughly by the pay-list, the manager answered. Yes, he continued, after some turning over of pages, he was paid last onMay 20th.
Thank you, said Holmes. I dont think that I need intrude upon yourtime and patience any more. With a last word of caution that he shouldsay nothing as to our researches, we turned our faces westward once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hastyluncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announcedKensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman, and the contents of thepaper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print afterall. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and floweryrendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against the cruet-standand read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.
This is all right, Watson, said he. Listen to this:
It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference ofopinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the mostexperienced members of the official force, and Mr. SherlockHolmes, the well-known consulting expert, [590] have each cometo the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which haveended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than fromdeliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberration can coverthe facts.
The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution, if you only know howto use it. And now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back toKensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to say onthe matter.The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp littleperson, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue.
Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr.
Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust somemonths ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder & Co., ofStepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I daresay by consultingour sales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entrieshere. One to Mr. Harker you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, ofLaburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford,of Lower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face whichyou show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you,sir, for Ive seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes,sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I daresay theymight get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is noparticular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, its avery strange business, and I hope that you will let me know if anythingcomes of your inquiries.
Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Hardings evidence, and Icould see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs weretaking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried, weshould be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when wereached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we found himpacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importanceshowed that his days work had not been in vain.
Well? he asked. What luck, Mr. Holmes?
We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one, myfriend explained. We have seen both the retailers and also the wholesalemanufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning.
The busts! cried Lestrade. Well, well, you have your own methods,Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, butI think I have done a better days work than you. I have identified thedead man.
You dont say so?
And found a cause for the crime.
Splendid!
We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill and theItalian Quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem round hisneck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from theSouth. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. Hisname is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cutthroatsin London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know,is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now, you seehow the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is probably an Italianalso, and a member of the Mafia. He has broken the rules in some fashion.
Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the photograph we found in hispocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He[591] dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him,and in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. How is that, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes?
Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.
Excellent, Lestrade, excellent! he cried. But I didnt quite followyour explanation of the destruction of the busts.
The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head. After all,that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder thatwe are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering all thethreads into my hands.
And the next stage?
Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian Quarter,find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the chargeof murder. Will you come with us?
I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I cant sayfor certain, because it all dependsCwell, it all depends upon a factor whichis completely outside our control. But I have great hopesCin fact, thebetting is exactly two to oneCthat if you will come with us to-night I shallbe able to help you to lay him by the heels.
In the Italian Quarter?
No, I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to find him. Ifyou will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, Ill promise to goto the Italian Quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done bythe delay. And now I think that a few hours sleep would do us all good,for I do not propose to leave before eleven oclock, and it is unlikely thatwe shall be back before morning. Youll dine with us, Lestrade, and thenyou are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In themeantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an expressmessenger, for I have a letter to send and it is important that it should goat once.
Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the olddaily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When atlast he descended, it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing toeither of us as to the result of his researches. For my own part, I hadfollowed step by step the methods by which he had traced the variouswindings of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive thegoal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expectedthis grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts,one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of ourjourney was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire thecunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the eveningpaper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his schemewith impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I shouldtake my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded huntingcrop,which was his favourite weapon.
A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot atthe other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed towait. A short walk brought us to a secluded road fringed with pleasanthouses, each standing in its own grounds. In the light of a street lamp weread Laburnum Villa upon the gate-post of one of them. The occupantshad evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over thehall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden path. Thewooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw a denseblack shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched.
[592] I fear that youll have a long wait, Holmes whispered. We maythank our stars that it is not raining. I dont think we can even venture tosmoke to pass the time. However, its a two to one chance that we getsomething to pay us for our trouble.
It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes hadled us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In aninstant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gateswung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushedup the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown from over thedoor and disappear against the black shadow of the house. There was along pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very gentlecreaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. Thenoise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was makinghis way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern insidethe room. What he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw theflash through another blind, and then through another.
Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out,
Lestrade whispered.
But before we could move, the man had emerged again. As he came outinto the glimmering patch of light, we saw that he carried somethingwhite under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence ofthe deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid downhis burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap,followed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he wasdoing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. Withthe bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later Lestradeand I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs had been fastened. As weturned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing, furiousfeatures, glaring up at us, and I knew that it was indeed the man of thephotograph whom we had secured.
But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his attention.
Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examiningthat which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust ofNapoleon, like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had beenbroken into similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shardto the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece ofplaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall lights flewup, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure inshirt and trousers, presented himself.
Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose? said Holmes.
Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had the notewhich you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly what you toldme. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well,Im very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen, thatyou will come in and have some refreshment.
However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, sowithin a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all fourupon our way to London. Not a word would our captive say, but he glaredat us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my handseemed within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayedlong enough at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothingrevealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handleof which bore copious traces of recent blood.
[593] Thats all right, said Lestrade, as we parted. Hill knows allthese gentry, and he will give a name to him. Youll find that my theoryof the Mafia will work out all right. But Im sure I am exceedinglyobliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laidhands upon him. I dont quite understand it all yet.
I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations, said Holmes.
Besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and it isone of those cases which are worth working out to the very end. If youwill come round once more to my rooms at six oclock to-morrow, I thinkI shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped the entiremeaning of this business, which presents some features which make itabsolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you tochronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that you willenliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of theNapoleonic busts.
When we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished with muchinformation concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo,second name unknown. He was a well-known neer-do-well among theItalian colony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned anhonest living, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already beenin jailConce for a petty theft, and once, as we had already heard, forstabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly well. Hisreasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused toanswer any questions upon the subject, but the police had discovered thatthese same busts might very well have been made by his own hands, sincehe was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of Gelder & Co.
To all this information, much of which we already knew, Holmes listenedwith polite attention, but I, who knew him so well, could clearly see thathis thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture of mingleduneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he was wont toassume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes brightened. There hadbeen a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, andan elderly red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. Inhis right hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placedupon the table.
Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?
My friend bowed and smiled. Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?
said he.
Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late, but the trains were awkward. Youwrote to me about a bust that is in my possession.
Exactly.
I have your letter here. You said, I desire to possess a copy ofDevines Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the onewhich is in your possession. Is that right?
Certainly.
I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not imagine howyou knew that I owned such a thing.
Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is verysimple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they had sold youtheir last copy, and he gave me your address.
Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?
No, he did not.
Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I only gavefifteen [594] shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know thatbefore I take ten pounds from you.
I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I havenamed that price, so I intend to stick to it.
Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust upwith me, as you asked me to do. Here it is! He opened his bag, and atlast we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust whichwe had already seen more than once in fragments.
Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note uponthe table.
You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence ofthese witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible rightthat you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, you see, andyou never know what turn events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr.
Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very good evening.
When our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmess movements weresuch as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth froma drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly acquiredbust in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop andstruck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure brokeinto fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Nextinstant, with a loud shout of triumph he held up one splinter, in which around, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding.
Gentlemen, he cried, let me introduce you to the famous black pearlof the Borgias.
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneousimpulse, we both broke out clapping, as at the well-wrought crisis of aplay. A flush of colour sprang to Holmess pale cheeks, and he bowed tous like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. Itwas at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoningmachine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. Thesame singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away withdisdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depthsby spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.
Yes, gentlemen, said he, it is the most famous pearl now existing inthe world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain ofinductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of Colonnas bedroom atthe Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the sixbusts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder & Co., ofStepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by thedisappearance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the Londonpolice to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I wasunable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of thePrincess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother inLondon, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The maidsname was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that thisPietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. I have beenlooking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that thedisappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest ofBeppo, for some crime of violenceCan event which took place in thefactory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts were beingmade. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them,of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presentedthemselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may havestolen it from Pietro, he may have [595] been Pietros confederate, he mayhave been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequenceto us which is the correct solution.
The main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment, when it wason his person, he was pursued by the police. He made for the factory inwhich he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which toconceal this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be foundon him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were dryingin the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilfulworkman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, andwith a few touches covered over the aperture once more. It was anadmirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo wascondemned to a years imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six bustswere scattered over London. He could not tell which contained histreasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tellhim nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearlwould adhere to itCas, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and heconducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance.
Through a cousin who works with Gelder, he found out the retail firmswho had bought the busts. He managed to find employment with MorseHudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was notthere. Then, with the help of some Italian employe, he succeeded infinding out where the other three busts had gone. The first was atHarkers. There he was dogged by his confederate, who held Bepporesponsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scufflewhich followed.
If he was his confederate, why should he carry his photograph? Iasked.
As a means of tracing him, if he wished to inquire about him from anythird person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder Icalculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay hismovements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so hehastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I could notsay that he had not found the pearl in Harkers bust. I had not evenconcluded for certain that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that hewas looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other housesin order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. SinceHarkers bust was one in three, the chances were exactly as I toldyouCtwo to one against the pearl being inside it. There remained twobusts, and it was obvious that he would go for the London one first. Iwarned the inmates of the house, so as to avoid a second tragedy, and wewent down, with the happiest results. By that time, of course, I knew forcertain that it was the Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of themurdered man linked the one event with the other. There only remained asingle bustCthe Reading oneCand the pearl must be there. I bought it inyour presence from the ownerCand there it lies.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Well, said Lestrade, Ive seen you handle a good many cases, Mr.
Holmes, but I dont know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one thanthat. Were not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are veryproud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, theres not a man, fromthe oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldnt be glad toshake you by the hand.
Thank you! said Holmes. Thank you! and as he turned away, itseemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer humanemotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold andpractical thinker once more. Put the pearl in the safe, Watson, said he,and get out the papers of the [596] Conk-Singleton forgery case. Goodbye,Lestrade. If any little problem comes your way, I shall be happy, if Ican, to give you a hint or two as to its solution.
David Soucek, 1998 The Three StudentsThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE THREE STUDENTSIT WAS in the year 95 that a combination of events, into which I need notenter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend some weeks inone of our great university towns, and it was during this time that thesmall but instructive adventure which I am about to relate befell us. It willbe obvious that any details which would help the reader exactly toidentify the college or the criminal would be injudicious and offensive. Sopainful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion theincident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustratesome of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable. I willendeavour, in my statement, to avoid such terms as would serve to limitthe events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the peopleconcerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a librarywhere Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in earlyEnglish charters Cresearches which led to results so striking that they maybe the subject of one of my future narratives. Here it was that one eveningwe received a visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor andlecturer at the College of St. Lukes. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, ofa nervous and excitable temperament. I had always known him to berestless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was in such astate of uncontrollable agitation that it was clear something very unusualhad occurred.
I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of yourvaluable time. We have had a very painful incident at St. Lukes, andreally, but for the happy chance of your being in town, I should have beenat a loss what to do.
I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions, my friendanswered. I should much prefer that you called in the aid of the police.
No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. When oncethe law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is just one of thosecases where, for the credit of the college, it is most essential to avoidscandal. Your discretion is as well known as your powers, and you are theone man in the world who can help me. I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to dowhat you can.
My friends temper had not improved since he had been deprived of thecongenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrapbooks, hischemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. Heshrugged his shoulders in ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor inhurried words and with much excitable gesticulation poured forth hisstory.
I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the first day ofthe examination for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am one of the examiners.
My subject is Greek, and the first of the papers consists of a large passageof Greek translation which the candidate has not seen. This passage isprinted on the examination paper, and it would naturally be an immenseadvantage if the candidate could prepare it in advance. For this reason,great care is taken to keep the paper secret.
[597] To-day, about three oclock, the proofs of this paper arrived fromthe printers. The exercise consists of half a chapter of Thucydides. I hadto read it over carefully, as the text must be absolutely correct. At fourthirtymy task was not yet completed. I had, however, promised to taketea in a friends rooms, so I left the proof upon my desk. I was absentrather more than an hour.
You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are doubleCa greenbaize one within and a heavy oak one without. As I approached my outerdoor, I was amazed to see a key in it. For an instant I imagined that I hadleft my own there, but on feeling in my pocket I found that it was allright. The only duplicate which existed, so far as I knew, was that whichbelonged to my servant, BannisterCa man who has looked after my roomfor ten years, and whose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I foundthat the key was indeed his, that he had entered my room to know if Iwanted tea, and that he had very carelessly left the key in the door whenhe came out. His visit to my room must have been within a very fewminutes of my leaving it. His forgetfulness about the key would havemattered little upon any other occasion, but on this one day it hasproduced the most deplorable consequences.
The moment I looked at my table, I was aware that someone hadrummaged among my papers. The proof was in three long slips. I had leftthem all together. Now, I found that one of them was lying on the floor,one was on the side table near the window, and the third was where I hadleft it.
Holmes stirred for the first time.
The first page on the floor, the second in the window, the third whereyou left it, said he.
Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could you possibly knowthat?
Pray continue your very interesting statement.
For an instant I imagined that Bannister had taken the unpardonableliberty of examining my papers. He denied it, however, with the utmostearnestness, and I am convinced that he was speaking the truth. Thealternative was that someone passing had observed the key in the door,had known that I was out, and had entered to look at the papers. A largesum of money is at stake, for the scholarship is a very valuable one, andan unscrupulous man might very well run a risk in order to gain anadvantage over his fellows.
Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had nearly faintedwhen we found that the papers had undoubtedly been tampered with. Igave him a little brandy and left him collapsed in a chair, while I made amost careful examination of the room. I soon saw that the intruder hadleft other traces of his presence besides the rumpled papers. On the tablein the window were several shreds from a pencil which had beensharpened. A broken tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently the rascalhad copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil, and had beencompelled to put a fresh point to it.
Excellent! said Holmes, who was recovering his good-humour as hisattention became more engrossed by the case. Fortune has been yourfriend.
This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a fine surface of redleather. I am prepared to swear, and so is Bannister, that it was smoothand unstained. Now I found a clean cut in it about three inches longCnot amere scratch, but a positive cut. Not only this, but on the table I found asmall ball of black dough or clay, with specks of something which lookslike sawdust in it. I am convinced that these marks were left by the manwho rifled the papers. There were no [598] footmarks and no otherevidence as to his identity. I was at my wits end, when suddenly thehappy thought occurred to me that you were in the town, and I camestraight round to put the matter into your hands. Do help me, Mr. Holmes.
You see my dilemma. Either I must find the man or else the examinationmust be postponed until fresh papers are prepared, and since this cannotbe done without explanation, there will ensue a hideous scandal, whichwill throw a cloud not only on the college, but on the university. Aboveall things, I desire to settle the matter quietly and discreetly.
I shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice as I can,
said Holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat. The case is not entirelydevoid of interest. Had anyone visited you in your room after the paperscame to you?
Yes, young Daulat Ras, an Indian student, who lives on the same stair,came in to ask me some particulars about the examination.
For which he was entered?
Yes.
And the papers were on your table?
To the best of my belief, they were rolled up.
But might be recognized as proofs?
Possibly.
No one else in your room?
No.
Did anyone know that these proofs would be there?
No one save the printer.
Did this man Bannister know?
No, certainly not. No one knew.
Where is Bannister now?
He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him collapsed in the chair. I was insuch a hurry to come to you.
You left your door open?
I locked up the papers first.
Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames: that, unless the Indian studentrecognized the roll as being proofs, the man who tampered with themcame upon them accidentally without knowing that they were there.
So it seems to me.
Holmes gave an enigmatic smile.
Well, said he, let us go round. Not one of your cases,WatsonCmental, not physical. All right; come if you want to. Now, Mr.
SoamesCat your disposal!
The sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticed windowon to the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college. A Gothic archeddoor led to a worn stone staircase. On the ground floor was the tutorsroom. Above were three students, one on each story. It was alreadytwilight when we reached the scene of our problem. Holmes halted andlooked earnestly at the window. Then he approached it, and, standing ontiptoe with his neck craned, he looked into the room.
He must have entered through the door. There is no opening exceptthe one pane, said our learned guide.
Dear me! said Holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as he glancedat our companion. Well, if there is nothing to be learned here, we hadbest go inside.
[599] The lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into his room.
We stood at the entrance while Holmes made an examination of thecarpet.
I am afraid there are no signs here, said he. One could hardly hopefor any upon so dry a day. Your servant seems to have quite recovered.
You left him in a chair, you say. Which chair?
By the window there.
I see. Near this little table. You can come in now. I have finished withthe carpet. Let us take the little table first. Of course, what has happenedis very clear. The man entered and took the papers, sheet by sheet, fromthe central table. He carried them over to the window table, because fromthere he could see if you came across the courtyard, and so could effect anescape.
As a matter of fact, he could not, said Soames, for I entered by theside door.
Ah, thats good! Well, anyhow, that was in his mind. Let me see thethree strips. No finger impressionsCno! Well, he carried over this onefirst, and he copied it. How long would it take him to do that, using everypossible contraction? A quarter of an hour, not less. Then he tossed itdown and seized the next. He was in the midst of that when your returncaused him to make a very hurried retreatCvery hurried, since he had nottime to replace the papers which would tell you that he had been there.
You were not aware of any hurrying feet on the stair as you entered theouter door?
No, I cant say I was.
Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and had, as youobserve, to sharpen it again. This is of interest, Watson. The pencil wasnot an ordinary one. It was above the usual size, with a soft lead, the outercolour was dark blue, the makers name was printed in silver lettering,and the piece remaining is only about an inch and a half long. Look forsuch a pencil, Mr. Soames, and you have got your man. When I add thathe possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have an additional aid.
Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of information.
I can follow the other points, said he, but really, in this matter of thelengthC C
Holmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space of clearwood after them.
You see?
No, I fear that even nowC C
Watson, I have always done you an injustice. There are others. Whatcould this NN be? It is at the end of a word. You are aware that JohannFaber is the most common makers name. Is it not clear that there is justas much of the pencil left as usually follows the Johann? He held thesmall table sideways to the electric light. I was hoping that if the paperon which he wrote was thin, some trace of it might come through uponthis polished surface. No, I see nothing. I dont think there is anythingmore to be learned here. Now for the central table. This small pellet is, Ipresume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of. Roughly pyramidal inshape and hollowed out, I perceive. As you say, there appear to be grainsof sawdust in it. Dear me, this is very interesting. And the cutCa positivetear, I see. It began with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I ammuch indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, Mr. Soames.
Where does that door lead to?
To my bedroom.
[600] Have you been in it since your adventure?
No, I came straight away for you.
I should like to have a glance round. What a charming, old-fashionedroom! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute, until I have examined thefloor. No, I see nothing. What about this curtain? You hang your clothesbehind it. If anyone were forced to conceal himself in this room he mustdo it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe too shallow. No onethere, I suppose?
As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little rigidity andalertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency. As amatter of fact, the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but three or four suitsof clothes hanging from a line of pegs. Holmes turned away, and stoopedsuddenly to the floor.
Halloa! Whats this? said he.
It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like the oneupon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his open palm in theglare of the electric light.
Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as inyour sitting-room, Mr. Soames.
What could he have wanted there?
I think it is clear enough. You came back by an unexpected way, andso he had no warning until you were at the very door. What could he do?
He caught up everything which would betray him, and he rushed intoyour bedroom to conceal himself.
Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that, all the time Iwas talking to Bannister in this room, we had the man prisoner if we hadonly known it?
So I read it.
Surely there is another alternative, Mr. Holmes. I dont know whetheryou observed my bedroom window?
Lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, one swingingon hinge, and large enough to admit a man.
Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as to bepartly invisible. The man might have effected his entrance there, lefttraces as he passed through the bedroom, and finally, finding the dooropen, have escaped that way.
Holmes shook his head impatiently.
Let us be practical, said he. I understand you to say that there arethree students who use this stair, and are in the habit of passing yourdoor?
Yes, there are.
And they are all in for this examination?
Yes.
Have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than theothers?
Soames hesitated.
It is a very delicate question, said he. One hardly likes to throwsuspicion where there are no proofs.
Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the proofs.
I will tell you, then, in a few words the character of the three men whoinhabit these rooms. The lower of the three is Gilchrist, a fine scholar andathlete, plays in the Rugby team and the cricket team for the college, andgot his Blue for the hurdles and the long jump. He is a fine, manly fellow.
His father was the notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist, who ruined himself onthe turf. My scholar has been left very poor, but he is hard-working andindustrious. He will do well.
[601] The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras, the Indian. He is aquiet, inscrutable fellow; as most of those Indians are. He is well up in hiswork, though his Greek is his weak subject. He is steady and methodical.
The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliant fellow whenhe chooses to workCone of the brightest intellects of the university; but heis wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. He was nearly expelled over acard scandal in his first year. He has been idling all this term, and he mustlook forward with dread to the examination.
Then it is he whom you suspect?
I dare not go so far as that. But, of the three, he is perhaps the leastunlikely.
Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your servant,Bannister.
He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fellow offifty. He was still suffering from this sudden disturbance of the quietroutine of his life. His plump face was twitching with his nervousness,and his fingers could not keep still.
We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister, said hismaster.
Yes, sir.
I understand, said Holmes, that you left your key in the door?
Yes, sir.
Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the very daywhen there were these papers inside?
It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occasionally done the samething at other times.
When did you enter the room?
It was about half-past four. That is Mr. Soames tea time.
How long did you stay?
When I saw that he was absent, I withdrew at once.
Did you look at these papers on the table?
No, sirCcertainly not.
How came you to leave the key in the door?
I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I would come back for thekey. Then I forgot.
Has the outer door a spring lock?
No, sir.
Then it was open all the time?
Yes, sir.
Anyone in the room could get out?
Yes, sir.
When Mr. Soames returned and called for you, you were very muchdisturbed?
Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened during the many years that Ihave been here. I nearly fainted, sir.
So I understand. Where were you when you began to feel bad?
Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door.
That is singular, because you sat down in that chair over yonder nearthe corner. Why did you pass these other chairs?
I dont know, sir, it didnt matter to me where I sat.
I really dont think he knew much about it, Mr. Holmes. He waslooking very badCquite ghastly.
You stayed here when your master left?
Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the door and went to my room.
[602] Whom do you suspect?
Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I dont believe there is anygentleman in this university who is capable of profiting by such an action.
No, sir, Ill not believe it.
Thank you, that will do, said Holmes. Oh, one more word. You havenot mentioned to any of the three gentlemen whom you attend thatanything is amiss?
No, sirCnot a word.
You havent seen any of them?
No, sir.
Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in the quadrangle,if you please.
Three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering gloom.
Your three birds are all in their nests, said Holmes, looking up.
Halloa! Whats that? One of them seems restless enough.
It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly upon hisblind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room.
I should like to have a peep at each of them, said Holmes. Is itpossible?
No difficulty in the world, Soames answered. This set of rooms isquite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for visitors to go overthem. Come along, and I will personally conduct you.
No names, please! said Holmes, as we knocked at Gilchrists door. Atall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and made us welcomewhen he understood our errand. There were some really curious pieces ofmediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmes was so charmed with oneof them that he insisted on drawing it in his notebook, broke his pencil,had to borrow one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to sharpenhis own. The same curious accident happened to him in the rooms of theIndianCa silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance, and wasobviously glad when Holmess architectural studies had come to an end. Icould not see that in either case Holmes had come upon the clue forwhich he was searching. Only at the third did our visit prove abortive.
The outer door would not open to our knock, and nothing moresubstantial than a torrent of bad language came from behind it. I dontcare who you are. You can go to blazes! roared the angry voice. Tomorrowsthe exam, and I wont be drawn by anyone.
A rude fellow, said our guide, flushing with anger as we withdrewdown the stair. Of course, he did not realize that it was I who wasknocking, but none the less his conduct was very uncourteous, and,indeed, under the circumstances rather suspicious.
Holmess response was a curious one.
Can you tell me his exact height? he asked.
Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is taller than theIndian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six would be about it.
That is very important, said Holmes. And now, Mr. Soames, I wishyou good-night.
Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. Good gracious,Mr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion!
You dont seem to realize the position. To-morrow is the examination. Imust take some definite action to-night. I cannot allow the examination tobe held if one of the papers has been tampered with. The situation must befaced.
[603] You must leave it as it is. I shall drop round early to-morrowmorning and chat the matter over. It is possible that I may be in a positionthen to indicate some course of action. Meanwhile, you changenothingCnothing at all.
Very good, Mr. Holmes.
You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We shall certainly find someway out of your difficulties. I will take the black clay with me, also thepencil cuttings. Good-bye.
When we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle, we again lookedup at the windows. The Indian still paced his room. The others wereinvisible.
Well, Watson, what do you think of it? Holmes asked, as we cameout into the main street. Quite a little parlour gameCsort of three-cardtrick, is it not? There are your three men. It must be one of them. Youtake your choice. Which is yours?
The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with the worstrecord. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why should he bepacing his room all the time?
There is nothing in that. Many men do it when they are trying to learnanything by heart.
He looked at us in a queer way.
So would you, if a flock of strangers came in on you when you werepreparing for an examination next day, and every moment was of value.
No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too, and knivesCall was satisfactory. Butthat fellow does puzzle me.
Who?
Why, Bannister, the servant. Whats his game in the matter?
He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man.
So he did me. Thats the puzzling part. Why should a perfectly honestmanC C Well, well, heres a large stationers. We shall begin ourresearches here.
There were only four stationers of any consequences in the town, and ateach Holmes produced his pencil chips, and bid high for a duplicate. Allwere agreed that one could be ordered, but that it was not a usual size ofpencil, and that it was seldom kept in stock. My friend did not appear tobe depressed by his failure, but shrugged his shoulders in half-humorousresignation.
No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final clue, has runto nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we can build up asufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, it is nearly nine, andthe landlady babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. What with your eternaltobacco, Watson, and your irregularity at meals, I expect that you will getnotice to quit, and that I shall share your downfallCnot, however, beforewe have solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless servant, andthe three enterprising students.
Holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, though he satlost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. At eight in themorning, he came into my room just as I finished my toilet.
Well, Watson, said he, it is time we went down to St. Lukes. Canyou do without breakfast?
Certainly.
Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell himsomething positive.
Have you anything positive to tell him?
I think so.
[604] You have formed a conclusion?
Yes, my dear Watson, I have solved the mystery.
But what fresh evidence could you have got?
Aha! It is not for nothing that I have turned myself out of bed at theuntimely hour of six. I have put in two hours hard work and covered atleast five miles, with something to show for it. Look at that!
He held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids of black,doughy clay.
Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday.
And one more this morning. It is a fair argument that wherever No. 3came from is also the source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson? Well, comealong and put friend Soames out of his pain.
The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiable agitation whenwe found him in his chambers. In a few hours the examination wouldcommence, and he was still in the dilemma between making the factspublic and allowing the culprit to compete for the valuable scholarship.
He could hardly stand still, so great was his mental agitation, and he rantowards Holmes with two eager hands outstretched.
Thank heaven that you have come! I feared that you had given it up indespair. What am I to do? Shall the examination proceed?
Yes, let it proceed, by all means.
But this rascal?
He shall not compete.
You know him?
I think so. If this matter is not to become public, we must giveourselves certain powers and resolve ourselves into a small private courtmartial.
You there, if you please, Soames! Watson, you here! Ill take thearmchair in the middle. I think that we are now sufficiently imposing tostrike terror into a guilty breast. Kindly ring the bell!
Bannister entered, and shrank back in evident surprise and fear at ourjudicial appearance.
You will kindly close the door, said Holmes. Now, Bannister, willyou please tell us the truth about yesterdays incident?
The man turned white to the roots of his hair.
I have told you everything, sir.
Nothing to add?
Nothing at all, sir.
Well, then, I must make some suggestions to you. When you sat downon that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to conceal some objectwhich would have shown who had been in the room?
Bannisters face was ghastly.
No, sir, certainly not.
It is only a suggestion, said Holmes, suavely. I frankly admit that Iam unable to prove it. But it seems probable enough, since the momentthat Mr. Soamess back was turned, you released the man who was hidingin that bedroom.
Bannister licked his dry lips.
There was no man, sir.
Ah, thats a pity, Bannister. Up to now you may have spoken the truth,but now I know that you have lied.
[605] The mans face set in sullen defiance.
There was no man, sir.
Come, come, Bannister!
No, sir, there was no one.
In that case, you can give us no further information. Would you pleaseremain in the room? Stand over there near the bedroom door. Now,Soames, I am going to ask you to have the great kindness to go up to theroom of young Gilchrist, and to ask him to step down into yours.
An instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him the student. Hewas a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step and apleasant, open face. His troubled blue eyes glanced at each of us, andfinally rested with an expression of blank dismay upon Bannister in thefarther corner.
Just close the door, said Holmes. Now, Mr. Gilchrist, we are allquite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of what passesbetween us. We can be perfectly frank with each other. We want to know,Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever came to commit such anaction as that of yesterday?
The unfortunate young man staggered back, and cast a look full ofhorror and reproach at Bannister.
No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir, I never said a wordCnever one word! criedthe servant.
No, but you have now, said Holmes. Now, sir, you must see thatafter Bannisters words your position is hopeless, and that your onlychance lies in a frank confession.
For a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand, tried to control hiswrithing features. The next he had thrown himself on his knees beside thetable, and burying his face in his hands, he had burst into a storm ofpassionate sobbing.
Come, come, said Holmes, kindly, it is human to err, and at least noone can accuse you of being a callous criminal. Perhaps it would be easierfor you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what occurred, and you can check mewhere I am wrong. Shall I do so? Well, well, dont trouble to answer.
Listen, and see that I do you no injustice.
From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said to me that no one, noteven Bannister, could have told that the papers were in your room, thecase began to take a definite shape in my mind. The printer one could, ofcourse, dismiss. He could examine the papers in his own office. TheIndian I also thought nothing of. If the proofs were in a roll, he could notpossibly know what they were. On the other hand, it seemed anunthinkable coincidence that a man should dare to enter the room, andthat by chance on that very day the papers were on the table. I dismissedthat. The man who entered knew that the papers were there. How did heknow?
When I approached your room, I examined the window. You amusedme by supposing that I was contemplating the possibility of someonehaving in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these opposite rooms,forced himself through it. Such an idea was absurd. I was measuring howtall a man would need to be in order to see, as he passed, what paperswere on the central table. I am six feet high, and I could do it with aneffort. No one less than that would have a chance. Already you see I hadreason to think that, if one of your three students was a man of unusualheight, he was the most worth watching of the three.
I entered, and I took you into my confidence as to the suggestions ofthe side table. Of the centre table I could make nothing, until in yourdescription of [606] Gilchrist you mentioned that he was a long-distancejumper. Then the whole thing came to me in an instant, and I only neededcertain corroborative proofs, which I speedily obtained.
What happened was this: This young fellow had employed hisafternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practising the jump.
He returned carrying his jumping-shoes, which are provided, as you areaware, with several sharp spikes. As he passed your window he saw, bymeans of his great height, these proofs upon your table, and conjecturedwhat they were. No harm would have been done had it not been that, ashe passed your door, he perceived the key which had been left by thecarelessness of your servant. A sudden impulse came over him to enter,and see if they were indeed the proofs. It was not a dangerous exploit, forhe could always pretend that he had simply looked in to ask a question.
Well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was then thathe yielded to temptation. He put his shoes on the table. What was it youput on that chair near the window?
Gloves, said the young man.
Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. He put his gloves on thechair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. He thought thetutor must return by the main gate, and that he would see him. As weknow, he came back by the side gate. Suddenly he heard him at the verydoor. There was no possible escape. He forgot his gloves, but he caughtup his shoes and darted into the bedroom. You observe that the scratch onthat table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direction of the bedroomdoor. That in itself is enough to show us that the shoe had been drawn inthat direction, and that the culprit had taken refuge there. The earth roundthe spike had been left on the table, and a second sample was loosenedand fell in the bedroom. I may add that I walked out to the athleticgrounds this morning, saw that tenacious black clay is used in thejumping-pit, and carried away a specimen of it, together with some of thefine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it to prevent the athlete fromslipping. Have I told the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?
The student had drawn himself erect.
Yes, sir, it is true, said he.
Good heavens! have you nothing to add? cried Soames.
Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure hasbewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to youearly this morning in the middle of a restless night. It was before I knewthat my sin had found me out. Here it is, sir. You will see that I have said,I have determined not to go in for the examination. I have been offered acommission in the Rhodesian Police, and I am going out to South Africaat once. 
I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profit by yourunfair advantage, said Soames. But why did you change your purpose?
Gilchrist pointed to Bannister.
There is the man who set me in the right path, said he.
Come now, Bannister, said Holmes. It will be clear to you, fromwhat I have said, that only you could have let this young man out, sinceyou were left in the room, and must have locked the door when you wentout. As to his escaping by that window, it was incredible. Can you notclear up the last point in this mystery, and tell us the reasons for youraction?
It was simple enough, sir, if you only had known, but, with all yourcleverness, [607] it was impossible that you could know. Time was, sir,when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young gentlemansfather. When he was ruined I came to the college as servant, but I neverforgot my old employer because he was down in the world. I watched hisson all I could for the sake of the old days. Well, sir, when I came intothis room yesterday, when the alarm was given, the very first thing I sawwas Mr. Gilchrists tan gloves a-lying in that chair. I knew those gloveswell, and I understood their message. If Mr. Soames saw them, the gamewas up. I flopped down into that chair, and nothing would budge me untilMr. Soames went for you. Then out came my poor young master, whom Ihad dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. Wasnt it natural, sir,that I should save him, and wasnt it natural also that I should try to speakto him as his dead father would have done, and make him understand thathe could not profit by such a deed? Could you blame me, sir?
No, indeed, said Holmes, heartily, springing to his feet. Well,Soames, I think we have cleared your little problem up, and ourbreakfasts awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to you, sir, I trust that abright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once you have fallen low. Let ussee, in the future, how high you can rise.
David Soucek, 1998 The Golden Pince-NezThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZWHEN I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain ourwork for the year 1894, I confess that it is very difficult for me, out ofsuch a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting inthemselves, and at the same time most conducive to a display of thosepeculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As I turn over thepages, I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and theterrible death of Crosby, the banker. Here also I find an account of theAddleton tragedy, and the singular contents of the ancient British barrow.
The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also within thisperiod, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret, the BoulevardassassinCan exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanksfrom the French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour. Eachof these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinion thatnone of them unites so many singular points of interest as the episode ofYoxley Old Place, which includes not only the lamentable death of youngWilloughby Smith, but also those subsequent developments which threwso curious a light upon the causes of the crime.
It was a wild, tempestuous night, towards the close of November.
Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with apowerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon apalimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the windhowled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against thewindows. It was strange there, in the very depths of the town, with tenmiles of mans handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip ofNature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all Londonwas no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to thewindow, and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lampsgleamed on the expanse [608] of muddy road and shining pavement. Asingle cab was splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.
Well, Watson, its as well we have not to turn out to-night, saidHolmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. Ive doneenough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I can makeout, it is nothing more exciting than an Abbeys accounts dating from thesecond half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa! Whats this?
Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horseshoofs, and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the curb. The cabwhich I had seen had pulled up at our door.
What can he want? I ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it.
Want? He wants us. And we, my poor Watson, want overcoats andcravats and goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight theweather. Wait a bit, though! Theres the cab off again! Theres hope yet.
Hed have kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dearfellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed.
When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor, I had nodifficulty in recognizing him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promisingdetective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a verypractical interest.
Is he in? he asked, eagerly.
Come up, my dear sir, said Holmess voice from above. I hope youhave no designs upon us such a night as this.
The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon hisshining waterproof. I helped him out of it, while Holmes knocked a blazeout of the logs in the grate.
Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes, said he.
Heres a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water anda lemon, which is good medicine on a night like this. It must besomething important which has brought you out in such a gale.
It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. Ive had a bustling afternoon, I promise you.
Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?
Ive seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day.
Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have notmissed anything. I havent let the grass grow under my feet. Its down inKent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I waswired for at 3:15, reached Yoxley Old Place at 5, conducted myinvestigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight toyou by cab.
Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?
It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can see,it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at first it seemedso simple that one couldnt go wrong. Theres no motive, Mr. Holmes.
Thats what bothers meCI cant put my hand on a motive. Heres a mandeadC theres no denying thatCbut, so far as I can see, no reason on earthwhy anyone should wish him harm.
Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.
Let us hear about it, said he.
Ive got my facts pretty clear, said Stanley Hopkins. All I want nowis to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out, islike this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was takenby an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was aninvalid, keeping his bed half the [609] time, and the other half hobblinground the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by thegardener in a Bath chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours whocalled upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a verylearned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper,Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been withhim since his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character.
The professor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary, abouta year ago, to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried were notsuccesses, but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young manstraight from the university, seems to have been just what his employerwanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the professorsdictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references andpassages which bore upon the next days work. This Willoughby Smithhas nothing against him, either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young manat Cambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was adecent, quiet, hard-working fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. Andyet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the professorsstudy under circumstances which can point only to murder.
The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drewcloser to the fire, while the young inspector slowly and point by pointdeveloped his singular narrative.
If you were to search all England, said he, I dont suppose you couldfind a household more self-contained or freer from outside influences.
Whole weeks would pass, and not one of them go past the garden gate.
The professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. YoungSmith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as hisemployer did. The two women had nothing to take them from the house.
Mortimer, the gardener, who wheels the Bath chair, is an armypensionerCan old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not live inthe house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden.
Those are the only people that you would find within the grounds ofYoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundredyards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a latch, andthere is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in.
Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the onlyperson who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in theforenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment inhanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coramwas still in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises beforemidday. The housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of thehouse. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as asitting-room, but the maid heard him at that moment pass along thepassage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did not seehim, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread.
She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later there was adreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strangeand unnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. Atthe same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, andthen all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a moment, and then,recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The study door was shut andshe opened it. Inside, young Mr. Willoughby Smith was stretched uponthe floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she tried to raise him shesaw that blood was pouring from the underside of his neck. It was pierced[610] by a very small but very deep wound, which had divided the carotidartery. The instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay uponthe carpet beside him. It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to befound on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiffblade. It was part of the fittings of the professors own desk.
At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but onpouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyesfor an instant. The professor, he murmuredCit was she. The maid isprepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperately tosay something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he fellback dead.
In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, butshe was just too late to catch the young mans dying words. LeavingSusan with the body, she hurried to the professors room. He was sittingup in bed, horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him thatsomething terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear thatthe professor was still in his night-clothes, and indeed it was impossiblefor him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orders were to comeat twelve oclock. The professor declares that he heard the distant cry, butthat he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation of the youngmans last words, The professorCit was she, but imagines that they werethe outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby Smith had not anenemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. His first actionwas to send Mortimer, the gardener, for the local police. A little later thechief constable sent for me. Nothing was moved before I got there, andstrict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading tothe house. It was a splendid chance of putting your theories into practice,Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing wanting.
Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said my companion, with a somewhatbitter smile. Well, let us hear about it. What sort of a job did you makeof it?
I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, whichwill give you a general idea of the position of the professors study andthe various points of the case. It will help you in following myinvestigation.
He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laid itacross Holmess knee. I rose and, standing behind Holmes, studied it overhis shoulder.
It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points whichseem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for yourself.
Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the house, how didhe or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door,from which there is direct access to [611] the study. Any other way wouldhave been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also beenmade along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one wasblocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to theprofessors bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once to thegarden path, which was saturated with recent rain, and would certainlyshow any footmarks.
My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious andexpert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There couldbe no question, however, that someone had passed along the grass borderwhich lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving atrack. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression, butthe grass was trodden down, and someone had undoubtedly passed. Itcould only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyoneelse had been there that morning, and the rain had only begun during thenight.
One moment, said Holmes. Where does this path lead to?
To the road.
How long is it?
A hundred yards or so.
At the point where the path passes through the gate, you could surelypick up the tracks?
Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point.
Well, on the road itself?
No, it was all trodden into mire.
Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming orgoing?
It was impossible to say. There was never any outline.
A large foot or a small?
You could not distinguish.
Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.
It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since, said he.
It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it cant behelped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain that youhad made certain of nothing?
I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew thatsomeone had entered the house cautiously from without. I next examinedthe corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken noimpression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is ascantily furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with afixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers, with acentral small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, thecupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothingof value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in thecupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, andthe professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that norobbery has been committed.
I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near thebureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab wason the right side of the neck and from behind forward, so that it is almostimpossible that it could have been self-inflicted.
Unless he fell upon the knife, said Holmes.
Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feetaway from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there arethe mans own [612] dying words. And, finally, there was this veryimportant piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead mansright hand.
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. Heunfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends ofblack silk cord dangling from the end of it. Willoughby Smith hadexcellent sight, he added. There can be no question that this wassnatched from the face or the person of the assassin.
Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand, and examined themwith the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose,endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up thestreet with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of thelamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote afew lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to StanleyHopkins.
Thats the best I can do for you, said he. It may prove to be of someuse.
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:
Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She hasa remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon eitherside of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, andprobably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she has hadrecourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months.
As her glasses are of remarkable strength, and as opticians are notvery numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her.
Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have beenreflected upon my features.
Surely my deductions are simplicity itself, said he. It would bedifficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inference thana pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. That theybelong to a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, fromthe last words of the dying man. As to her being a person of refinementand well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solidgold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could beslatternly in other respects. You will find that the clips are too wide foryour nose, showing that the ladys nose was very broad at the base. Thissort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there is a sufficientnumber of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or frominsisting upon this point in my description. My own face is a narrow one,and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, nor near thecentre, of these glasses. Therefore, the ladys eyes are set very near to thesides of the nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concaveand of unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremelycontracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of suchvision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders.
Yes, I said, I can follow each of your arguments. I confess,however, that I am unable to understand how you arrive at the doublevisit to the optician.
Holmes took the glasses in his hand.
You will perceive, he said, that the clips are lined with tiny bands ofcork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these is discoloured andworn to some slight extent, but the other is new. Evidently one has fallenoff and been replaced. I should judge that the older of them has not beenthere more than a few months. They exactly correspond, so I gather thatthe lady went back to the same establishment for the second.
[613] By George, its marvellous! cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy ofadmiration. To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and neverknew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the Londonopticians.
Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell usabout the case?
Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do nowCprobably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen onthe country roads or at the railway station. We have heard of none. Whatbeats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of amotive can anyone suggest.
Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you wantus to come out to-morrow?
If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. Theres a train from CharingCross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley OldPlace between eight and nine.
Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of greatinterest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well, its nearly one, andwe had best get a few hours sleep. I daresay you can manage all right onthe sofa in front of the fire. Ill light my spirit lamp, and give you a cup ofcoffee before we start.
The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morningwhen we started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise overthe dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of theriver, which I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the AndamanIslander in the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey,we alighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horsewas being put into a trap at the local inn, we snatched a hurried breakfast,and so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at YoxleyOld Place. A constable met us at the garden gate.
Well, Wilson, any news?
No, sirCnothing.
No reports of any stranger seen?
No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger eithercame or went yesterday.
Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?
Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for.
Well, its only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might staythere or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path ofwhich I spoke, Mr. Holmes. Ill pledge my word there was no mark on ityesterday.
On which side were the marks on the grass?
This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and theflower-bed. I cant see the traces now, but they were clear to me then.
Yes, yes: someone has passed along, said Holmes, stooping over thegrass border. Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must shenot, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on theother an even clearer one on the soft bed?
Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand.
I saw an intent look pass over Holmess face.
You say that she must have come back this way?
Yes, sir, there is no other.
On this strip of grass?
Certainly, Mr. Holmes.
[614] Hum! It was a very remarkable performanceCvery remarkable.
Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This gardendoor is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to dobut to walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would haveprovided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick thisknife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor, leaving notraces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study.
How long was she there? We have no means of judging.
Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Marker,the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long beforeCabout aquarter of an hour, she says.
Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room, and what doesshe do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything inthe drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking, it would surelyhave been locked up. No, it was for something in that wooden bureau.
Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a match,Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?
The mark which he was examining began upon the brasswork on theright-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches, whereit had scratched the varnish from the surface.
I noticed it, Mr. Holmes, but youll always find scratches round akeyhole.
This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where it is cut.
An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. Look at itthrough my lens. Theres the varnish, too, like earth on each side of afurrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?
A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room.
Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?
Yes, sir.
Did you notice this scratch?
No, sir, I did not.
I am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away theseshreds of varnish. Who has the key of this bureau?
The professor keeps it on his watch-chain.
Is it a simple key?
No, sir, it is a Chubbs key.
Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a littleprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and eitheropens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged, young WilloughbySmith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key, she makes thisscratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearestobject, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make himlet go his hold. The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes, eitherwith or without the object for which she has come. Is Susan, the maid,there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the time thatyou heard the cry, Susan?
No, sir, it is impossible. Before I got down the stair, Id have seenanyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, or I would haveheard it.
That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way shecame. I understand that this other passage leads only to the professorsroom. There is no exit that way?
No, sir.
[615] We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the professor.
Halloa, Hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. Theprofessors corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting.
Well, sir, what of that?
Dont you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well. I dont insistupon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to be suggestive.
Come with me and introduce me.
We passed down the passage, which was of the same length as thatwhich led to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending in adoor. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the professorsbedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, whichhad overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or werestacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centre of theroom, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. Ihave seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt,aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes,which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hairand beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained withyellow around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of whitehair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco smoke. As heheld out his hand to Holmes, I perceived that it was also stained withyellow nicotine.
A smoker, Mr. Holmes? said he, speaking in well-chosen English,with a curious little mincing accent. Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? Ican recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides, ofAlexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that Ihave to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, butan old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my workCthat is all that is leftto me.
Holmes had lit a cigarette and was shooting little darting glances allover the room.
Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco, the old manexclaimed. Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseensuch a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that,after a few months training, he was an admirable assistant. What do youthink of the matter, Mr. Holmes?
I have not yet made up my mind.
I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all isso dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow isparalyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you are a manof actionCyou are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine ofyour life. You can preserve your balance in every emergency. We arefortunate, indeed, in having you at our side.
Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the oldprofessor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinaryrapidity. It was evident that he shared our hosts liking for the freshAlexandrian cigarettes.
Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow, said the old man. That is my magnumopusCthe pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of thedocuments found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a workwhich will cut deep at the very foundation of revealed religion. With myenfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able to complete it,now that my assistant has been taken from me. Dear me! Mr. Holmes,why, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself.
[616] Holmes smiled.
I am a connoisseur, said he, taking another cigarette from the boxChisfourthCand lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished. I willnot trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram,since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime, and couldknow nothing about it. I would only ask this: What do you imagine thatthis poor fellow meant by his last words: The professorCit was she?
The professor shook his head.
Susan is a country girl, said he, and you know the incrediblestupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured someincoherent, delirious words, and that she twisted them into thismeaningless message.
I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?
Possibly an accident, possiblyCI only breathe it among ourselvesCasuicide. Young men have their hidden troublesCsome affair of the heart,perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable suppositionthan murder.
But the eyeglasses?
Ah! I am only a studentCa man of dreams. I cannot explain thepractical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gagesmay take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette. It is apleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove, glassesCwhoknows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a manputs an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass,but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, itmight well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. It ispossible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smithhas met his fate by his own hand.
Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continuedto walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consumingcigarette after cigarette.
Tell me, Professor Coram, he said, at last, what is in that cupboardin the bureau?
Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poorwife, diplomas of universities which have done me honour. Here is thekey. You can look for yourself.
Holmes picked up the key, and looked at it for an instant, then hehanded it back.
No, I hardly think that it would help me, said he. I should prefer togo quietly down to your garden, and turn the whole matter over in myhead. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide which youhave put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you,Professor Coram, and I promise that we wont disturb you until afterlunch. At two oclock we will come again, and report to you anythingwhich may have happened in the interval.
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the gardenpath for some time in silence.
Have you a clue? I asked, at last.
It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked, said he. It is possiblethat I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.
My dear Holmes, I exclaimed, how on earthC C
Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, theres no harm done. Ofcourse, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take ashort cut when I [617] can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let usenjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her.
I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, apeculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readilyestablished terms of confidence with them. In half the time which he hadnamed, he had captured the housekeepers goodwill and was chatting withher as if he had known her for years.
Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke somethingterrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. Ive seen that room of amorningC well, sir, youd have thought it was a London fog. Poor youngMr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the professor. HishealthCwell, I dont know that its better nor worse for the smoking.
Ah! said Holmes, but it kills the appetite.
Well, I dont know about that, sir.
I suppose the professor eats hardly anything?
Well, he is variable. Ill say that for him.
Ill wager he took no breakfast this morning, and wont face his lunchafter all the cigarettes I saw him consume.
Well, youre out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable bigbreakfast this morning. I dont know when Ive known him make a betterone, and hes ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. Im surprisedmyself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw young Mr.
Smith lying there on the floor, I couldnt bear to look at food. Well, ittakes all sorts to make a world, and the professor hasnt let it take hisappetite away.
We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gonedown to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman whohad been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previousmorning. As to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have desertedhim. I had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion.
Even the news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children,and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding withHolmess description, and wearing either spectacles or eyeglasses, failedto rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan,who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that shebelieved Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and thathe had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could notmyself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived thatHolmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed inhis brain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch.
Two oclock, gentlemen, said he. We must go up and have it out withour friend, the professor.
The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dishbore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper hadcredited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white maneand his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in hismouth. He had been dressed and was seated in an armchair by the fire.
Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet? He shoved thelarge tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards mycompanion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, andbetween them they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two wewere all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places.
When we rose again, I observed Holmess eyes [618] were shining and hischeeks tinged with colour. Only at a crisis have I seen those battle-signalsflying.
Yes, said he, I have solved it.
Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneerquivered over the gaunt features of the old professor.
Indeed! In the garden?
No, here.
Here! When?
This instant.
You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You compel me to tellyou that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion.
I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, andI am sure that it is sound. What your motives are, or what exact part youplay in this strange business, I am not yet able to say. In a few minutes Ishall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will reconstructwhat is past for your benefit, so that you may know the information whichI still require.
A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention ofpossessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. Shehad a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, and Ido not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon thevarnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, andshe came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge torob you.
The professor blew a cloud from his lips. This is most interesting andinstructive, said he. Have you no more to add? Surely, having tracedthis lady so far, you can also say what has become of her.
I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized by yoursecretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I aminclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that thelady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin doesnot come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done, she rushed wildlyaway from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her, she had losther glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely shortsighted she wasreally helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which sheimagined to be that by which she had comeCboth were lined withcocoanut mattingCand it was only when it was too late that sheunderstood that she had taken the wrong passage, and that her retreat wascut off behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. She couldnot remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted astair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room.
The old man sat with his mouth open, staring wildly at Holmes.
Amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressive features. Now,with an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter.
All very fine, Mr. Holmes, said he. But there is one little flaw inyour splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I never left it duringthe day.
I am aware of that, Professor Coram.
And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be awarethat a woman had entered my room?
I never said so. You were aware of it. You spoke with her. Yourecognized her. You aided her to escape.
Again the professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to hisfeet, and his eyes glowed like embers.
[619] You are mad! he cried. You are talking insanely. I helped herto escape? Where is she now?
She is there, said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in thecorner of the room.
I saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed overhis grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At the same instant thebookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and awoman rushed out into the room. You are right! she cried, in a strangeforeign voice. You are right! I am here.
She was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs which hadcome from the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked withgrime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she hadthe exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, inaddition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her natural blindness, andwhat with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinkingabout her to see where and who we were. And yet, in spite of all thesedisadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the womans bearingCagallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelledsomething of respect and admiration.
Stanley Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and claimed her as hisprisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an over-masteringdignity which compelled obedience. The old man lay back in his chairwith a twitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes.
Yes, sir, I am your prisoner, she said. From where I stood I couldhear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth. I confess itall. It was I who killed the young man. But you are rightCyou who say itwas an accident. I did not even know that it was a knife which I held inmy hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from the table and struckat him to make him let me go. It is the truth that I tell.
Madam, said Holmes, I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that you arefar from well.
She had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the dark duststreaksupon her face. She seated herself on the side of the bed; then sheresumed.
I have only a little time here, she said, but I would have you to knowthe whole truth. I am this mans wife. He is not an Englishman. He is aRussian. His name I will not tell.
For the first time the old man stirred. God bless you, Anna! he cried.
God bless you!
She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. Why should youcling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius? said she. It hasdone harm to many and good to noneCnot even to yourself. However, it isnot for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before Gods time. Ihave enough already upon my soul since I crossed the threshold of thiscursed house. But I must speak or I shall be too late.
I have said, gentlemen, that I am this mans wife. He was fifty and I afoolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, auniversityCI will not name the place.
God bless you, Anna! murmured the old man again.
We were reformersCrevolutionistsCNihilists, you understand. He and Iand many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer waskilled, many [620] were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order tosave his own life and to earn a great reward, my husband betrayed hisown wife and his companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon hisconfession. Some of us found our way to the gallows, and some toSiberia. I was among these last, but my term was not for life. My husbandcame to England with his ill-gotten gains and has lived in quiet eversince, knowing well that if the Brotherhood knew where he was not aweek would pass before justice would be done.
The old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to acigarette. I am in your hands, Anna, said he. You were always good tome.
I have not yet told you the height of his villainy, said she. Amongour comrades of the Order, there was one who was the friend of my heart.
He was noble, unselfish, lovingCall that my husband was not. He hatedviolence. We were all guiltyCif that is guiltCbut he was not. He wroteforever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would have savedhim. So would my diary, in which, from day to day, I had entered bothmy feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. Myhusband found and kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he triedhard to swear away the young mans life. In this he failed, but Alexis wassent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a saltmine. Think of that, you villain, you villain!C now, now, at this verymoment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, worksand lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands, and I let yougo.
You were always a noble woman, Anna, said the old man, puffing athis cigarette.
She had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain.
I must finish, she said. When my term was over I set myself to getthe diary and letters which, if sent to the Russian government, wouldprocure my friends release. I knew that my husband had come toEngland. After months of searching I discovered where he was. I knewthat he still had the diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter fromhim once, reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. YetI was sure that, with his revengeful nature, he would never give it to meof his own free-will. I must get it for myself. With this object I engagedan agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husbands houseas a secretaryCit was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left youso hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he gotan impression of the key. He would not go farther. He furnished me witha plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study wasalways empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So at last I took mycourage in both hands, and I came down to get the papers for myself. Isucceeded; but at what a cost!
I had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard, when theyoung man seized me. I had seen him already that morning. He had metme on the road, and I had asked him to tell me where Professor Coramlived, not knowing that he was in his employ.
Exactly! Exactly! said Holmes. The secretary came back, and toldhis employer of the woman he had met. Then, in his last breath, he triedto send a message that it was sheCthe she whom he had just discussedwith him.
You must let me speak, said the woman, in an imperative voice, andher face contracted as if in pain. When he had fallen I rushed from theroom, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husbands room. Hespoke of giving me up. I showed him that if he did so, his life was in myhands. If he gave me to the law, [621] I could give him to the Brotherhood.
It was not that I wished to live for my own sake, but it was that I desiredto accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would do what I saidCthat hisown fate was involved in mine. For that reason, and for no other, heshielded me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-placeCa relic of old days,known only to himself. He took his meals in his own room, and so wasable to give me part of his food. It was agreed that when the police left thehouse I should slip away by night and come back no more. But in someway you have read our plans. She tore from the bosom of her dress asmall packet. These are my last words, said she; here is the packetwhich will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour and to your love ofjustice. Take it! You will deliver it at the Russian Embassy. Now, I havedone my duty, andC C
Stop her! cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room and hadwrenched a small phial from her hand.
Too late! she said, sinking back on the bed. Too late! I took thepoison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! Icharge you, sir, to remember the packet.
A simple case, and yet, in some ways, an instructive one, Holmesremarked, as we travelled back to town. It hinged from the outset uponthe pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying man havingseized these, I am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution.
It was clear to me, from the strength of the glasses, that the wearer musthave been very blind and helpless when deprived of them. When youasked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass withoutonce making a false step, I remarked, as you may remember, that it was anoteworthy performance. In my mind I set it down as an impossibleperformance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair ofglasses. I was forced, therefore, to consider seriously the hypothesis thatshe had remained within the house. On perceiving the similarity of thetwo corridors, it became clear that she might very easily have made sucha mistake, and, in that case, it was evident that she must have entered theprofessors room. I was keenly on the alert, therefore, for whatever wouldbear out this supposition, and I examined the room narrowly for anythingin the shape of a hiding-place. The carpet seemed continuous and firmlynailed, so I dismissed the idea of a trap-door. There might well be a recessbehind the books. As you are aware, such devices are common in oldlibraries. I observed that books were piled on the floor at all other points,but that one bookcase was left clear. This, then, might be the door. I couldsee no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of a dun colour, which lendsitself very well to examination. I therefore smoked a great number ofthose excellent cigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the space in frontof the suspected bookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedinglyeffective. I then went downstairs, and I ascertained, in your presence,Watson, without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that ProfessorCorams consumption of food had increasedCas one would expect whenhe is supplying a second person. We then ascended to the room again,when, by upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view ofthe floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from the traces upon thecigarette ash, that the prisoner had in our absence come out from herretreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and I congratulateyou on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. You aregoing to headquarters, no doubt. I think, Watson, you and I will drivetogether to the Russian Embassy.
David Soucek, 1998 The Missing Three-QuarterThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE MISSING THREE-QUARTERWE WERE fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street,but I have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomyFebruary morning, some seven or eight years ago, and gave Mr. SherlockHolmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It was addressed to him, and ranthus:
Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quartermissing, indispensable to-morrow.
OVERTON.
Strand postmark, and dispatched ten thirty-six, said Holmes, readingit over and over. Mr. Overton was evidently considerably excited whenhe sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well, he willbe here, I daresay, by the time I have looked through the Times, and thenwe shall know all about it. Even the most insignificant problem would bewelcome in these stagnant days.
Things had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned to dreadsuch periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companionsbrain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it withoutmaterial upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him fromthat drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkablecareer. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer cravedfor this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was notdead but sleeping, and I have known that the sleep was a light one and thewaking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn look uponHolmess ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutableeyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be, since hehad come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerous calm whichbrought more peril to my friend than all the storms of his tempestuous life.
As we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, andthe card of Mr. Cyril Overton, Trinity College, Cambridge, announced thearrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone andmuscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders, and lookedfrom one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard withanxiety.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
My companion bowed.
Ive been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw InspectorStanley Hopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so faras he could see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police.
Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter.
Its awful, Mr. HolmesCsimply awful! I wonder my hair isnt gray.
Godfrey StauntonCyouve heard of him, of course? Hes simply the hingethat the whole team turns on. Id rather spare two from the pack, and haveGodfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether its passing, or tackling, ordribbling, theres no one to touch him, and then, hes got the head, andcan hold us all together. What am I to do? Thats what I ask you, Mr.
Holmes. Theres Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained as a half, andhe always edges right in on to the scrum instead of keeping [623] out onthe touchline. Hes a fine place-kick, its true, but then he has nojudgment, and he cant sprint for nuts. Why, Morton or Johnson, theOxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but hecouldnt drop from the twenty-five line, and a three-quarter who canteither punt or drop isnt worth a place for pace alone. No, Mr. Holmes,we are done unless you can help me to find Godfrey Staunton.
My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, whichwas poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every pointbeing driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speakersknee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and tookdown letter S of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain intothat mine of varied information.
There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger, said he, andthere was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Stauntonis a new name to me.
It was our visitors turn to look surprised.
Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things, said he. I suppose,then, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton, you dont know CyrilOverton either?
Holmes shook his head good humouredly.
Great Scott! cried the athlete. Why, I was first reserve for Englandagainst Wales, and Ive skippered the Varsity all this year. But thatsnothing! I didnt think there was a soul in England who didnt knowGodfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, andfive Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where have you lived?
Holmes laughed at the young giants naive astonishment.
You live in a different world to me, Mr. OvertonCa sweeter andhealthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections of society,but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is the best andsoundest thing in England. However, your unexpected visit this morningshows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair play, there may bework for me to do. So now, my good sir, I beg you to sit down and to tellme, slowly and quietly, exactly what it is that has occurred, and how youdesire that I should help you.
Young Overtons face assumed the bothered look of the man who ismore accustomed to using his muscles than his wits, but by degrees, withmany repetitions and obscurities which I may omit from his narrative, helaid his strange story before us.
Its this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper of theRugger team of Cambridge Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my bestman. To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up, and wesettled at Bentleys private hotel. At ten oclock I went round and sawthat all the fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training andplenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word or two with Godfreybefore he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I asked himwhat was the matter. He said he was all right Cjust a touch of headache. Ibade him good-night and left him. Half an hour later, the porter tells methat a rough-looking man with a beard called with a note for Godfrey. Hehad not gone to bed, and the note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it,and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed. The porter was soscared that he was going to fetch me, but Godfrey stopped him, had adrink of water, and pulled himself together. Then he went downstairs,said a few words to the man who was waiting in the hall, and the two ofthem went off together. The last that the porter saw of them, they werealmost running down the street in the direction of the [624] Strand. Thismorning Godfreys room was empty, his bed had never been slept in, andhis things were all just as I had seen them the night before. He had goneoff at a moments notice with this stranger, and no word has come fromhim since. I dont believe he will ever come back. He was a sportsman,was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldnt have stopped histraining and let in his skipper if it were not for some cause that was toostrong for him. No: I feel as if he were gone for good, and we shouldnever see him again.
Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singularnarrative.
What did you do? he asked.
I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there.
I have had an answer. No one has seen him.
Could he have got back to Cambridge?
Yes, there is a late trainCquarter-past eleven.
But, so far as you can ascertain, he did not take it?
No, he has not been seen.
What did you do next?
I wired to Lord Mount-James.
Why to Lord Mount-James?
Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James is his nearestrelativeChis uncle, I believe.
Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-James isone of the richest men in England.
So Ive heard Godfrey say.
And your friend was closely related?
Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eightyCcram full ofgout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles. Henever allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolute miser,but it will all come to him right enough.
Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?
No.
What motive could your friend have in going to Lord Mount-James?
Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was todo with money it is possible that he would make for his nearest relative,who had so much of it, though from all I have heard he would not havemuch chance of getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man. Hewould not go if he could help it.
Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going to hisrelative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit of thisrough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that was causedby his coming.
Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. I can make nothing of it, said he.
Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to look into thematter, said Holmes. I should strongly recommend you to make yourpreparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman. Itmust, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore himaway in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him away.
Let us step round together to the hotel, and see if the porter can throw anyfresh light upon the matter.
Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humblewitness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Stauntonsabandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell. Thevisitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he aworkingman. He was simply what the porter [625] described as amedium-looking chap, a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietlydressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The porter had observed hishand trembling when he had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton hadcrammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had not shaken hands with theman in the hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porterhad only distinguished the one word time. Then they had hurried off inthe manner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock.
Let me see, said Holmes, seating himself on Stauntons bed. Youare the day porter, are you not?
Yes, sir, I go off duty at eleven.
The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?
No, sir, one theatre party came in late. No one else.
Were you on duty all day yesterday?
Yes, sir.
Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?
Yes, sir, one telegram.
Ah! thats interesting. What oclock was this?
About six.
Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?
Here in his room.
Were you present when he opened it?
Yes, sir, I waited to see if there was an answer.
Well, was there?
Yes, sir, he wrote an answer.
Did you take it?
No, he took it himself.
But he wrote it in your presence?
Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned tothat table. When he had written it, he said: All right, porter, I will takethis myself.
What did he write it with?
A pen, sir.
Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?
Yes, sir, it was the top one.
Holmes rose. Taking the forms, he carried them over to the windowand carefully examined that which was uppermost.
It is a pity he did not write in pencil, said he, throwing them downagain with a shrug of disappointment. As you have no doubt frequentlyobserved, Watson, the impression usually goes throughCa fact which hasdissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace here. Irejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quill pen,and I can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon thisblotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!
He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us thefollowing hieroglyphic:
[626] Cyril Overton was much excited. Hold it to the glass! he cried.
That is unnecessary, said Holmes. The paper is thin, and the reversewill give the message. Here it is. He turned it over, and we read:
So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Stauntondispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at least sixwords of the message which have escaped us; but what remainsCStandby us for Gods sake! Cproves that this young man saw a formidabledanger which approached him, and from which someone else couldprotect him. Us, mark you! Another person was involved. Who should itbe but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous astate? What, then, is the connection between Godfrey Staunton and thebearded man? And what is the third source from which each of themsought for help against pressing danger? Our inquiry has alreadynarrowed down to that.
We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed, I suggested.
Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, hadalready crossed my mind. But I daresay it may have come to your noticethat, if you walk into a postoffice and demand to see the counterfoil ofanother mans message, there may be some disinclination on the part ofthe officials to oblige you. There is so much red tape in these matters.
However, I have no doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse the endmay be attained. Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, Mr. Overton,to go through these papers which have been left upon the table.
There were a number of letters, bills, and notebooks, which Holmesturned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting,penetrating eyes. Nothing here, he said, at last. By the way, I supposeyour friend was a healthy young fellowCnothing amiss with him?
Sound as a bell.
Have you ever known him ill?
Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped hisknee-cap, but that was nothing.
Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he mayhave had some secret trouble. With your assent, I will put one or two ofthese papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our futureinquiry.
One momentCone moment! cried a querulous voice, and we lookedup to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. Hewas dressed in rusty black, with a very broad-brimmed top-hat and aloose white necktieCthe whole effect being that of a very rustic parson orof an undertakers mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurdappearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quickintensity which commanded attention.
Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentlemanspapers? he asked.
I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain hisdisappearance.
Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?
[627] This gentleman, Mr. Stauntons friend, was referred to me byScotland Yard.
Who are you, sir?
I am Cyril Overton.
Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater bus would bring me. Soyou have instructed a detective?
Yes, sir.
And are you prepared to meet the cost?
I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, willbe prepared to do that.
But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!
In that case, no doubt his familyC C
Nothing of the sort, sir! screamed the little man. Dont look to mefor a pennyCnot a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am all thefamily that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am notresponsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact that I havenever wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do so now. As tothose papers with which you are making so free, I may tell you that incase there should be anything of any value among them, you will be heldstrictly to account for what you do with them.
Very good, sir, said Sherlock Holmes. May I ask, in the meanwhile,whether you have yourself any theory to account for this young mansdisappearance?
No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look afterhimself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself, I entirely refuse toaccept the responsibility of hunting for him.
I quite understand your position, said Holmes, with a mischievoustwinkle in his eyes. Perhaps you dont quite understand mine. GodfreyStaunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been kidnapped, itcould not have been for anything which he himself possesses. The fameof your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James, and it is entirelypossible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order to gainfrom him some information as to your house, your habits, and yourtreasure.
The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his neckcloth.
Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! Whatinhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine ladCastaunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. Illhave the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the meantime spareno pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned to bringhim safely back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver or even a tenner goesyou can always look to me.
Even in his chastened frame of mind, the noble miser could give us noinformation which could help us, for he knew little of the private life ofhis nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with a copyof this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link for his chain. Wehad shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone to consult withthe other members of his team over the misfortune which had befallenthem.
There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. Wehalted outside it.
Its worth trying, Watson, said Holmes. Of course, with a warrantwe could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached thatstage yet. I dont suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. Let usventure it.
[628] I am sorry to trouble you, said he, in his blandest manner, to theyoung woman behind the grating; there is some small mistake about atelegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fear thatI must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me if thiswas so?
The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.
What oclock was it? she asked.
A little after six.
Whom was it to?
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. The last words init were for Gods sake, he whispered, confidentially; I am veryanxious at getting no answer.
The young woman separated one of the forms.
This is it. There is no name, said she, smoothing it out upon thecounter.
Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer, saidHolmes. Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good-morning,miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind. He chuckled andrubbed his hands when we found ourselves in the street once more.
Well? I asked.
We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven differentschemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly hope tosucceed the very first time.
And what have you gained?
A starting-point for our investigation. He hailed a cab. Kings CrossStation, said he.
We have a journey, then?
Yes, I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All theindications seem to me to point in that direction.
Tell me, I asked, as we rattled up Grays Inn Road, have you anysuspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I dont think thatamong all our cases I have known one where the motives are moreobscure. Surely you dont really imagine that he may be kidnapped inorder to give information against his wealthy uncle?
I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a veryprobable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which wasmost likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person.
It certainly did that; but what are your alternatives?
I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious andsuggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this importantmatch, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essentialto the success of the side. It may, of course, be a coincidence, but it isinteresting. Amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of outsidebetting goes on among the public, and it is possible that it might be worthsomeones while to get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at a racehorse.
There is one explanation. A second very obvious one is that thisyoung man really is the heir of a great property, however modest hismeans may at present be, and it is not impossible that a plot to hold himfor ransom might be concocted.
These theories take no account of the telegram.
Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thingwith which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention towander away from it. [629] It is to gain light upon the purpose of thistelegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of ourinvestigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much surprised ifbefore evening we have not cleared it up, or made a considerable advancealong it.
It was already dark when we reached the old university city. Holmestook a cab at the station and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr.
Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later, we had stopped at a large mansionon the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and after a long waitwere at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found the doctorseated behind his table.
It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession thatthe name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware thathe is not only one of the heads of the medical school of the university, buta thinker of European reputation in more than one branch of science. Yeteven without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to beimpressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, thebrooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of theinflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim,ascetic, self-contained, formidableCso I read Dr. Leslie Armstrong. Heheld my friends card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleasedexpression upon his dour features.
I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware ofyour professionCone of which I by no means approve.
In that, Doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with everycriminal in the country, said my friend, quietly.
So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime,sir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of thecommunity, though I cannot doubt that the official machinery is amplysufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is more open to criticism iswhen you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rake upfamily matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentally wastethe time of men who are more busy than yourself. At the present moment,for example, I should be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you.
No doubt, Doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more importantthan the treatise. Incidentally, I may tell you that we are doing the reverseof what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouring to preventanything like public exposure of private matters which must necessarilyfollow when once the case is fairly in the hands of the official police. Youmay look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer, who goes in front of theregular forces of the country. I have come to ask you about Mr. GodfreyStaunton.
What about him?
You know him, do you not?
He is an intimate friend of mine.
You are aware that he has disappeared?
Ah, indeed! There was no change of expression in the ruggedfeatures of the doctor.
He left his hotel last nightChe has not been heard of.
No doubt he will return.
To-morrow is the Varsity football match.
I have no sympathy with these childish games. The young mans fateinterests [630] me deeply, since I know him and like him. The footballmatch does not come within my horizon at all.
I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr. Stauntonsfate. Do you know where he is?
Certainly not.
You have not seen him since yesterday?
No, I have not.
Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?
Absolutely.
Did you ever know him ill?
Never.
Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctors eyes. Thenperhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid byMr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong, of Cambridge.
I picked it out from among the papers upon his desk.
The doctor flushed with anger.
I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render anexplanation to you, Mr. Holmes.
Holmes replaced the bill in his notebook. If you prefer a publicexplanation, it must come sooner or later, said he. I have already toldyou that I can hush up that which others will be bound to publish, and youwould really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence.
I know nothing about it.
Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?
Certainly not.
Dear me, dear meCthe postoffice again! Holmes sighed, wearily. Amost urgent telegram was dispatched to you from London by GodfreyStaunton at six-fifteen yesterday eveningCa telegram which isundoubtedly associated with his disappearanceCand yet you have not hadit. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the office here andregister a complaint.
Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark facewas crimson with fury.
Ill trouble you to walk out of my house, sir, said he. You can tellyour employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything todo either with him or with his agents. No, sirCnot another word! He rangthe bell furiously. John, show these gentlemen out! A pompous butlerushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in the street.
Holmes burst out laughing.
Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character, saidhe. I have not seen a man who, if he turns his talents that way, was morecalculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious Moriarty. And now, mypoor Watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in this inhospitabletown, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case. This little innjust opposite Armstrongs house is singularly adapted to our needs. If youwould engage a front room and purchase the necessaries for the night, Imay have time to make a few inquiries.
These few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceedingthan Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearlynine oclock. He was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhaustedwith hunger and fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table, andwhen his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to take thathalf comic and wholly philosophic [631] view which was natural to himwhen his affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage wheels causedhim to rise and glance out of the window. A brougham and pair of grays,under the glare of a gas-lamp, stood before the doctors door.
Its been out three hours, said Holmes; started at half-past six, andhere it is back again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and hedoes it once, or sometimes twice, a day.
No unusual thing for a doctor in practice.
But Armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. He is a lecturer and aconsultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distracts himfrom his literary work. Why, then, does he make these long journeys,which must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?
His coachmanC C
My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I first applied?
I do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from thepromptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me.
Neither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matterfell through. Relations were strained after that, and further inquiries out ofthe question. All that I have learned I got from a friendly native in theyard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the doctors habits and ofhis daily journey. At that instant, to give point to his words, the carriagecame round to the door.
Could you not follow it?
Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The idea didcross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop nextto our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to getstarted before the carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly overtook it, andthen, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, I followed itslights until we were clear of the town. We had got well out on the countryroad, when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The carriagestopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where I had alsohalted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that he feared theroad was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not impede thepassage of my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable than hisway of putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping to themain road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted in a convenientplace to see if the carriage passed. There was no sign of it, however, andso it became evident that it had turned down one of several side roadswhich I had observed. I rode back, but again saw nothing of the carriage,and now, as you perceive, it has returned after me. Of course, I had at theoutset no particular reason to connect these journeys with thedisappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was only inclined to investigatethem on the general grounds that everything which concerns Dr.
Armstrong is at present of interest to us, but, now that I find he keeps sokeen a look-out upon anyone who may follow him on these excursions,the affair appears more important, and I shall not be satisfied until I havemade the matter clear.
We can follow him to-morrow.
Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. You are not familiarwith Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lend itself toconcealment. All this country that I passed over to-night is as flat andclean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool,as he very clearly showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let us knowany fresh London developments at this address, and in the meantime wecan only concentrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, [632] whose namethe obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon thecounterfoil of Stauntons urgent message. He knows where the youngman isCto that Ill swear, and if he knows, then it must be our own fault ifwe cannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted that theodd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, it is not myhabit to leave the game in that condition.
And yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of themystery. A note was handed in after breakfast, which Holmes passedacross to me with a smile.
SIR [it ran]:
I can assure you that you are wasting your time in dogging mymovements. I have, as you discovered last night, a window at theback of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride whichwill lead you to the spot from which you started, you have only tofollow me. Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spying upon mecan in any way help Mr. Godfrey Staunton, and I am convincedthat the best service you can do to that gentleman is to return atonce to London and to report to your employer that you are unableto trace him. Your time in Cambridge will certainly be wasted.
Yours faithfully,LESLIE ARMSTRONG.
An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor, said Holmes. Well,well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know before I leave him.
His carriage is at his door now, said I. There he is stepping into it. Isaw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try my luckupon the bicycle?
No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen, Ido not think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think thatpossibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of myown. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as theappearance of two inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside mightexcite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sights toamuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a morefavourable report to you before evening.
Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. Hecame back at night weary and unsuccessful.
I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctors generaldirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side ofCambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local newsagencies. I have covered some ground. Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach,and Oakington have each been explored, and have each proveddisappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardlyhave been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scoredonce more. Is there a telegram for me?
Yes, I opened it. Here it is:
Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.
I dont understand it.
Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answerto a question from me. Ill just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon,and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is there anynews of the match?
Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its lastedition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences of thedescription say:
[633] The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirely attributed tothe unfortunate absence of the crack International, GodfreyStaunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. Thelack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weaknessboth in attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of aheavy and hard-working pack.
Then our friend Overtons forebodings have been justified, saidHolmes. Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and footballdoes not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for Iforesee that to-morrow may be an eventful day.
I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he satby the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated thatinstrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared the worstwhen I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expression ofdismay and laid it upon the table.
No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not upon thisoccasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the keywhich will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes. Ihave just returned from a small scouting expedition, and everything isfavourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.
Armstrongs trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest or fooduntil I run him to his burrow.
In that case, said I, we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he ismaking an early start. His carriage is at the door.
Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where Icannot follow him. When you have finished, come downstairs with me,and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist inthe work that lies before us.
When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, where heopened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared, white-andtandog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.
Let me introduce you to Pompey, said he. Pompey is the pride of thelocal draghoundsCno very great flier, as his build will show, but a staunchhound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, but I expect youwill be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London gentlemen, so I willtake the liberty of fastening this leather leash to your collar. Now, boy,come along, and show what you can do. He led him across to thedoctors door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrillwhine of excitement started off down the street, tugging at his leash in hisefforts to go faster. In half an hour, we were clear of the town andhastening down a country road.
What have you done, Holmes? I asked.
A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walkedinto the doctors yard this morning, and shot my syringe full of aniseedover the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to Johno Groats, and our friend, Armstrong, would have to drive through theCam before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal!
This is how he gave me the slip the other night.
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grownlane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the trailturned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we had justquitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town, and continued inthe opposite direction to that in which we started.
[634] This dtour has been entirely for our benefit, then? said Holmes.
No wonder that my inquiries among those villagers led to nothing. Thedoctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one wouldlike to know the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be thevillage of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is thebrougham coming round the corner. Quick, WatsonCquick, or we aredone!
He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompeyafter him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when thecarriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, hisshoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress. Icould tell by my companions graver face that he also had seen.
I fear there is some dark ending to our quest, said he. It cannot belong before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the field!
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.
Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate, where the marksof the broughams wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across tothe lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastenedonward. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked againwithout response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low soundcame to our earsCa kind of drone of misery and despair which wasindescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glancedback at the road which he had just traversed. A brougham was comingdown it, and there could be no mistaking those gray horses.
By Jove, the doctor is coming back! cried Holmes. That settles it.
We are bound to see what it means before he comes.
He opened the door, and we stepped into the hall. The droning soundswelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail ofdistress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up, and I followed him. Hepushed open a half-closed door, and we both stood appalled at the sightbefore us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm,pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid agreat tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, halfkneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose framewas racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief, that henever looked up until Holmess hand was on his shoulder.
Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?
Yes, yes, I amCbut you are too late. She is dead.
The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that wewere anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmeswas endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation and to explain thealarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearancewhen there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.
So, gentlemen, said he, you have attained your end and havecertainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. Iwould not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if Iwere a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass withimpunity.
Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes,
said my friend, with dignity. If you could step downstairs with us, wemay each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserableaffair.
A minute later, the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-roombelow.
[635] Well, sir? said he.
I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employed byLord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirelyagainst that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain hisfate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned, and solong as there is nothing criminal I am much more anxious to hush upprivate scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there is nobreach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon mydiscretion and my cooperation in keeping the facts out of the papers.
Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by thehand.
You are a good fellow, said he. I had misjudged you. I thank heaventhat my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plightcaused me to turn my carriage back and so to make your acquaintance.
Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained. A yearago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time and becamepassionately attached to his landladys daughter, whom he married. Shewas as good as she was beautiful and as intelligent as she was good. Noman need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to thiscrabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of hismarriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the lad well,and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all I could to helphim to keep things straight. We did our very best to keep the thing fromeveryone, for, when once such a whisper gets about, it is not long beforeeveryone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage and his owndiscretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret was known tono one save to me and to one excellent servant, who has at present gonefor assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came a terrible blow in theshape of dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption of the mostvirulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet he had togo to London to play this match, for he could not get out of it withoutexplanations which would expose his secret. I tried to cheer him up bywire, and he sent me one in reply, imploring me to do all I could. Thiswas the telegram which you appear in some inexplicable way to haveseen. I did not tell him how urgent the danger was, for I knew that hecould do no good here, but I sent the truth to the girls father, and he veryinjudiciously communicated it to Godfrey. The result was that he camestraight away in a state bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the samestate, kneeling at the end of her bed, until this morning death put an end toher sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely uponyour discretion and that of your friend.
Holmes grasped the doctors hand.
Come, Watson, said he, and we passed from that house of grief intothe pale sunlight of the winter day.
David Soucek, 1998 The Abbey GrangeThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE ABBEY GRANGEIT WAS on a bitterly cold night and frosty morning, towards the end of thewinter of 97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It wasHolmes. The [636] candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face,and told me at a glance that something was amiss.
Come, Watson, come! he cried. The game is afoot. Not a word! Intoyour clothes and come!
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the silentstreets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winters dawnwas beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional figure ofan early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescentLondon reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and I wasglad to do the same, for the air was most bitter, and neither of us hadbroken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station and takenour places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently thawed, he tospeak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket, and read aloud:
Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,3:30 A.M.
MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in whatpromises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite inyour line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything iskept exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant,as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.
Yours faithfully,STANLEY HOPKINS.
Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion hissummons has been entirely justified, said Holmes. I fancy that everyone of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit,Watson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for muchwhich I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking ateverything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientificexercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and evenclassical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmostfinesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which mayexcite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader.
Why do you not write them yourself? I said, with some bitterness.
I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairlybusy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of atextbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume.
Our present research appears to be a case of murder.
You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?
I should say so. Hopkinss writing shows considerable agitation, andhe is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and thatthe body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not have causedhim to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would appear that shehas been locked in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in highlife, Watson, crackling paper, E. B. monogram, coat-of-arms,picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to hisreputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning. The crime wascommitted before twelve last night.
How can you possibly tell?
By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time. The localpolice [637] had to be called in, they had to communicate with ScotlandYard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All thatmakes a fair nights work. Well, here we are at Chiselhurst Station, andwe shall soon set our doubts at rest.
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us toa park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whosehaggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ranthrough a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low,widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. Thecentral part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the largewindows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and one wingof the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and alert,eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the opendoorway.
Im very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr. Watson.
But, indeed, if I had my time over again, I should not have troubled you,for since the lady has come to herself, she has given so clear an accountof the affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember thatLewisham gang of burglars?
What, the three Randalls?
Exactly; the father and two sons. Its their work. I have not a doubt ofit. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were seen anddescribed. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is they,beyond all doubt. Its a hanging matter this time.
Sir Eustace is dead, then?
Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker.
Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me.
ExactlyCone of the richest men in KentCLady Brackenstall is in themorning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. Sheseemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her andhear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-roomtogether.
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen sograceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She wasa blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubt have had theperfect complexion which goes with such colouring, had not her recentexperience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical aswell as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling,which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously withvinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but herquick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert expression ofher beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage hadbeen shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loosedressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dresslay upon the couch beside her.
I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins, she said, wearily.
Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will tellthese gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room yet?
I thought they had better hear your ladyships story first.
I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to me tothink of him still lying there. She shuddered and buried her face in herhands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from her forearms. Holmesuttered an exclamation.
You have other injuries, madam! What is this? Two vivid red spotsstood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it.
[638] It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business tonight.
If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I can.
I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about ayear. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that ourmarriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbours wouldtell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault may bepartly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less conventional atmosphereof South Australia, and this English life, with its proprieties and itsprimness, is not congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact,which is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was aconfirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant.
Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited womanto be tied to him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy tohold that such a marriage is binding. I say that these monstrous laws ofyours will bring a curse upon the landCGod will not let such wickednessendure. For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyesblazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the strong,soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion,and the wild anger died away into passionate sobbing. At last shecontinued:
I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in thishouse all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This central block ismade up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroomabove. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room. There is no one else,and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This musthave been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted asthey did.
Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already goneto their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in herroom at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until aftereleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see thatall was right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself,for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I wentinto the kitchen, the butlers pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, thedrawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached the window,which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow uponmy face and realized that it was open. I flung the curtain aside and foundmyself face to face with a broad-shouldered elderly man, who had juststepped into the room. The window is a long French one, which reallyforms a door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in myhand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others, who were inthe act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me in an instant.
He caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. I opened my mouthto scream, but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over the eye, andfelled me to the ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes,for when I came to myself, I found that they had torn down the bell-rope,and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at the head ofthe dining-table. I was so firmly bound that I could not move, and ahandkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering a sound. It wasat this instant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. He hadevidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such ascene as he found. He was dressed in nightshirt and trousers, with hisfavourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars, butanotherCit was an elderly manCstooped, picked the poker out of the grateand struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He [639] fell with a groanand never moved again. I fainted once more, but again it could only havebeen for a very few minutes during which I was insensible. When Iopened my eyes I found that they had collected the silver from thesideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each ofthem had a glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that onewas elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They mighthave been a father with his two sons. They talked together in whispers.
Then they came over and made sure that I was securely bound. Finallythey withdrew, closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of anhour before I got my mouth free. When I did so, my screams brought themaid to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sentfor the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That isreally all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not benecessary for me to go over so painful a story again.
Any questions, Mr. Holmes? asked Hopkins.
I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstalls patienceand time, said Holmes. Before I go into the dining-room, I should liketo hear your experience. He looked at the maid.
I saw the men before ever they came into the house, said she. As Isat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down bythe lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was morethan an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to findher, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor, with his blood andbrains over the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tiedthere, and her very dress spotted with him, but she never wanted courage,did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide and Lady Brackenstall of AbbeyGrange hasnt learned new ways. Youve questioned her long enough,you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with her oldTheresa, to get the rest that she badly needs.
With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round hermistress and led her from the room.
She has been with her all her life, said Hopkins. Nursed her as ababy, and came with her to England when they first left Australia,eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maidyou dont pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!
The keen interest had passed out of Holmess expressive face, and Iknew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. Therestill remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplacerogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learnedspecialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles wouldexperience something of the annoyance which I read in my friends eyes.
Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was sufficientlystrange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oakenpanelling, and a fine array of deers heads and ancient weapons aroundthe walls. At the further end from the door was the high French windowof which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand sidefilled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a large,deep fireplace, with a massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece. Beside thefireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and crossbars at the bottom.
In and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, whichwas secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In releasing the [640]
lady, the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it hadbeen secured still remained. These details only struck our attentionafterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible objectwhich lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug in front of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of age. Helay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth grinningthrough his short, black beard. His two clenched hands were raised abovehis head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark,handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictivehatred, which had set his dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. Hehad evidently been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he worea foppish, embroidered nightshirt, and his bare feet projected from histrousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witnessto the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. Besidehim lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmesexamined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought.
He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall, he remarked.
Yes, said Hopkins. I have some record of the fellow, and he is arough customer.
You should have no difficulty in getting him.
Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and there wassome idea that he had got away to America. Now that we know that thegang are here, I dont see how they can escape. We have the news atevery seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. Whatbeats me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that thelady could describe them and that we could not fail to recognize thedescription.
Exactly. One would have expected that they would silence LadyBrackenstall as well.
They may not have realized, I suggested, that she had recoveredfrom her faint.
That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless, they would nottake her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have heardsome queer stories about him.
He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiendwhen he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldomreally went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times,and he was capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of all hiswealth and his title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. Therewas a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it onfireCher ladyships dog, to make the matter worseCand that was onlyhushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at that maid, TheresaWrightCthere was trouble about that. On the whole, and betweenourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. What are you lookingat now?
Holmes was down on his knees, examining with great attention theknots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then hecarefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped offwhen the burglar had dragged it down.
When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must have rungloudly, he remarked.
No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of thehouse.
[641] How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared hepull at a bell-rope in that reckless fashion?
Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question which I haveasked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that this fellow musthave known the house and its habits. He must have perfectly understoodthat the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively early hour, andthat no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore, hemust have been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that isevident. But there are eight servants, and all of good character.
Other things being equal, said Holmes, one would suspect the one atwhose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would involvetreachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. Well,well, the point is a minor one, and when you have Randall you willprobably find no difficulty in securing his accomplice. The ladys storycertainly seems to be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by everydetail which we see before us. He walked to the French window andthrew it open. There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard, andone would not expect them. I see that these candles in the mantelpiecehave been lighted.
Yes, it was by their light, and that of the ladys bedroom candle, thatthe burglars saw their way about.
And what did they take?
Well, they did not take muchConly half a dozen articles of plate off thesideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were themselves sodisturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did not ransack the house,as they would otherwise have done.
No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some wine, I understand.
To steady their nerves.
Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been untouched,I suppose?
Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it.
Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?
The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with wine,and one of them containing some dregs of beeswing. The bottle stoodnear them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply stained cork. Itsappearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no commonvintage which the murderers had enjoyed.
A change had come over Holmess manner. He had lost his listlessexpression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen, deep-seteyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely.
How did they draw it? he asked.
Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table linen anda large corkscrew.
Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?
No, you remember that she was senseless at the moment when thebottle was opened.
Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was not used. This bottle wasopened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a knife, and not morethan an inch and a half long. If you will examine the top of the cork, youwill observe that the screw was driven in three times before the cork wasextracted. It has never been [642] transfixed. This long screw would havetransfixed it and drawn it up with a single pull. When you catch thisfellow, you will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in hispossession.
Excellent! said Hopkins.
But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall actuallysaw the three men drinking, did she not?
Yes; she was clear about that.
Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet, you mustadmit, that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What? Yousee nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps, when a man hasspecial knowledge and special powers like my own, it rather encourageshim to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Ofcourse, it must be a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good-morning,Hopkins. I dont see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear tohave your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is arrested,and any further developments which may occur. I trust that I shall soonhave to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion. Come, Watson, Ifancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home.
During our return journey, I could see by Holmess face that he wasmuch puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and then,by an effort, he would throw off the impression, and talk as if the matterwere clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and hisknitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had goneback once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange, in whichthis midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, justas our train was crawling out of a suburban station, he sprang on to theplatform and pulled me out after him.
Excuse me, my dear fellow, said he, as we watched the rear carriagesof our train disappearing round a curve, I am sorry to make you thevictim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I simplycant leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess criesout against it. Its wrong Cits all wrongCIll swear that its wrong. Andyet the ladys story was complete, the maids corroboration wassufficient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put up against that?
Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things for granted, ifI had examined everything with care which I should have shown had weapproached the case de novo and had no cut-and-dried story to warp mymind, should I not then have found something more definite to go upon?
Of course I should. Sit down on this bench, Watson, until a train forChiselhurst arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you,imploring you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea thatanything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarilybe true. The ladys charming personality must not be permitted to warpour judgment.
Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at in coldblood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a considerablehaul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them and of theirappearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone whowished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part.
As a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business are,as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet withoutembarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual forburglars to operate at so early an hour, it is unusual for burglars to strike alady to prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sureway to make her [643] scream, it is unusual for them to commit murderwhen their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man, it is unusual forthem to be content with a limited plunder when there was much morewithin their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was very unusual forsuch men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals strikeyou, Watson?
Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each of themis quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all, as it seems to me,is that the lady should be tied to the chair.
Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for it is evident that theymust either kill her or else secure her in such a way that she could notgive immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I have shown, haveI not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the ladysstory? And now, on the top of this, comes the incident of the wineglasses.
What about the wineglasses?
Can you see them in your minds eye?
I see them clearly.
We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike you aslikely?
Why not? There was wine in each glass.
Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You must havenoticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?
The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing.
Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that the firsttwo glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with it. There aretwo possible explanations, and only two. One is that after the second glasswas filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the third glass receivedthe beeswing. That does not appear probable. No, no, I am sure that I amright.
What, then, do you suppose?
That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both werepoured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that threepeople had been here. In that way all the beeswing would be in the lastglass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if I have hitupon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in aninstant the case rises from the commonplace to the exceedinglyremarkable, for it can only mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maidhave deliberately lied to us, that not one word of their story is to bebelieved, that they have some very strong reason for covering the realcriminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves without anyhelp from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and here,Watson, is the Sydenham train.
The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return,but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to reportto headquarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door uponthe inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute andlaborious investigations which form the solid basis on which his brilliantedifices of deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interestedstudent who observes the demonstration of his professor, I followed everystep of that remarkable research. The window, the curtains, the carpet, thechair, the rope Ceach in turn was minutely examined and duly pondered.
The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, and all elseremained as we had seen it in the morning. Finally, to my astonishment,Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his headhung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. Fora long time he [644] gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to getnearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall. Thisbrought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the rope, but itwas not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed to engage hisattention. Finally, he sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
Its all right, Watson, said he. We have got our caseCone of the mostremarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have been,and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime! Now, Ithink that, with a few missing links, my chain is almost complete.
You have got your men?
Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person. Strong asa lionCwitness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot three in height,active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally, remarkably quickwitted,for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. Yes, Watson,we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual. Andyet, in that bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left usa doubt.
Where was the clue?
Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would youexpect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire. Whyshould it break three inches from the top, as this one has done?
Because it is frayed there?
Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was cunningenough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not frayed. Youcould not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece youwould see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever.
You can reconstruct what occurred. The man needed the rope. He wouldnot tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What didhe do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put hisknee on the bracketCyou will see the impression in the dustCand so got hisknife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at least threeinchesCfrom which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger manthan I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What is it?
Blood.
Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the ladys story out of court.
If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes thatmark? No, no, she was placed in the chair after the death of her husband.
Ill wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. Wehave not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for itbegins in defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have a fewwords with the nurse, Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if we are toget the information which we want.
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurseCtaciturn,suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmess pleasantmanner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into acorresponding amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her hatred forher late employer.
Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard him call mymistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if herbrother had been there. Then it was that he threw it at me. He might havethrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was forever illtreatingher, and she too proud to complain. She will not even tell me allthat he has done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm thatyou saw this morning, but I know very well [645] that they come from astab with a hatpin. The sly devilCGod forgive me that I should speak ofhim so, now that he is dead! But a devil he was, if ever one walked theearth. He was all honey when first we met himConly eighteen months ago,and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She had only just arrived inLondon. Yes, it was her first voyageCshe had never been from homebefore. He won her with his title and his money and his false Londonways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did.
What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after wearrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married inJanuary of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and Ihave no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of her, forshe has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand.
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighterthan before. The maid had entered with us, and began once more tofoment the bruise upon her mistresss brow.
I hope, said the lady, that you have not come to cross-examine meagain?
No, Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, I will not cause you anyunnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to makethings easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much-tried woman.
If you will treat me as a friend and trust me, you may find that I willjustify your trust.
What do you want me to do?
To tell me the truth.
Mr. Holmes!
No, no, Lady BrackenstallCit is no use. You may have heard of anylittle reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the fact that yourstory is an absolute fabrication.
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces andfrightened eyes.
You are an impudent fellow! cried Theresa. Do you mean to say thatmy mistress has told a lie?
Holmes rose from his chair.
Have you nothing to tell me?
I have told you everything.
Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to befrank?
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then some newstrong thought caused it to set like a mask.
I have told you all I know.
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. I am sorry, he said,and without another word we left the room and the house. There was apond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was frozen over, buta single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan. Holmesgazed at it, and then passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled ashort note for Stanley Hopkins, and left it with the lodge-keeper.
It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do somethingfor friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit, said he. I will notquite take him into my confidence yet. I think our next scene ofoperations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line,which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is asecond line of steamers which connect South Australia with England, butwe will draw the larger cover first.
Holmess card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and hewas [646] not long in acquiring all the information he needed. In June of95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It was the Rock ofGibraltar, their largest and best boat. A reference to the passenger listshowed that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide, with her maid had made the voyagein her. The boat was now somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her wayto Australia. Her officers were the same as in 95, with one exception.
The first officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made a captain and was totake charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two days timefrom Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely to be in thatmorning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him.
No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to knowmore about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet totouch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild,desperate fellow off the deck of his shipChot-headed, excitable, but loyal,honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith of the information with whichHolmes left the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence hedrove to Scotland Yard, but, instead of entering, he sat in his cab with hisbrows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round tothe Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last,we made for Baker Street once more.
No, I couldnt do it, Watson, said he, as we reentered our room.
Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would save him. Onceor twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by mydiscovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I havelearned caution now, and I had rather play tricks with the law of Englandthan with my own conscience. Let us know a little more before we act.
Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins. Thingswere not going very well with him.
I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do sometimesthink that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on earth couldyou know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?
I didnt know it.
But you told me to examine it.
You got it, then?
Yes, I got it.
I am very glad if I have helped you.
But you havent helped me. You have made the affair far moredifficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw itinto the nearest pond?
It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going on theidea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want itCwhomerely took it for a blind, as it wereCthen they would naturally be anxiousto get rid of it.
But why should such an idea cross your mind?
Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through theFrench window, there was the pond with one tempting little hole in theice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better hiding-place?
Ah, a hiding-placeCthat is better! cried Stanley Hopkins. Yes, yes, Isee it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the roads, they wereafraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intendingto return for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr. HolmesCthat isbetter than your idea of a blind.
Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that myown ideas [647] were quite wild, but you must admit that they have endedin discovering the silver.
Yes, sirCyes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad setback.
A setback?
Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York thismorning.
Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory thatthey committed a murder in Kent last night.
It is fatal, Mr. HolmesCabsolutely fatal. Still, there are other gangs ofthree besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which thepolice have never heard.
Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?
Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottomof the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?
I have given you one.
Which?
Well, I suggested a blind.
But why, Mr. Holmes, why?
Ah, thats the question, of course. But I commend the idea to yourmind. You might possibly find that there was something in it. You wontstop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on.
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to thematter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerfulblaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.
I expect developments, Watson.
When?
NowCwithin a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather badlyto Stanley Hopkins just now?
I trust your judgment.
A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way: what Iknow is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the right to privatejudgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a traitor to hisservice. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position,and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon thematter.
But when will that be?
The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of aremarkable little drama.
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit asfine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He was a very tallyoung man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had beenburned by tropical suns, and a springy step, which showed that the hugeframe was as active as it was strong. He closed the door behind him, andthen he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking downsome overmastering emotion.
Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the other ofus with questioning eyes.
I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard that youhad been down to the office. There was no getting away from you. Letshear the worst. What are you going to do with me? Arrest me? Speak out,man! You cant sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse.
[648] Give him a cigar, said Holmes. Bite on that, Captain Crocker,and dont let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit heresmoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you maybe sure of that. Be frank with me and we may do some good. Play trickswith me, and Ill crush you.
What do you wish me to do?
To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey Grangelast nightCa true account, mind you, with nothing added and nothingtaken off. I know so much already that if you go one inch off the straight,Ill blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out ofmy hands forever.
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his greatsunburned hand.
Ill chance it, he cried. I believe you are a man of your word, and awhite man, and Ill tell you the whole story. But one thing I will say first.
So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing and I fear nothing, and I woulddo it all again and be proud of the job. Damn the beast, if he had as manylives as a cat, he would owe them all to me! But its the lady, MaryCMaryFraserCfor never will I call her by that accursed name. When I think ofgetting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to bring one smileto her dear face, its that that turns my soul into water. And yetCandyetCwhat less could I do? Ill tell you my story, gentlemen, and then Illask you, as man to man, what less could I do?
I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect thatyou know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officerof the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first day I met her, she was the onlywoman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many atime since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch andkissed the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. Shewas never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a womantreated a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side,and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted shewas a free woman, but I could never again be a free man.
Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage. Well, whyshouldnt she marry whom she liked? Title and moneyCwho could carrythem better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty. Ididnt grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as that. Ijust rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had notthrown herself away on a penniless sailor. Thats how I loved MaryFraser.
Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was promoted,and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple ofmonths with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane I metTheresa Wright, her old maid. She told me all about her, about him, abouteverything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunkenhound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he wasnot worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herselfCand mether again. Then she would meet me no more. But the other day I had anotice that I was to start on my voyage within a week, and I determinedthat I would see her once before I left. Theresa was always my friend, forshe loved Mary and hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her Ilearned the ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her ownlittle room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at thewindow. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I know thatnow she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night. Shewhispered to me to come [649] round to the big front window, and I foundit open before me, so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heardfrom her own lips things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed thisbrute who mishandled the woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I wasstanding with her just inside the window, in all innocence, as God is myjudge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilestname that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the facewith the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker, and it was afair fight between us. See here, on my arm, where his first blow fell. Thenit was my turn, and I went through him as if he had been a rottenpumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but farmore than that, it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in thepower of this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well,then, what would either of you gentlemen have done, if you had been inmy position?
She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresadown from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard,and I opened it and poured a little between Marys lips, for she was halfdead with shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice,and it was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear thatburglars had done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to hermistress, while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashedher in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural,else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got upthere to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to carryout the idea of the robbery, and there I left them, with orders to give thealarm when I had a quarter of an hours start. I dropped the silver into thepond, and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I haddone a real good nights work. And thats the truth and the whole truth,Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck.
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room,and shook our visitor by the hand.
Thats what I think, said he. I know that every word is true, for youhave hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but an acrobat or asailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one buta sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened tothe chair. Only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors,and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life,since she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she lovedhim. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you whenonce I had started upon the right trail.
I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge.
And the police havent, nor will they, to the best of my belief. Now,look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter, though I amwilling to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation towhich any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in defence of yourown life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. However, that isfor a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for youthat, if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I willpromise you that no one will hinder you.
And then it will all come out?
Certainly it will come out.
The sailor flushed with anger.
What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of law tounderstand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do you think I wouldleave her alone [650] to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir, letthem do their worst upon me, but for heavens sake, Mr. Holmes, findsome way of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts.
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.
I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it is a greatresponsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins anexcellent hint, and if he cant avail himself of it I can do no more. Seehere, Captain Crocker, well do this in due form of law. You are theprisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who wasmore eminently fitted to represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman ofthe jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty ornot guilty?
Not guilty, my lord, said I.
Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker. So long asthe law does not find some other victim you are safe from me. Come backto this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in thejudgment which we have pronounced this night!
David Soucek, 1998 The Second StainThe Return of Sherlock HolmesTHE SECOND STAINI HAD intended The Adventure of the Abbey Grange to be the last ofthose exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should evercommunicate to the public. This resolution of mine was not due to anylack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases to which Ihave never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the partof my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of thisremarkable man. The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmeshas shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long as hewas in actual professional practice the records of his successes were ofsome practical value to him, but since he has definitely retired fromLondon and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on the SussexDowns, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he has peremptorilyrequested that his wishes in this matter should be strictly observed. It wasonly upon my representing to him that I had given a promise that TheAdventure of the Second Stain should be published when the times wereripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this long seriesof episodes should culminate in the most important international casewhich he has ever been called upon to handle, that I at last succeeded inobtaining his consent that a carefully guarded account of the incidentshould at last be laid before the public. If in telling the story I seem to besomewhat vague in certain details, the public will readily understand thatthere is an excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless, thatupon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of Europeanfame within the walls of our humble room in Baker Street. The one,austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none other than theillustrious Lord Bellinger, twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clearcut,and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with everybeauty of body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope,Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising [651] statesman in thecountry. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it waseasy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was business of themost pressing importance which had brought them. The Premiers thin,blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of hisumbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me.
The European Secretary pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgetedwith the seals of his watch-chain.
When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight oclockthis morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It was at hissuggestion that we have both come to you.
Have you informed the police?
No, sir, said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive manner forwhich he was famous. We have not done so, nor is it possible that weshould do so. To inform the police must, in the long run, mean to informthe public. This is what we particularly desire to avoid.
And why, sir?
Because the document in question is of such immense importance thatits publication might very easilyCI might almost say probablyClead toEuropean complications of the utmost moment. It is not too much to saythat peace or war may hang upon the issue. Unless its recovery can beattended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered atall, for all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contentsshould be generally known.
I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged ifyou would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this documentdisappeared.
That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letterCfor itwas a letter from a foreign potentateCwas received six days ago. It was ofsuch importance that I have never left it in my safe, but I have taken itacross each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in mybedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I amcertain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and sawthe document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box hadstood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am a lightsleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no onecould have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat that thepaper is gone.
What time did you dine?
Half-past seven.
How long was it before you went to bed?
My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-pasteleven before we went to our room.
Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?
No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-maid in themorning, and my valet, or my wifes maid, during the rest of the day.
They are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time.
Besides, neither of them could possibly have known that there wasanything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in mydespatch-box.
Who did know of the existence of that letter?
No one in the house.
Surely your wife knew?
No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper thismorning.
The Premier nodded approvingly.
I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty, saidhe. I am [652] convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance itwould rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties.
The European Secretary bowed.
You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have neverbreathed one word to my wife upon this matter.
Could she have guessed?
No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessedCnor could anyone haveguessed.
Have you lost any documents before?
No, sir.
Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this letter?
Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday, but thepledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was increased bythe solemn warning which was given by the Prime Minister. Goodheavens, to think that within a few hours I should myself have lost it!
His handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his handstore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man,impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask wasreplaced, and the gentle voice had returned. Besides the members of theCabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental officials who knowof the letter. No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you.
But abroad?
I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. Iam well convinced that his MinistersCthat the usual official channels havenot been employed.
Holmes considered for some little time.
Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is, andwhy its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premiers shaggyeyebrows gathered in a frown.
Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour.
There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressedin large, bold handwriting toC C
I fear, sir, said Holmes, that, interesting and indeed essential asthese details are, my inquiries must go more to the root of things. Whatwas the letter?
That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that I cannottell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of the powers whichyou are said to possess you can find such an envelope as I describe withits enclosure, you will have deserved well of your country, and earnedany reward which it lies in our power to bestow.
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
You are two of the most busy men in the country, said he, and in myown small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regretexceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation ofthis interview would be a waste of time.
The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of his deepseteyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. I am not accustomed, sir, 
he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his seat. For a minute ormore we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman shrugged his shoulders.
We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right, andit is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give you our entireconfidence.
[653] I agree with you, said the younger statesman.
Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that ofyour colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patriotism also, for Icould not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that this affairshould come out.
You may safely trust us.
The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has beenruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this country. It has beenwritten hurriedly and upon his own responsibility entirely. Inquiries haveshown that his Ministers know nothing of the matter. At the same time itis couched in so unfortunate a manner, and certain phrases in it are of soprovocative a character, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to amost dangerous state of feeling in this country. There would be such aferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week of thepublication of that letter this country would be involved in a great war.
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the Premier.
Exactly. It was he. And it is this letterCthis letter which may wellmean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a hundredthousand menCwhich has become lost in this unaccountable fashion.
Have you informed the sender?
Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched.
Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter.
No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already understandsthat he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. It would be agreater blow to him and to his country than to us if this letter were tocome out.
If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come out? Whyshould anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?
There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high internationalpolitics. But if you consider the European situation you will have nodifficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole of Europe is an armedcamp. There is a double league which makes a fair balance of militarypower. Great Britain holds the scales. If Britain were driven into war withone confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy,whether they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?
Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this potentate tosecure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach between his countryand ours?
Yes, sir.
And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands ofan enemy?
To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably speedingon its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam can take it.
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned aloud.
The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.
It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame you. There isno precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes, you are infull possession of the facts. What course do you recommend?
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will bewar?
I think it is very probable.
Then, sir, prepare for war.
That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes.
Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken after eleventhirty[654] at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and his wife wereboth in the room from that hour until the loss was found out. It was taken,then, yesterday evening between seven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probablynear the earlier hour, since whoever took it evidently knew that it wasthere and would naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if adocument of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it benow? No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on tothose who need it. What chance have we now to overtake or even to traceit? It is beyond our reach.
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that the matter isindeed out of our hands.
Let us presume, for arguments sake, that the document was taken bythe maid or by the valetC C
They are both old and tried servants.
I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, thatthere is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could goup unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the house who has taken it.
To whom would the thief take it? To one of several international spiesand secret agents, whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There arethree who may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin myresearch by going round and finding if each of them is at his post. If oneis missingCespecially if he has disappeared since last nightCwe will havesome indication as to where the document has gone.
Why should he be missing? asked the European Secretary. Hewould take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as not.
I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their relations withthe Embassies are often strained.
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuable a prizeto headquarters with his own hands. I think that your course of action isan excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannot neglect all our other dutieson account of this one misfortune. Should there be any freshdevelopments during the day we shall communicate with you, and youwill no doubt let us know the results of your own inquiries.
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe in silenceand sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had opened themorning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which hadoccurred in London the night before, when my friend gave anexclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon themantelpiece.
Yes, said he, there is no better way of approaching it. The situationis desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure which ofthem has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of hishands. After all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and I havethe British treasury behind me. If its on the market Ill buy itCif it meansanother penny on the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow mighthold it back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luckon the other. There are only those three capable of playing so bold agameCthere are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo Lucas. I will seeeach of them.
I glanced at my morning paper.
[655] Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?
Yes.
You will not see him.
Why not?
He was murdered in his house last night.
My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventuresthat it was with a sense of exultation that I realized how completely I hadastonished him. He stared in amazement, and then snatched the paperfrom my hands. This was the paragraph which I had been engaged inreading when he rose from his chair.
MURDER IN WESTMINSTERA crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows ofeighteenth century houses which lie between the river and theAbbey, almost in the shadow of the great Tower of the Houses ofParliament. This small but select mansion has been inhabited forsome years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circlesboth on account of his charming personality and because he hasthe well-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateurtenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-fouryears of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, anelderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former retiresearly and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for theevening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten oclockonward Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred duringthat time has not yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve PoliceconstableBarrett, passing along Godolphin Street, observed thatthe door of No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer.
Perceiving a light in the front room, he advanced into the passageand again knocked, but without reply. He then pushed open thedoor and entered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, thefurniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on itsback in the centre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of itslegs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbedto the heart and must have died instantly. The knife with which thecrime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, pluckeddown from a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of thewalls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive of thecrime, for there had been no attempt to remove the valuablecontents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so well known andpopular that his violent and mysterious fate will arouse painfulinterest and intense sympathy in a widespread circle of friends.
Well, Watson, what do you make of this? asked Holmes, after a longpause.
It is an amazing coincidence.
A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had named aspossible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during the veryhours when we know that that drama was being enacted. The odds areenormous against its being coincidence. No figures could express them.
No, my dear Watson, the two events are connectedCmust be connected. Itis for us to find the connection.
But now the official police must know all.
Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. TheyknowCand shall [656] knowCnothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we knowof both events, and can trace the relation between them. There is oneobvious point which would, in any case, have turned my suspicionsagainst Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westminster, is only a few minutes
walk from Whitehall Terrace. The other secret agents whom I havenamed live in the extreme West End. It was easier, therefore, for Lucasthan for the others to establish a connection or receive a message from theEuropean Secretarys householdCa small thing, and yet where events arecompressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what have wehere?
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a ladys card upon her salver. Holmesglanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me.
Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough to stepup, said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished thatmorning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely womanin London. I had often heard of the beauty of the youngest daughter of theDuke of Belminster, but no description of it, and no contemplation ofcolourless photographs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charmand the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet as we saw itthat autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the first thingto impress the observer. The cheek was lovely but it was paled withemotion, the eyes were bright, but it was the brightness of fever, thesensitive mouth was tight and drawn in an effort after self-command.
TerrorCnot beautyCwas what sprang first to the eye as our fair visitorstood framed for an instant in the open door.
Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?
Yes, madam, he has been here.
Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came here. Holmesbowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.
Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg that you willsit down and tell me what you desire, but I fear that I cannot make anyunconditional promise.
She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to thewindow. It was a queenly presenceCtall, graceful, and intensely womanly.
Mr. Holmes, she saidCand her white-gloved hands clasped andunclasped as she spokeCI will speak frankly to you in the hopes that itmay induce you to speak frankly in return. There is complete confidencebetween my husband and me on all matters save one. That one is politics.
On this his lips are sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware thatthere was a most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I knowthat a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is political myhusband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. Now it isessentialCessential, I sayCthat I should thoroughly understand it. You arethe only other person, save only these politicians, who knows the truefacts. I beg you then, Mr. Holmes, to tell me exactly what has happenedand what it will lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for yourclients interests keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if hewould only see it, would be best served by taking me into his completeconfidence. What was this paper which was stolen?
Madam, what you ask me is really impossible.
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks fit to keepyou in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has only learned the truefacts under [657] the pledge of professional secrecy, to tell what he haswithheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is him whom you must ask.
I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But without yourtelling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service ifyou would enlighten me on one point.
What is it, madam?
Is my husbands political career likely to suffer through this incident?
Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a veryunfortunate effect.
Ah! She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts are resolved.
One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which myhusband dropped in the first shock of this disaster I understood thatterrible public consequences might arise from the loss of this document.
If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it.
Of what nature are they?
Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can possiblyanswer.
Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame you, Mr.
Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your sidewill not, I am sure, think the worse of me because I desire, even againsthis will, to share my husbands anxieties. Once more I beg that you willsay nothing of my visit.
She looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impression of thatbeautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth. Then shewas gone.
Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department, said Holmes, with asmile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam of thefront door. What was the fair ladys game? What did she really want?
Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very natural.
Hum! Think of her appearance, WatsonCher manner, her suppressedexcitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions. Rememberthat she comes of a caste who do not lightly show emotion.
She was certainly much moved.
Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us thatit was best for her husband that she should know all. What did she meanby that? And you must have observed, Watson, how she manoeuvred tohave the light at her back. She did not wish us to read her expression.
Yes, she chose the one chair in the room.
And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You remember thewoman at Margate whom I suspected for the same reason. No powder onher noseCthat proved to be the correct solution. How can you build onsuch a quicksand? Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or theirmost extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs.
Good-morning, Watson.
You are off?
Yes, I will while away the morning at Godolphin Street with ourfriends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies the solutionof our problem, though I must admit that I have not an inkling as to whatform it may take. It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the facts.
Do you stay on guard, my good Watson, and receive any fresh visitors.
Ill join you at lunch if I am able.
All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood which hisfriends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran in,smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into reveries,devoured sandwiches at irregular [658] hours, and hardly answered thecasual questions which I put to him. It was evident to me that things werenot going well with him or his quest. He would say nothing of the case,and it was from the papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest, andthe arrest with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of thedeceased. The coroners jury brought in the obvious Wilful Murder, butthe parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive was suggested. Theroom was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. The deadmans papers had not been tampered with. They were carefully examined,and showed that he was a keen student of international politics, anindefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter writer.
He had been on intimate terms with the leading politicians of severalcountries. But nothing sensational was discovered among the documentswhich filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they appeared tohave been promiscuous but superficial. He had many acquaintancesamong them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved. His habits wereregular, his conduct inoffensive. His death was an absolute mystery andlikely to remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a council of despair asan alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could be sustained againsthim. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that night. The alibi wascomplete. It is true that he started home at an hour which should havebrought him to Westminster before the time when the crime wasdiscovered, but his own explanation that he had walked part of the wayseemed probable enough in view of the fineness of the night. He hadactually arrived at twelve oclock, and appeared to be overwhelmed bythe unexpected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with hismaster. Several of the dead mans possessionsCnotably a small case ofrazorsChad been found in the valets boxes, but he explained that they hadbeen presents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able tocorroborate the story. Mitton had been in Lucass employment for threeyears. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continentwith him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mittonwas left in charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a visitorhe had himself admitted him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could follow itin the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept his own counsel, but, as hetold me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him into his confidence in thecase, I knew that he was in close touch with every development. Upon thefourth day there appeared a long telegram from Paris which seemed tosolve the whole question.
A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police [said the DailyTelegraph] which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of Mr.
Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violence last Monday night atGodolphin Street, Westminster. Our readers will remember that thedeceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that somesuspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down on an alibi.
Yesterday a lady, who has been known as Mme. Henri Fournaye,occupying a small villa in the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to theauthorities by her servants as being insane. An examination showed shehad indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent form. Oninquiry, the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye onlyreturned from a journey to London on Tuesday last, and there is evidenceto connect her with the crime at Westminster. [659] A comparison ofphotographs has proved conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye andEduardo Lucas were really one and the same person, and that thedeceased had for some reason lived a double life in London and Paris.
Mme. Fournaye, who is of Creole origin, is of an extremely excitablenature, and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which haveamounted to frenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of these that shecommitted the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation inLondon. Her movements upon the Monday night have not yet beentraced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering to her descriptionattracted much attention at Charing Cross Station on Tuesday morning bythe wildness of her appearance and the violence of her gestures. It isprobable, therefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, orthat its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of hermind. At present she is unable to give any coherent account of the past,and the doctors hold out no hopes of the reestablishment of her reason.
There is evidence that a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye,was seen for some hours upon Monday night watching the house inGodolphin Street.
What do you think of that, Holmes? I had read the account aloud tohim, while he finished his breakfast.
My dear Watson, said he, as he rose from the table and paced up anddown the room, you are most long-suffering, but if I have told younothing in the last three days, it is because there is nothing to tell. Evennow this report from Paris does not help us much.
Surely it is final as regards the mans death.
The mans death is a mere incidentCa trivial episodeCin comparisonwith our real task, which is to trace this document and save a Europeancatastrophe. Only one important thing has happened in the last three days,and that is that nothing has happened. I get reports almost hourly from thegovernment, and it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign oftrouble. Now, if this letter were looseCno, it cant be looseCbut if it isntloose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back? Thats thequestion that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it, indeed, acoincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night when the letterdisappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why is it not among hispapers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? If so, is it in herhouse in Paris? How could I search for it without the French policehaving their suspicions aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where thelaw is as dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every mans hand is againstus, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to asuccessful conclusion, it will certainly represent the crowning glory of mycareer. Ah, here is my latest from the front! He glanced hurriedly at thenote which had been handed in. Halloa! Lestrade seems to haveobserved something of interest. Put on your hat, Watson, and we willstroll down together to Westminster.
It was my first visit to the scene of the crimeCa high, dingy, narrowchestedhouse, prim, formal, and solid, like the century which gave itbirth. Lestrades bulldog features gazed out at us from the front window,and he greeted us warmly when a big constable had opened the door andlet us in. The room into which we were shown was that in which thecrime had been committed, but no trace of it now remained save an ugly,irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a [660] small squaredrugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse ofbeautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks, highly polished.
Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of whichhad been used on that tragic night. In the window was a sumptuouswriting-desk, and every detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, andthe hangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the verge ofeffeminacy.
Seen the Paris news? asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. No doubtits just as they say. She knocked at the doorCsurprise visit, I guess, for hekept his life in water-tight compartmentsChe let her in, couldnt keep herin the street. She told him how she had traced him, reproached him. Onething led to another, and then with that dagger so handy the end sooncame. It wasnt all done in an instant, though, for these chairs were allswept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to holdher off with it. Weve got it all clear as if we had seen it.
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
And yet you have sent for me?
Ah, yes, thats another matterCa mere trifle, but the sort of thing youtake an interest inCqueer, you know, and what you might call freakish. Ithas nothing to do with the main factCcant have, on the face of it.
What is it, then?
Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to keepthings in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officer in charge hereday and night. This morning, as the man was buried and the investigationoverCso far as this room is concernedCwe thought we could tidy up a bit.
This carpet. You see, it is not fastened down, only just laid there. We hadoccasion to raise it. We foundC C
Yes? You foundC C
Holmess face grew tense with anxiety.
Well, Im sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we didfind. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal must havesoaked through, must it not?
Undoubtedly it must.
Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on the whitewoodwork to correspond.
No stain! But there mustC C
Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there isnt.
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, heshowed that it was indeed as he said.
But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have left a mark.
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert.
Now, Ill show you the explanation. There is a second stain, but itdoes not correspond with the other. See for yourself. As he spoke heturned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure enough, was agreat crimson spill upon the square white facing of the old-fashionedfloor. What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?
Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, but thecarpet has been turned round. As it was square and unfastened it waseasily done.
The official police dont need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that thecarpet must have been turned round. Thats clear enough, for the stains lieabove each [661] otherCif you lay it over this way. But what I want toknow is, who shifted the carpet, and why?
I could see from Holmess rigid face that he was vibrating with inwardexcitement.
Look here, Lestrade, said he, has that constable in the passage beenin charge of the place all the time?
Yes, he has.
Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Dont do it before us.
Well wait here. You take him into the back room. Youll be more likelyto get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how he dared to admitpeople and leave them alone in this room. Dont ask him if he has done it.
Take it for granted. Tell him you know someone has been here. Presshim. Tell him that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Doexactly what I tell you!
By George, if he knows Ill have it out of him! cried Lestrade. Hedarted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice soundedfrom the back room.
Now, Watson, now! cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness. All thedemoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless manner burst outin a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget from the floor, and in aninstant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the squaresof wood beneath it. One turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edgeof it. It hinged back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity openedbeneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it and drew it out with abitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty.
Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again! The wooden lid wasreplaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight whenLestrades voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaninglanguidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient, endeavouring toconceal his irrepressible yawns.
Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you are bored todeath with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, all right. Come inhere, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of your most inexcusableconduct.
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.
I meant no harm, sir, Im sure. The young woman came to the doorlast eveningCmistook the house, she did. And then we got talking. Itslonesome, when youre on duty here all day.
Well, what happened then?
She wanted to see where the crime was doneChad read about it in thepapers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman,sir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep. When she saw that markon the carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead.
I ran to the back and got some water, but I could not bring her to. Then Iwent round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy, and by the time Ihad brought it back the young woman had recovered and wasoffCashamed of herself, I daresay, and dared not face me.
How about moving that drugget?
Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back. You see,she fell on it and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep it inplace. I straightened it out afterwards.
Its a lesson to you that you cant deceive me, ConstableMacPherson, said Lestrade, with dignity. No doubt you thought thatyour breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a mere glance atthat drugget was enough to convince me [662] that someone had beenadmitted to the room. Its lucky for you, my man, that nothing is missing,or you would find yourself in Queer Street. Im sorry to have called youdown over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point ofthe second stain not corresponding with the first would interest you.
Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been hereonce, constable?
Yes, sir, only once.
Who was she?
Dont know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement abouttypewriting and came to the wrong numberCvery pleasant, genteel youngwoman, sir.
Tall? Handsome?
Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you mightsay she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was very handsome.
Oh, officer, do let me have a peep! says she. She had pretty, coaxingways, as you might say, and I thought there was no harm in letting herjust put her head through the door.
How was she dressed?
Quiet, sirCa long mantle down to her feet.
What time was it?
It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the lamps as Icame back with the brandy.
Very good, said Holmes. Come, Watson, I think that we have moreimportant work elsewhere.
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, while therepentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on thestep and held up something in his hand. The constable stared intently.
Good Lord, sir! he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmes put hisfinger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast pocket, and burst outlaughing as we turned down the street. Excellent! said he. Come,friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. You will be relieved tohear that there will be no war, that the Right Honourable Trelawney Hopewill suffer no setback in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet Sovereignwill receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime Ministerwill have no European complication to deal with, and that with a little tactand management upon our part nobody will be a penny the worse forwhat might have been a very ugly incident.
My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man.
You have solved it! I cried.
Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as dark as ever.
But we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot get therest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace and bring the matter to ahead.
When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it was forLady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We wereshown into the morning-room.
Mr. Holmes! said the lady, and her face was pink with herindignation. This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your part. Idesired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you a secret, lest myhusband should think that I was intruding into his affairs. And yet youcompromise me by coming here and so showing that there are businessrelations between us.
Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have beencommissioned [663] to recover this immensely important paper. I musttherefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands.
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an instantfrom her beautiful face. Her eyes glazedCshe totteredCI thought that shewould faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied from the shock, and asupreme astonishment and indignation chased every other expressionfrom her features.
YouCyou insult me, Mr. Holmes.
Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter.
She darted to the bell.
The butler shall show you out.
Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest efforts to avoida scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter and all will be set right. Ifyou will work with me I can arrange everything. If you work against me Imust expose you.
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed upon his asif she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but she hadforborne to ring it.
You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing, Mr.
Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that you knowsomething. What is it that you know?
Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall. I willnot speak until you sit down. Thank you.
I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes.
One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo Lucas, ofyour giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room lastnight, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the hidingplaceunder the carpet.
She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before she couldspeak.
You are mad, Mr. HolmesCyou are mad! she cried, at last.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was the face ofa woman cut out of a portrait.
I have carried this because I thought it might be useful, said he. Thepoliceman has recognized it.
She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair.
Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still beadjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty ends when Ihave returned the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice and befrank with me. It is your only chance.
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not own defeat.
I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurd illusion.
Holmes rose from his chair.
I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you. I can seethat it is all in vain.
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?
He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one.
Holmes glanced at his watch.
Still a quarter of an hour, said he. Very good, I shall wait.
The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda wasdown on her knees at Holmess feet, her hands outstretched, her beautifulface upturned and wet with her tears.
Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me! she pleaded, in a frenzy of[664] supplication. For heavens sake, dont tell him! I love him so! Iwould not bring one shadow on his life, and this I know would break hisnoble heart.
Holmes raised the lady. I am thankful, madam, that you have come toyour senses even at this last moment! There is not an instant to lose.
Where is the letter?
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out a longblue envelope.
Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I had never seen it!
How can we return it? Holmes muttered. Quick, quick, we mustthink of some way! Where is the despatch-box?
Still in his bedroom.
What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!
A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand.
How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of courseyou have. Open it!
From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The boxflew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelopedeep down into the heart of them, between the leaves of some otherdocument. The box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom.
Now we are ready for him, said Holmes. We have still ten minutes.
I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend thetime in telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary affair.
Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything, cried the lady. Oh, Mr.
Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a moment ofsorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves her husband as I do,and yet if he knew how I have actedChow I have been compelled toactChe would never forgive me. For his own honour stands so high that hecould not forget or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! Myhappiness, his happiness, our very lives are at stake!
Quick, madam, the time grows short!
It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter written beforemy marriageCa foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving girl. I meantno harm, and yet he would have thought it criminal. Had he read thatletter his confidence would have been forever destroyed. It is years since Iwrote it. I had thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last Iheard from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that hewould lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He said that hewould return my letter if I would bring him a certain document which hedescribed in my husbands despatch-box. He had some spy in the officewho had told him of its existence. He assured me that no harm couldcome to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Holmes! What wasI to do?
Take your husband into your confidence.
I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side seemed certainruin, on the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husbands paper, still ina matter of politics I could not understand the consequences, while in amatter of love and trust they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr.
Holmes! I took an impression of his key. This man, Lucas, furnished aduplicate. I opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it toGodolphin Street.
What happened there, madam?
[665] I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed himinto his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I feared to bealone with the man. I remember that there was a woman outside as Ientered. Our business was soon done. He had my letter on his desk, Ihanded him the document. He gave me the letter. At this instant there wasa sound at the door. There were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turnedback the drugget, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, andcovered it over.
What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a vision ofa dark, frantic face, of a womans voice, which screamed in French, Mywaiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have found you with her! Therewas a savage struggle. I saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamedin hers. I rushed from the horrible scene, ran from the house, and onlynext morning in the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I washappy, for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future wouldbring.
It was the next morning that I realized that I had only exchanged onetrouble for another. My husbands anguish at the loss of his paper went tomy heart. I could hardly prevent myself from there and then kneelingdown at his feet and telling him what I had done. But that again wouldmean a confession of the past. I came to you that morning in order tounderstand the full enormity of my offence. From the instant that Igrasped it my whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting backmy husbands paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it wasconcealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it had not beenfor her coming, I should not have known where his hiding-place was.
How was I to get into the room? For two days I watched the place, but thedoor was never left open. Last night I made a last attempt. What I did andhow I succeeded, you have already learned. I brought the paper back withme, and thought of destroying it, since I could see no way of returning itwithout confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step uponthe stair!
The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room.
Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news? he cried.
I have some hopes.
Ah, thank heaven! His face became radiant. The Prime Minister islunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves of steel, andyet I know that he has hardly slept since this terrible event. Jacobs, willyou ask the Prime Minister to come up? As to you, dear, I fear that this isa matter of politics. We will join you in a few minutes in the diningroom.
The Prime Ministers manner was subdued, but I could see by thegleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that he shared theexcitement of his young colleague.
I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?
Purely negative as yet, my friend answered. I have inquired at everypoint where it might be, and I am sure that there is no danger to beapprehended.
But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever on such avolcano. We must have something definite.
I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more I think ofthe matter the more convinced I am that the letter has never left thishouse.
Mr. Holmes!
If it had it would certainly have been public by now.
But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his house?
[666] I am not convinced that anyone did take it.
Then how could it leave the despatch-box?
I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box.
Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my assurance thatit left the box.
Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?
No. It was not necessary.
You may conceivably have overlooked it.
Impossible, I say.
But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to happen. Ipresume there are other papers there. Well, it may have got mixed withthem.
It was on the top.
Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it.
No, no, I had everything out.
Surely it is easily decided, Hope, said the Premier. Let us have thedespatch-box brought in.
The Secretary rang the bell.
Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical waste of time,but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done. Thank you,Jacobs, put it here. I have always had the key on my watch-chain. Hereare the papers, you see. Letter from Lord Merrow, report from Sir CharlesHardy, memorandum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German graintaxes, letter from Madrid, note from Lord FlowersC C Good heavens!
what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.
Yes, it is itCand the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate you.
Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But this isinconceivableCimpossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer!
How did you know it was there?
Because I knew it was nowhere else.
I cannot believe my eyes! He ran wildly to the door. Where is mywife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda! we heard his voice onthe stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.
Come, sir, said he. There is more in this than meets the eye. Howcame the letter back in the box?
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderfuleyes.
We also have our diplomatic secrets, said he and, picking up his hat,he turned to the door.
David Soucek, 1998 The Hound of the BaskervillesThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLESFirst edition, 1902Chapter 1. Mr. Sherlock HolmesChapter 2. The Curse of the BaskervillesChapter 3. The ProblemChapter 4. Sir Henry BaskervilleChapter 5. Three Broken ThreadsChapter 6. Baskerville HallChapter 7. The Stapletons of the Merripit HouseChapter 8. First Report of Dr. WatsonChapter 9. Second Report of Dr. WatsonChapter 10. Extract from the Diary of Dr. WatsonChapter 11. The Man on the TorChapter 12. Death on the MoorChapter 13. Fixing the NetsChapter 14. The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 15. A RetrospectionThe story was first published monthly in the Strand Magazine, Aug. 1901 - Apr. 1902,with 60 illustrations by Sidney Paget. The first book edition was published on 25 Mar.
1902 by G. Newnes Ltd. in an edition of 25,000 copies. The first American edition byMcClure, Phillips & Co. on 15 Apr. 1902 in an edition of 50,000 copies.
DEDICATIONMY DEAR ROBINSON: It was your account of a west country legendwhich first suggested the idea of this little tale to my mind. For this, andfor the help which you gave me in its evolution, all thanks.
Yours most truly,A. CONAN DOYLE.
David Soucek, 1998The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 1MR. SHERLOCK HOLMESMR. SHERLOCK HOLMES, who was usually very late in the mornings,save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, wasseated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked upthe stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was afine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as aPenang lawyer. Just under the head was a broad silver band, nearly aninch across. To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.
H., was engraved upon it, with the date 1884. It was just such a stickas the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carryCdignified, solid, andreassuring.
Well, Watson, what do you make of it?
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign ofmy occupation.
How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in theback of your head.
I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front ofme, said he. But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitorsstick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have nonotion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Letme hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it.
I think, said I, following as far as I could the methods of mycompanion, that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical man, wellesteemed,since those who know him give him this mark of theirappreciation.
Good! said Holmes. Excellent!
I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a countrypractitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot.
Why so?
Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one, has beenso knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it.
The thick iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done agreat amount of walking with it.
Perfectly sound! said Holmes.
And then again, there is the friends of the C.C.H. I should guess thatto be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose members he haspossibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a smallpresentation in return.
Really, Watson, you excel yourself, said Holmes, pushing back hischair and lighting a cigarette. I am bound to say that in all the accountswhich you have been so good as to give of my own small achievementsyou have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may be that you arenot yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some peoplewithout possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. Iconfess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt.
[670] He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his wordsgave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his indifference tomy admiration and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity tohis methods. I was proud, too, to think that I had so far mastered hissystem as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. He now took thestick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his nakedeyes. Then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and,carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a convexlens.
Interesting, though elementary, said he as he returned to his favouritecorner of the settee. There are certainly one or two indications upon thestick. It gives us the basis for several deductions.
Has anything escaped me? I asked with some self-importance. Itrust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?
I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions wereerroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank, thatin noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth. Notthat you are entirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly acountry practitioner. And he walks a good deal.
Then I was right.
To that extent.
But that was all.
No, no, my dear Watson, not allCby no means all. I would suggest, forexample, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from ahospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials C.C. are placedbefore that hospital the words Charing Cross very naturally suggestthemselves.
You may be right.
The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a workinghypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction ofthis unknown visitor.
Well, then, supposing that C.C.H. does stand for Charing CrossHospital, what further inferences may we draw?
Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!
I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practisedin town before going to the country.
I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look at it in thislight. On what occasion would it be most probable that such apresentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him apledge of their good will? Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimerwithdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start in practice forhimself. We know there has been a presentation. We believe there hasbeen a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then,stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on theoccasion of the change?
It certainly seems probable.
Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of thehospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice couldhold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country.
What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff hecould only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physicianClittle morethan a senior student. And he left five years agoCthe date is on the stick.
So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into [671] thinair, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty,amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favouritedog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier andsmaller than a mastiff.
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his setteeand blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.
As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you, said I, but atleast it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the mans ageand professional career. From my small medical shelf I took down theMedical Directory and turned up the name. There were severalMortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud.
Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon.
House surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital.
Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology, withessay entitled Is Disease a Reversion? Corresponding member ofthe Swedish Pathological Society. Author of Some Freaks ofAtavism (Lancet, 1882). Do We Progress? (Journal ofPsychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes ofGrimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow.
No mention of that local hunt, Watson, said Holmes with amischievous smile, but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. Ithink that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, Isaid, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It ismy experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receivestestimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career forthe country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and nothis visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room.
And the dog?
Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being aheavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of histeeth are very plainly visible. The dogs jaw, as shown in the spacebetween these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and notbroad enough for a mastiff. It may have beenCyes, by Jove, it is a curlyhairedspaniel.
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in therecess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voicethat I glanced up in surprise.
My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?
For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very doorstep,and there is the ring of its owner. Dont move, I beg you, Watson.
He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be ofassistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when youhear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you knownot whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man ofscience, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!
The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I hadexpected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, witha long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, setclosely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmedglasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for hisfrock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his longback was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his headand a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered [672] his eyes fellupon the stick in Holmess hand, and he ran towards it with anexclamation of joy. I am so very glad, said he. I was not sure whether Ihad left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick forthe world.
A presentation, I see, said Holmes.
Yes, sir.
From Charing Cross Hospital?
From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage.
Dear, dear, thats bad! said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.
Why was it bad?
Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage,you say?
Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of aconsulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own.
Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all, said Holmes. Andnow, Dr. James MortimerC C
Mister, sir, MisterCa humble M.R.C.S.
And a man of precise mind, evidently.
A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shoresof the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmeswhom I am addressing and notC C
No, this is my friend Dr. Watson.
Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned inconnection with that of your friend. You interest me very much, Mr.
Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such wellmarkedsupra-orbital development. Would you have any objection to myrunning my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of your skull, sir,until the original is available, would be an ornament to anyanthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but Iconfess that I covet your skull.
Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. You are anenthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am in mine, saidhe. I observe from your forefinger that you make your own cigarettes.
Have no hesitation in lighting one.
The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in theother with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers as agileand restless as the antennae of an insect.
Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the interestwhich he took in our curious companion.
I presume, sir, said he at last, that it was not merely for the purposeof examining my skull that you have done me the honour to call here lastnight and again to-day?
No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity of doingthat as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized that I ammyself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with amost serious and extraordinary problem. Recognizing, as I do, that youare the second highest expert in EuropeC C
Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first? askedHolmes with some asperity.
To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of MonsieurBertillon must always appeal strongly.
[673] Then had you not better consult him?
I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a practical man ofaffairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust, sir, that I have notinadvertentlyC C
Just a little, said Holmes. I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would dowisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly what theexact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 2The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 2THE CURSE OF THE BASKERVILLESI HAVE in my pocket a manuscript, said Dr. James Mortimer.
I observed it as you entered the room, said Holmes.
It is an old manuscript.
Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery.
How can you say that, sir?
You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the timethat you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not givethe date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have readmy little monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730.
The exact date is 1742. Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket.
This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville,whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so muchexcitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as wellas his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd,practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this documentvery seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as dideventually overtake him.
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it uponhis knee.
You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and theshort. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date.
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. Atthe head was written: Baskerville Hall, and below, in large, scrawlingfigures: 1742.
It appears to be a statement of some sort.
Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskervillefamily.
But I understand that it is something more modern and practical uponwhich you wish to consult me?
Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must bedecided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and isintimately connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it toyou.
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, andclosed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned themanuscript to the light and read in a high, crackling voice the followingcurious, old-world narrative:
Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have beenmany statements, yet as I come in a direct line from HugoBaskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had itfrom his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even asis here set forth. And I would have [674] you believe, my sons, thatthe same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciouslyforgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer andrepentance it may be removed. Learn then from this story not tofear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future,that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered sogrievously may not again be loosed to our undoing.
Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the historyof which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commendto your attention) this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo ofthat name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane,and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might havepardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour whichmade his name a byword through the West. It chanced that thisHugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be knownunder so bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held landsnear the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being discreetand of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she feared his evilname. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with fiveor six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon thefarm and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers beingfrom home, as he well knew. When they had brought her to theHall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber, while Hugo andhis friends sat down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom.
Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at thesinging and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her frombelow, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville,when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who saidthem. At last in the stress of her fear she did that which might havedaunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of thegrowth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall shecame down from under the eaves, and so homeward across themoor, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her fathersfarm.
It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests tocarry food and drinkCwith other worse things, perchanceCto hiscaptive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then,as it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushingdown the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud beforeall the company that he would that very night render his body andsoul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. Andwhile the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man, one morewicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out thatthey should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran from thehouse, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare andunkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of the maids,he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight overthe moor.
Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable tounderstand all that had been done in such haste. But anon theirbemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to bedone upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar, somecalling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some foranother flask of wine. But at length some sense came back to theircrazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen [675] in number,took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear abovethem, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which themaid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home.
They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the nightshepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if hehad seen the hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazedwith fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he hadindeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track.
But I have seen more than that, said he, for Hugo Baskervillepassed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind himsuch a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels. Sothe drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward. Butsoon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across themoor, and the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past withtrailing bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode closetogether, for a great fear was on them, but they still followed overthe moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been rightglad to have turned his horses head. Riding slowly in this fashionthey came at last upon the hounds. These, though known for theirvalour and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head ofa deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinkingaway and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazingdown the narrow valley before them.
The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you mayguess, than when they started. The most of them would by nomeans advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be themost drunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into abroad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to beseen there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the daysof old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and therein the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead offear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yetwas it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, whichraised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers,but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat,there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound,yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon.
And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of HugoBaskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and drippingjaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life,still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that verynight of what he had seen, and the other twain were but brokenmen for the rest of their days.
Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which issaid to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set itdown it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror thanthat which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied thatmany of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which havebeen sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelterourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence, which would notforever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generationwhich is threatened in Holy Writ. To that Providence, my sons, Ihereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution toforbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when thepowers of evil are exalted.
[676] [This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John,with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sisterElizabeth.]
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative hepushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigaretteinto the fire.
Well? said he.
Do you not find it interesting?
To a collector of fairy tales.
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent.
This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a shortaccount of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville whichoccurred a few days before that date.
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Ourvisitor readjusted his glasses and began:
The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whosename has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate forMid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county.
Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for acomparatively short period his amiability of character and extremegenerosity had won the affection and respect of all who had beenbrought into contact with him. In these days of nouveaux riches itis refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old county familywhich has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortuneand to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of hisline. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large sums of money inSouth African speculation. More wise than those who go on untilthe wheel turns against them, he realized his gains and returned toEngland with them. It is only two years since he took up hisresidence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how largewere those schemes of reconstruction and improvement whichhave been interrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it washis openly expressed desire that the whole countryside should,within his own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and many willhave personal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. Hisgenerous donations to local and county charities have beenfrequently chronicled in these columns.
The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charlescannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, butat least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours towhich local superstition has given rise. There is no reasonwhatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could befrom any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a manwho may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habitof mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in hispersonal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hallconsisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the husbandacting as butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence,corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that SirCharless health has for some time been impaired, and pointsespecially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself inchanges of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervousdepression. [677] Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medicalattendant of the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect.
The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was inthe habit every night before going to bed of walking down thefamous yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of theBarrymores shows that this had been his custom. On the fourth ofMay Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day forLondon, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. Thatnight he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course ofwhich he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned.
At twelve oclock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open,became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of hismaster. The day had been wet, and Sir Charless footmarks wereeasily traced down the alley. Halfway down this walk there is agate which leads out on to the moor. There were indications thatSir Charles had stood for some little time here. He then proceededdown the alley, and it was at the far end of it that his body wasdiscovered. One fact which has not been explained is the statementof Barrymore that his masters footprints altered their characterfrom the time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appearedfrom thence onward to have been walking upon his toes. OneMurphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no greatdistance at the time, but he appears by his own confession to havebeen the worse for drink. He declares that he heard cries but isunable to state from what direction they came. No signs ofviolence were to be discovered upon Sir Charless person, andthough the doctors evidence pointed to an almost incredible facialdistortionCso great that Dr. Mortimer refused at first to believe thatit was indeed his friend and patient who lay before himCit wasexplained that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases ofdyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion. This explanation wasborne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed longstandingorganic disease, and the coroners jury returned a verdictin accordance with the medical evidence. It is well that this is so,for it is obviously of the utmost importance that Sir Charless heirshould settle at the Hall and continue the good work which hasbeen so sadly interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coronernot finally put an end to the romantic stories which have beenwhispered in connection with the affair, it might have beendifficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is understood thatthe next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be still alive, the sonof Sir Charles Baskervilles younger brother. The young manwhen last heard of was in America, and inquiries are beinginstituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune.
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.
Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the deathof Sir Charles Baskerville.
I must thank you, said Sherlock Holmes, for calling my attention toa case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observedsome newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupiedby that little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige thePope I lost touch with several interesting English cases. This article, yousay, contains all the public facts?
It does.
[678] Then let me have the private ones. He leaned back, put hisfinger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicialexpression.
In doing so, said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs ofsome strong emotion, I am telling that which I have not confided toanyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroners inquiry is that aman of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position ofseeming to indorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive thatBaskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted ifanything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. Forboth these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than Iknew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there isno reason why I should not be perfectly frank.
The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near eachother are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal ofSir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of LafterHall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men ofeducation within many miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but thechance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests inscience kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information fromSouth Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent togetherdiscussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot.
Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that SirCharless nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He hadtaken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heartCso much sothat, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would inducehim to go out upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you,Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung hisfamily, and certainly the records which he was able to give of hisancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presenceconstantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked mewhether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strangecreature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put to meseveral times, and always with a voice which vibrated with excitement.
I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening, somethree weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I haddescended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw hiseyes fix themselves over my shoulder and stare past me with anexpression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just timeto catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calfpassing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I wascompelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been and lookaround for it. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make theworst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the evening, and itwas on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that heconfided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first Icame. I mention this small episode because it assumes some importancein view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at the timethat the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had nojustification.
It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. Hisheart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived,however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having aserious effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among thedistractions of town would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, amutual friend who was much concerned at his state of [679] health, was ofthe same opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.
On the night of Sir Charless death Barrymore the butler, who madethe discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I wassitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of theevent. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned atthe inquest. I followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot atthe moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change inthe shape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were no otherfootsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally Icarefully examined the body, which had not been touched until myarrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into theground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such anextent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was certainlyno physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made byBarrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon theground round the body. He did not observe any. But I didCsome littledistance off, but fresh and clear.
Footprints?
Footprints.
A mans or a womans?
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sankalmost to a whisper as he answered:
Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 3The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 3THE PROBLEMI CONFESS that at these words a shudder passed through me. There was athrill in the doctors voice which showed that he was himself deeplymoved by that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in his excitementand his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he waskeenly interested.
You saw this?
As clearly as I see you.
And you said nothing?
What was the use?
How was it that no one else saw it?
The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gavethem a thought. I dont suppose I should have done so had I not knownthis legend.
There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?
No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog.
You say it was large?
Enormous.
But it had not approached the body?
No.
What sort of night was it?
Damp and raw.
But not actually raining?
No.
What is the alley like?
[680] There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high andimpenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across.
Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?
Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either side.
I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a gate?
Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor.
Is there any other opening?
None.
So that to reach the yew alley one either has to come down it from thehouse or else to enter it by the moor-gate?
There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end.
Had Sir Charles reached this?
No; he lay about fifty yards from it.
Now, tell me, Dr. MortimerCand this is importantCthe marks whichyou saw were on the path and not on the grass?
No marks could show on the grass.
Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?
Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the moorgate.
You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-gateclosed?
Closed and padlocked.
How high was it?
About four feet high.
Then anyone could have got over it?
Yes.
And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?
None in particular.
Good heaven! Did no one examine?
Yes, I examined, myself.
And found nothing?
It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there for fiveor ten minutes.
How do you know that?
Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar.
Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But themarks?
He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I coulddiscern no others.
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an impatientgesture.
If I had only been there! he cried. It is evidently a case ofextraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportunities tothe scientific expert. That gravel page upon which I might have read somuch has been long ere this smudged by the rain and defaced by the clogsof curious peasants. Oh, Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that youshould not have called me in! You have indeed much to answer for.
I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing these facts tothe world, and I have already given my reasons for not wishing to do so.
Besides, besidesC C
Why do you hesitate?
There is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced ofdetectives is helpless.
[681] You mean that the thing is supernatural?
I did not positively say so.
No, but you evidently think it.
Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, there have come to my ears severalincidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of Nature.
For example?
I find that before the terrible event occurred several people had seen acreature upon the moor which corresponds with this Baskerville demon,and which could not possibly be any animal known to science. They allagreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. I havecross-examined these men, one of them a hard-headed countryman, one afarrier, and one a moorland farmer, who all tell the same story of thisdreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of thelegend. I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district, and that itis a hardy man who will cross the moor at night.
And you, a trained man of science, believe it to be supernatural?
I do not know what to believe.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world, said he. Ina modest way I have combated evil, but to take on the Father of Evilhimself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a task. Yet you must admit thatthe footmark is material.
The original hound was material enough to tug a mans throat out, andyet he was diabolical as well.
I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. But now,Dr. Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views, why have you come toconsult me at all? You tell me in the same breath that it is useless toinvestigate Sir Charless death, and that you desire me to do it.
I did not say that I desired you to do it.
Then, how can I assist you?
By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville,who arrives at Waterloo StationCDr. Mortimer looked at his watchCinexactly one hour and a quarter.
He being the heir?
Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this young gentlemanand found that he had been farming in Canada. From the accounts whichhave reached us he is an excellent fellow in every way. I speak now not asa medical man but as a trustee and executor of Sir Charless will.
There is no other claimant, I presume?
None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to trace wasRodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor SirCharles was the elder. The second brother, who died young, is the fatherof this lad Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family.
He came of the old masterful Baskerville strain and was the very image,they tell me, of the family picture of old Hugo. He made England too hotto hold him, fled to Central America, and died there in 1876 of yellowfever. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes Imeet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived atSouthampton this morning. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise meto do with him?
Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?
It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every Baskerville[682] who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel sure that if Sir Charlescould have spoken with me before his death he would have warned meagainst bringing this, the last of the old race, and the heir to great wealth,to that deadly place. And yet it cannot be denied that the prosperity of thewhole poor, bleak countryside depends upon his presence. All the goodwork which has been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if thereis no tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I should be swayed too much by myown obvious interest in the matter, and that is why I bring the case beforeyou and ask for your advice.
Holmes considered for a little time.
Put into plain words, the matter is this, said he. In your opinionthere is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an unsafe abode for aBaskervilleCthat is your opinion?
At least I might go the length of saying that there is some evidencethat this may be so.
Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it couldwork the young man evil in London as easily as in Devonshire. A devilwith merely local powers like a parish vestry would be too inconceivablea thing.
You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you wouldprobably do if you were brought into personal contact with these things.
Your advice, then, as I understand it, is that the young man will be as safein Devonshire as in London. He comes in fifty minutes. What would yourecommend?
I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel who isscratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meet Sir HenryBaskerville.
And then?
And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made up mymind about the matter.
How long will it take you to make up your mind?
Twenty-four hours. At ten oclock to-morrow, Dr. Mortimer, I will bemuch obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and it will be of helpto me in my plans for the future if you will bring Sir Henry Baskervillewith you.
I will do so, Mr. Holmes. He scribbled the appointment on his shirtcuffand hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-minded fashion.
Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.
Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before SirCharles Baskervilles death several people saw this apparition upon themoor?
Three people did.
Did any see it after?
I have not heard of any.
Thank you. Good-morning.
Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward satisfactionwhich meant that he had a congenial task before him.
Going out, Watson?
Unless I can help you.
No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn to you for aid.
But this is splendid, really unique from some points of view. When youpass Bradleys, would you ask him to send up a pound of the strongestshag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as well if you could make itconvenient not to return before evening. Then I should be very glad tocompare impressions as to this most interesting problem which has beensubmitted to us this morning.
[683] I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for myfriend in those hours of intense mental concentration during which heweighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories,balanced one against the other, and made up his mind as to which pointswere essential and which immaterial. I therefore spent the day at my cluband did not return to Baker Street until evening. It was nearly nineoclock when I found myself in the sitting-room once more.
My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had broken out,for the room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp upon thetable was blurred by it. As I entered, however, my fears were set at rest,for it was the acrid fumes of strong coarse tobacco which took me by thethroat and set me coughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision ofHolmes in his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black claypipe between his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him.
Caught cold, Watson? said he.
No, its this poisonous atmosphere.
I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it.
Thick! It is intolerable.
Open the window, then! You have been at your club all day, Iperceive.
My dear Holmes!
Am I right?
Certainly, but howC C?
He laughed at my bewildered expression.
There is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which makes it apleasure to exercise any small powers which I possess at your expense. Agentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day. He returns immaculatein the evening with the gloss still on his hat and his boots. He has been afixture therefore all day. He is not a man with intimate friends. Where,then, could he have been? Is it not obvious?
Well, it is rather obvious.
The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance everobserves. Where do you think that I have been?
A fixture also.
On the contrary, I have been to Devonshire.
In spirit?
Exactly. My body has remained in this armchair and has, I regret toobserve, consumed in my absence two large pots of coffee and anincredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent down to Stamfords forthe Ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and my spirit has hoveredover it all day. I flatter myself that I could find my way about.
A large-scale map, I presume?
Very large. He unrolled one section and held it over his knee. Hereyou have the particular district which concerns us. That is BaskervilleHall in the middle.
With a wood round it?
Exactly. I fancy the yew alley, though not marked under that name,must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive, upon the rightof it. This small clump of buildings here is the hamlet of Grimpen, whereour friend Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters. Within a radius of fivemiles there are, as you see, only a very few scattered dwellings. Here isLafter Hall, which was mentioned [684] in the narrative. There is a houseindicated here which may be the residence of the naturalistCStapleton, if Iremember right, was his name. Here are two moorland farmhouses, HighTor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the great convict prison ofPrincetown. Between and around these scattered points extends thedesolate, lifeless moor. This, then, is the stage upon which tragedy hasbeen played, and upon which we may help to play it again.
It must be a wild place.
Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire to have a handin the affairs of menC C
Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation.
The devils agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? There aretwo questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is whether any crimehas been committed at all; the second is, what is the crime and how was itcommitted? Of course, if Dr. Mortimers surmise should be correct, andwe are dealing with forces outside the ordinary laws of Nature, there is anend of our investigation. But we are bound to exhaust all other hypothesesbefore falling back upon this one. I think well shut that window again, ifyou dont mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a concentratedatmosphere helps a concentration of thought. I have not pushed it to thelength of getting into a box to think, but that is the logical outcome of myconvictions. Have you turned the case over in your mind?
Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of the day.
What do you make of it?
It is very bewildering.
It has certainly a character of its own. There are points of distinctionabout it. That change in the footprints, for example. What do you make ofthat?
Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that portion ofthe alley.
He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. Why shoulda man walk on tiptoe down the alley?
What then?
He was running, WatsonCrunning desperately, running for his life,running until he burst his heart and fell dead upon his face.
Running from what?
There lies our problem. There are indications that the man was crazedwith fear before ever he began to run.
How can you say that?
I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across themoor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a man who hadlost his wits would have run from the house instead of towards it. If thegipsys evidence may be taken as true, he ran with cries for help in thedirection where help was least likely to be. Then, again, whom was hewaiting for that night, and why was he waiting for him in the yew alleyrather than in his own house?
You think that he was waiting for someone?
The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his taking anevening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement. Is itnatural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as Dr. Mortimer, withmore practical sense than I should have given him credit for, deducedfrom the cigar ash?
But he went out every evening.
I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every evening. Onthe [685] contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the moor. That night hewaited there. It was the night before he made his departure for London.
The thing takes shape, Watson. It becomes coherent. Might I ask you tohand me my violin, and we will postpone all further thought upon thisbusiness until we have had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer andSir Henry Baskerville in the morning.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 4The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 4SIR HENRY BASKERVILLEOUR breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his dressinggownfor the promised interview. Our clients were punctual to theirappointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer wasshown up, followed by the young baronet. The latter was a small, alert,dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thickblack eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tintedtweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spentmost of his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steadyeye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman.
This is Sir Henry Baskerville, said Dr. Mortimer.
Why, yes, said he, and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to you this morningI should have come on my own account. I understand that you think outlittle puzzles, and Ive had one this morning which wants more thinkingout than I am able to give it.
Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that you haveyourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in London?
Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like as not.
It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reached me thismorning.
He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It was ofcommon quality, grayish in colour. The address, Sir Henry Baskerville,Northumberland Hotel, was printed in rough characters; the post-markCharing Cross, and the date of posting the preceding evening.
Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel? askedHolmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor.
No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer.
But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?
No, I had been staying with a friend, said the doctor. There was nopossible indication that we intended to go to this hotel.
Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in yourmovements. Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap paperfolded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon the table. Across themiddle of it a single sentence had been formed by the expedient of pastingprinted words upon it. It ran:
As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.
The word moor only was printed in ink.
Now, said Sir Henry Baskerville, perhaps you will tell me, Mr.
Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes somuch interest in my affairs?
[686] What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow thatthere is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?
No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who wasconvinced that the business is supernatural.
What business? asked Sir Henry sharply. It seems to me that all yougentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my own affairs.
You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, Sir Henry.
I promise you that, said Sherlock Holmes. We will confine ourselvesfor the present with your permission to this very interesting document,which must have been put together and posted yesterday evening. Haveyou yesterdays Times, Watson?
It is here in the corner.
Might I trouble you for itCthe inside page, please, with the leadingarticles? He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up and down thecolumns. Capital article this on free trade. Permit me to give you anextract from it.
You may be cajoled into imagining that your own special tradeor your own industry will be encouraged by a protective tariff, butit stands to reason that such legislation must in the long run keepaway wealth from the country, diminish the value of our imports,and lower the general conditions of life in this island.
What do you think of that, Watson? cried Holmes in high glee,rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. Dont you think that is anadmirable sentiment?
Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional interest, andSir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark eyes upon me.
I dont know much about the tariff and things of that kind, said he,but it seems to me weve got a bit off the trail so far as that note isconcerned.
On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon the trail, SirHenry. Watson here knows more about my methods than you do, but Ifear that even he has not quite grasped the significance of this sentence.
No, I confess that I see no connection.
And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connection that theone is extracted out of the other. You, your, your, life, reason,
value, keep away, from the. Dont you see now whence these wordshave been taken?
By thunder, youre right! Well, if that isnt smart! cried Sir Henry.
If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that keep away
and from the are cut out in one piece.
Well, nowCso it is!
Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could haveimagined, said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. Icould understand anyone saying that the words were from a newspaper;but that you should name which, and add that it came from the leadingarticle, is really one of the most remarkable things which I have everknown. How did you do it?
I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that ofan Esquimau?
Most certainly.
But how?
Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious. Thesupra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, theC C
But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious.
There is [687] as much difference to my eyes between the leadedbourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening halfpennypaper as there could be between your negro and your Esquimau.
The detection of types is one of the most elementary branches ofknowledge to the special expert in crime, though I confess that once whenI was very young I confused the Leeds Mercury with the WesternMorning News. But a Times leader is entirely distinctive, and these wordscould have been taken from nothing else. As it was done yesterday thestrong probability was that we should find the words in yesterdays issue.
So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes, said Sir HenryBaskerville, someone cut out this message with a scissorsC C
Nail-scissors, said Holmes. You can see that it was a very shortbladedscissors, since the cutter had to take two snips over keep away.
That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of shortbladedscissors, pasted it with pasteC C
Gum, said Holmes.
With gum on to the paper. But I want to know why the word moor
should have been written?
Because he could not find it in print. The other words were all simpleand might be found in any issue, but moor would be less common.
Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read anything else inthis message, Mr. Holmes?
There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains have beentaken to remove all clues. The address, you observe, is printed in roughcharacters. But the Times is a paper which is seldom found in any handsbut those of the highly educated. We may take it, therefore, that the letterwas composed by an educated man who wished to pose as an uneducatedone, and his effort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writingmight be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you will observethat the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but that some aremuch higher than others. Life, for example, is quite out of its properplace. That may point to carelessness or it may point to agitation andhurry upon the part of the cutter. On the whole I incline to the latter view,since the matter was evidently important, and it is unlikely that thecomposer of such a letter would be careless. If he were in a hurry it opensup the interesting question why he should be in a hurry, since any letterposted up to early morning would reach Sir Henry before he would leavehis hotel. Did the composer fear an interruptionCand from whom?
We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork, said Dr.
Mortimer.
Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and choosethe most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination, but we havealways some material basis on which to start our speculation. Now, youwould call it a guess, no doubt, but I am almost certain that this addresshas been written in a hotel.
How in the world can you say that?
If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and the inkhave given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered twice in a singleword and has run dry three times in a short address, showing that therewas very little ink in the bottle. Now, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldomallowed to be in such a state, and the combination of the two must bequite rare. But you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rareto get anything else. Yes, I have very little hesitation in saying that couldwe examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels [688] around CharingCross until we found the remains of the mutilated Times leader we couldlay our hands straight upon the person who sent this singular message.
Halloa! Halloa! Whats this?
He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words werepasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes.
Well?
Nothing, said he, throwing it down. It is a blank half-sheet of paper,without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have drawn as much as wecan from this curious letter; and now, Sir Henry, has anything else ofinterest happened to you since you have been in London?
Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not.
You have not observed anyone follow or watch you?
I seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel, said ourvisitor. Why in thunder should anyone follow or watch me?
We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to us beforewe go into this matter?
Well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting.
I think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worthreporting.
Sir Henry smiled.
I dont know much of British life yet, for I have spent nearly all mytime in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to lose one of your bootsis not part of the ordinary routine of life over here.
You have lost one of your boots?
My dear sir, cried Dr. Mortimer, it is only mislaid. You will find itwhen you return to the hotel. What is the use of troubling Mr. Holmeswith trifles of this kind?
Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine.
Exactly, said Holmes, however foolish the incident may seem. Youhave lost one of your boots, you say?
Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door last night,and there was only one in the morning. I could get no sense out of thechap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I only bought the pair lastnight in the Strand, and I have never had them on.
If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to becleaned?
They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was why Iput them out.
Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday you wentout at once and bought a pair of boots?
I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round with me.
You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress the part, and it maybe that I have got a little careless in my ways out West. Among otherthings I bought these brown bootsCgave six dollars for themCand had onestolen before ever I had them on my feet.
It seems a singularly useless thing to steal, said Sherlock Holmes. Iconfess that I share Dr. Mortimers belief that it will not be long beforethe missing boot is found.
And, now, gentlemen, said the baronet with decision, it seems to methat I have spoken quite enough about the little that I know. It is time thatyou kept your promise and gave me a full account of what we are alldriving at.
[689] Your request is a very reasonable one, Holmes answered. Dr.
Mortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your story as youtold it to us.
Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from his pocketand presented the whole case as he had done upon the morning before. SirHenry Baskerville listened with the deepest attention and with anoccasional exclamation of surprise.
Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with a vengeance, saidhe when the long narrative was finished. Of course, Ive heard of thehound ever since I was in the nursery. Its the pet story of the family,though I never thought of taking it seriously before. But as to my unclesdeathCwell, it all seems boiling up in my head, and I cant get it clear yet.
You dont seem quite to have made up your mind whether its a case for apoliceman or a clergyman.
Precisely.
And now theres this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. I supposethat fits into its place.
It seems to show that someone knows more than we do about whatgoes on upon the moor, said Dr. Mortimer.
And also, said Holmes, that someone is not ill-disposed towardsyou, since they warn you of danger.
Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare me away.
Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much indebted to you,Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which presents severalinteresting alternatives. But the practical point which we now have todecide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or is not advisable for you to go toBaskerville Hall.
Why should I not go?
There seems to be danger.
Do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean dangerfrom human beings?
Well, that is what we have to find out.
Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in hell, Mr.
Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me from goingto the home of my own people, and you may take that to be my finalanswer. His dark brows knitted and his face flushed to a dusky red as hespoke. It was evident that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was notextinct in this their last representative. Meanwhile, said he, I havehardly had time to think over all that you have told me. Its a big thing fora man to have to understand and to decide at one sitting. I should like tohave a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look here, Mr.
Holmes, its half-past eleven now and I am going back right away to myhotel. Suppose you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come round and lunchwith us at two. Ill be able to tell you more clearly then how this thingstrikes me.
Is that convenient to you, Watson?
Perfectly.
Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?
Id prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather.
Ill join you in a walk, with pleasure, said his companion.
Then we meet again at two oclock. Au revoir, and good-morning!
We heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the bang of thefront door. In an instant Holmes had changed from the languid dreamer tothe man of action.
[690] Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose! Herushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in a fewseconds in a frock-coat. We hurried together down the stairs and into thestreet. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still visible about two hundredyards ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street.
Shall I run on and stop them?
Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied with yourcompany if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise, for it is certainlya very fine morning for a walk.
He quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance whichdivided us by about half. Then, still keeping a hundred yards behind, wefollowed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street. Once our friendsstopped and stared into a shop window, upon which Holmes did the same.
An instant afterwards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and, followingthe direction of his eager eyes, I saw that a hansom cab with a man insidewhich had halted on the other side of the street was now proceedingslowly onward again.
Theres our man, Watson! Come along! Well have a good look athim, if we can do no more.
At that instant I was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair of piercingeyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab. Instantly thetrapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamed to the driver, and thecab flew madly off down Regent Street. Holmes looked eagerly round foranother, but no empty one was in sight. Then he dashed in wild pursuitamid the stream of the traffic, but the start was too great, and already thecab was out of sight.
There now! said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and whitewith vexation from the tide of vehicles. Was ever such bad luck and suchbad management, too? Watson, Watson, if you are an honest man youwill record this also and set it against my successes!
Who was the man?
I have not an idea.
A spy?
Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskerville hasbeen very closely shadowed by someone since he has been in town. Howelse could it be known so quickly that it was the Northumberland Hotelwhich he had chosen? If they had followed him the first day I argued thatthey would follow him also the second. You may have observed that Itwice strolled over to the window while Dr. Mortimer was reading hislegend.
Yes, I remember.
I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none. We aredealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts very deep, andthough I have not finally made up my mind whether it is a benevolent or amalevolent agency which is in touch with us, I am conscious always ofpower and design. When our friends left I at once followed them in thehopes of marking down their invisible attendant. So wily was he that hehad not trusted himself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab sothat he could loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their notice.
His method had the additional advantage that if they were to take a cab hewas all ready to follow them. It has, however, one obvious disadvantage.
It puts him in the power of the cabman.
Exactly.
[691] What a pity we did not get the number!
My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do not seriouslyimagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is our man. But thatis no use to us for the moment.
I fail to see how you could have done more.
On observing the cab I should have instantly turned and walked in theother direction. I should then at my leisure have hired a second cab andfollowed the first at a respectful distance, or, better still, have driven tothe Northumberland Hotel and waited there. When our unknown hadfollowed Baskerville home we should have had the opportunity of playinghis own game upon himself and seeing where he made for. As it is, by anindiscreet eagerness, which was taken advantage of with extraordinaryquickness and energy by our opponent, we have betrayed ourselves andlost our man.
We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during thisconversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had long vanishedin front of us.
There is no object in our following them, said Holmes. The shadowhas departed and will not return. We must see what further cards we havein our hands and play them with decision. Could you swear to that mansface within the cab?
I could swear only to the beard.
And so could ICfrom which I gather that in all probability it was afalse one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a beardsave to conceal his features. Come in here, Watson!
He turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he waswarmly greeted by the manager.
Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case in which I hadthe good fortune to help you?
No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and perhaps mylife.
My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection, Wilson,that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, who showed someability during the investigation.
Yes, sir, he is still with us.
Could you ring him up?Cthank you! And I should be glad to havechange of this five-pound note.
A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the summons ofthe manager. He stood now gazing with great reverence at the famousdetective.
Let me have the Hotel Directory, said Holmes. Thank you! Now,Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in theimmediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Do you see?
Yes, sir.
You will visit each of these in turn.
Yes, sir.
You will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one shilling.
Here are twenty-three shillings.
Yes, sir.
You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of yesterday.
You will say that an important telegram has miscarried and that you arelooking for it. You understand?
Yes, sir.
But what you are really looking for is the centre page of the Timeswith some [692] holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of the Times.
It is this page. You could easily recognize it, could you not?
Yes, sir.
In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter, to whomalso you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-three shillings. You willthen learn in possibly twenty cases out of the twenty-three that the wasteof the day before has been burned or removed. In the three other casesyou will be shown a heap of paper and you will look for this page of theTimes among it. The odds are enormously against your finding it. Thereare ten shillings over in case of emergencies. Let me have a report by wireat Baker Street before evening. And now, Watson, it only remains for usto find out by wire the identity of the cabman, No. 2704, and then we willdrop into one of the Bond Street picture galleries and fill in the time untilwe are due at the hotel.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 5The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 5THREE BROKEN THREADSSHERLOCK HOLMES had, in a very remarkable degree, the power ofdetaching his mind at will. For two hours the strange business in whichwe had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirelyabsorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk ofnothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas, from our leaving thegallery until we found ourselves at the Northumberland Hotel.
Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you, said the clerk. Heasked me to show you up at once when you came.
Have you any objection to my looking at your register? said Holmes.
Not in the least.
The book showed that two names had been added after that ofBaskerville. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of Newcastle; theother Mrs. Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton.
Surely that must be the same Johnson whom I used to know, saidHolmes to the porter. A lawyer, is he not, gray-headed, and walks with alimp?
No, sir, this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman,not older than yourself.
Surely you are mistaken about his trade?
No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very wellknown to us.
Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember the name.
Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend one findsanother.
She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor of Gloucester.
She always comes to us when she is in town.
Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance. We haveestablished a most important fact by these questions, Watson, hecontinued in a low voice as we went upstairs together. We know nowthat the people who are so interested in our friend have not settled downin his own hotel. That means that while they are, as we have seen, veryanxious to watch him, they are equally anxious that he should not seethem. Now, this is a most suggestive fact.
What does it suggest?
[693] It suggestsChalloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the matter?
As we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against Sir HenryBaskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger, and he held an oldand dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious was he that he was hardlyarticulate, and when he did speak it was in a much broader and moreWestern dialect than any which we had heard from him in the morning.
Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel, he cried.
Theyll find theyve started in to monkey with the wrong man unlessthey are careful. By thunder, if that chap cant find my missing boot therewill be trouble. I can take a joke with the best, Mr. Holmes, but theyvegot a bit over the mark this time.
Still looking for your boot?
Yes, sir, and mean to find it.
But, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?
So it was, sir. And now its an old black one.
What! you dont mean to sayC C?
Thats just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs in the worldCthe new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers, which I amwearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and to-day theyhave sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got it? Speak out, man,and dont stand staring!
An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.
No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear no wordof it.
Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or Ill see themanager and tell him that I go right straight out of this hotel.
It shall be found, sirCI promise you that if you will have a littlepatience it will be found.
Mind it is, for its the last thing of mine that Ill lose in this den ofthieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, youll excuse my troubling you aboutsuch a trifleC C
I think its well worth troubling about.
Why, you look very serious over it.
How do you explain it?
I just dont attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest, queerestthing that ever happened to me.
The queerest perhapsC C said Holmes thoughtfully.
What do you make of it yourself?
Well, I dont profess to understand it yet. This case of yours is verycomplex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with your uncles death Iam not sure that of all the five hundred cases of capital importance whichI have handled there is one which cuts so deep. But we hold severalthreads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them guides usto the truth. We may waste time in following the wrong one, but sooner orlater we must come upon the right.
We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the businesswhich had brought us together. It was in the private sitting-room to whichwe afterwards repaired that Holmes asked Baskerville what were hisintentions.
To go to Baskerville Hall.
And when?
At the end of the week.
On the whole, said Holmes, I think that your decision is a wise one.
I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in London, and amid themillions of this great city it is difficult to discover who these people are orwhat their object can be. [694] If their intentions are evil they might doyou a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. You did notknow, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed this morning from myhouse?
Dr. Mortimer started violently.
Followed! By whom?
That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among yourneighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, fullbeard?
NoCor, let me seeCwhy, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charless butler, is a manwith a full, black beard.
Ha! Where is Barrymore?
He is in charge of the Hall.
We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any possibility hemight be in London.
How can you do that?
Give me a telegraph form. Is all ready for Sir Henry? That will do.
Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the nearesttelegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a second wire to thepostmaster, Grimpen: Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to be delivered intohis own hand. If absent, please return wire to Sir Henry Baskerville,Northumberland Hotel. That should let us know before evening whetherBarrymore is at his post in Devonshire or not.
Thats so, said Baskerville. By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is thisBarrymore, anyhow?
He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have looked afterthe Hall for four generations now. So far as I know, he and his wife are asrespectable a couple as any in the county.
At the same time, said Baskerville, its clear enough that so long asthere are none of the family at the Hall these people have a mighty finehome and nothing to do.
That is true.
Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charless will? asked Holmes.
He and his wife had five hundred pounds each.
Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?
Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of hiswill.
That is very interesting.
I hope, said Dr. Mortimer, that you do not look with suspicious eyesupon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also had athousand pounds left to me.
Indeed! And anyone else?
There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a largenumber of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry.
And how much was the residue?
Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds.
Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. I had no idea that so gigantica sum was involved, said he.
Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know howvery rich he was until we came to examine his securities. The total valueof the estate was close on to a million.
Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperategame. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing that anythinghappened to our [695] young friend hereCyou will forgive the unpleasanthypothesis!Cwho would inherit the estate?
Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charless younger brother, diedunmarried, the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are distantcousins. James Desmond is an elderly clergyman in Westmoreland.
Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr.
James Desmond?
Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of venerableappearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused to accept anysettlement from Sir Charles, though he pressed it upon him.
And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charlessthousands.
He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He wouldalso be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by thepresent owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it.
And have you made your will, Sir Henry?
No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. Ive had no time, for it was onlyyesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel that themoney should go with the title and estate. That was my poor uncles idea.
How is the owner going to restore the glories of the Baskervilles if he hasnot money enough to keep up the property? House, land, and dollars mustgo together.
Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to theadvisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There isonly one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go alone.
Dr. Mortimer returns with me.
But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is milesaway from yours. With all the good will in the world he may be unable tohelp you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you someone, a trusty man,who will be always by your side.
Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?
If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in person;but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice andwith the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it isimpossible for me to be absent from London for an indefinite time. At thepresent instant one of the most revered names in England is beingbesmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can stop a disastrous scandal.
You will see how impossible it is for me to go to Dartmoor.
Whom would you recommend, then?
Holmes laid his hand upon my arm.
If my friend would undertake it there is no man who is better worthhaving at your side when you are in a tight place. No one can say so moreconfidently than I.
The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had timeto answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily.
Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson, said he. You seehow it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as I do. Ifyou will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me through Ill neverforget it.
The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I wascomplimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with whichthe baronet hailed me as a companion.
[696] I will come, with pleasure, said I. I do not know how I couldemploy my time better.
And you will report very carefully to me, said Holmes. When acrisis comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose thatby Saturday all might be ready?
Would that suit Dr. Watson?
Perfectly.
Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at theten-thirty train from Paddington.
We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry of triumph, anddiving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot fromunder a cabinet.
My missing boot! he cried.
May all our difficulties vanish as easily! said Sherlock Holmes.
But it is a very singular thing, Dr. Mortimer remarked. I searchedthis room carefully before lunch.
And so did I, said Baskerville. Every inch of it.
There was certainly no boot in it then.
In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we werelunching.
The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter,nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to thatconstant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which hadsucceeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole grim story of SirCharless death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within thelimits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed letter, theblack-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the lossof the old black boot, and now the return of the new brown boot. Holmessat in silence in the cab as we drove back to Baker Street, and I knewfrom his drawn brows and keen face that his mind, like my own, was busyin endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange andapparently disconnected episodes could be fitted. All afternoon and lateinto the evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought.
Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:
Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall.
BASKERVILLE.
The second:
Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry to reportunable to trace cut sheet of Times.
CARTWRIGHT.
There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing morestimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We must castround for another scent.
We have still the cabman who drove the spy.
Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the OfficialRegistry. I should not be surprised if this were an answer to my question.
The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory thanan answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking fellowentered who was evidently the man himself.
I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address hadbeen inquiring for No. 2704, said he. Ive driven my cab this sevenyears and never a word of complaint. I came here straight from the Yardto ask you to your face what you had against me.
[697] I have nothing in the world against you, my good man, saidHolmes. On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will giveme a clear answer to my questions.
Well, Ive had a good day and no mistake, said the cabman with agrin. What was it you wanted to ask, sir?
First of all your name and address, in case I want you again.
John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out ofShipleys Yard, near Waterloo Station.
Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.
Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched thishouse at ten oclock this morning and afterwards followed the twogentlemen down Regent Street.
The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. Why, theres nogood my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I doalready, said he. The truth is that the gentleman told me that he was adetective and that I was to say nothing about him to anyone.
My good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you may findyourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me. Yousay that your fare told you that he was a detective?
Yes, he did.
When did he say this?
When he left me.
Did he say anything more?
He mentioned his name.
Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. Oh, he mentioned hisname, did he? That was imprudent. What was the name that hementioned?
His name, said the cabman, was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than by thecabmans reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Then he burstinto a hearty laugh.
A touch, WatsonCan undeniable touch! said he. I feel a foil as quickand supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettily that time. Sohis name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?
Yes, sir, that was the gentlemans name.
Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred.
He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said that he wasa detective, and he offered me two guineas if I would do exactly what hewanted all day and ask no questions. I was glad enough to agree. First wedrove down to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there until twogentlemen came out and took a cab from the rank. We followed their cabuntil it pulled up somewhere near here.
This very door, said Holmes.
Well, I couldnt be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knew all aboutit. We pulled up halfway down the street and waited an hour and a half.
Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and we followed down BakerStreet and alongC C
I know, said Holmes.
Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my gentlemanthrew up the trap, and he cried that I should drive right away to WaterlooStation as hard as I could go. I whipped up the mare and we were thereunder the ten minutes. [698] Then he paid up his two guineas, like a goodone, and away he went into the station. Only just as he was leaving heturned round and he said: It might interest you to know that you havebeen driving Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Thats how I come to know thename.
I see. And you saw no more of him?
Not after he went into the station.
And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
The cabman scratched his head. Well, he wasnt altogether such aneasy gentleman to describe. Id put him at forty years of age, and he wasof a middle height, two or three inches shorter than you, sir. He wasdressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end, and apale face. I dont know as I could say more than that.
Colour of his eyes?
No, I cant say that.
Nothing more that you can remember?
No, sir; nothing.
Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. Theres another one waitingfor you if you can bring any more information. Good-night!
Good-night, sir, and thank you!
John Clayton departed chuckling, and Holmes turned to me with ashrug of his shoulders and a rueful smile.
Snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began, said he.
The cunning rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir HenryBaskerville had consulted me, spotted who I was in Regent Street,conjectured that I had got the number of the cab and would lay my handson the driver, and so sent back this audacious message. I tell you, Watson,this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. Ive beencheckmated in London. I can only wish you better luck in Devonshire.
But Im not easy in my mind about it.
About what?
About sending you. Its an ugly business, Watson, an ugly, dangerousbusiness, and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes, my dear fellow,you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad to haveyou back safe and sound in Baker Street once more.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 6The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 6BASKERVILLE HALLSIR HENRY BASKERVILLE and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon theappointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. SherlockHolmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last partinginjunctions and advice.
I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,Watson,  said he; I wish you simply to report facts in the fullestpossible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing.
What sort of facts? I asked.
Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect uponthe case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and hisneighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles. Ihave made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the resultshave, I fear, been negative. One thing [699] only appears to be certain, andthat is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderlygentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does notarise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely from ourcalculations. There remain the people who will actually surround SirHenry Baskerville upon the moor.
Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymorecouple?
By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they areinnocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should begiving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will preservethem upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the Hall, if Iremember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our friend Dr.
Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, ofwhom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there ishis sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. There is Mr.
Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor, and there areone or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must be your veryspecial study.
I will do my best.
You have arms, I suppose?
Yes, I thought it as well to take them.
Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and neverrelax your precautions.
Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waitingfor us upon the platform.
No, we have no news of any kind, said Dr. Mortimer in answer to myfriends questions. I can swear to one thing, and that is that we have notbeen shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone out withoutkeeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our notice.
You have always kept together, I presume?
Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pureamusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of theCollege of Surgeons.
And I went to look at the folk in the park, said Baskerville. But wehad no trouble of any kind.
It was imprudent, all the same, said Holmes, shaking his head andlooking very grave. I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone.
Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your otherboot?
No, sir, it is gone forever.
Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye, he added as the trainbegan to glide down the platform. Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of thephrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us andavoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil areexalted.
I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind and saw thetall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us.
The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making themore intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing withDr. Mortimers spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had becomeruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in wellhedgedfields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spokeof a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out ofthe window and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiarfeatures of the Devon scenery.
[700] Ive been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr.
Watson, said he; but I have never seen a place to compare with it.
I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county, Iremarked.
It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county,
said Dr. Mortimer. A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded headof the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power ofattachment. Poor Sir Charless head was of a very rare type, half Gaelic,half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young when youlast saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?
I was a boy in my teens at the time of my fathers death and had neverseen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast. Thence Iwent straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it isto Dr. Watson, and Im as keen as possible to see the moor.
Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first sightof the moor, said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage window.
Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood thererose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit,dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream.
Baskerville sat for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon hiseager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spotwhere the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark sodeep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in thecorner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark andexpressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of thatlong line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. There were pride,valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his largehazel eyes. If on that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous questshould lie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one mightventure to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely share it.
The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended.
Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs waswaiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master andporters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet, simplecountry spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate there stoodtwo soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their short rifles andglanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced, gnarledlittle fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we wereflying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling pasture lands curvedupward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amidthe thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit countrysidethere rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve ofthe moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills.
The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upwardthrough deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on eitherside, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy harts-tongue ferns. Bronzingbracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Stillsteadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisystream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the grayboulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense withscrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation ofdelight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To hiseyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon thecountryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellowleaves carpeted the [701] lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed.
The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rottingvegetationCsad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before thecarriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.
Halloa! cried Dr. Mortimer, what is this?
A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay infront of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue uponits pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised readyover his forearm. He was watching the road along which we travelled.
What is this, Perkins? asked Dr. Mortimer.
Our driver half turned in his seat.
Theres a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. Hes been out threedays now, and the warders watch every road and every station, buttheyve had no sight of him yet. The farmers about here dont like it, sir,and thats a fact.
Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can giveinformation.
Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared tothe chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isnt like any ordinaryconvict. This is a man that would stick at nothing.
Who is he, then?
It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer.
I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had takenan interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the wantonbrutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. Thecommutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to hiscomplete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had toppeda rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled withgnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it andset us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking thisfiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full ofmalignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. It needed butthis to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chillingwind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled hisovercoat more closely around him.
We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked backon it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads ofgold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broadtangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilderover huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now andthen we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with nocreeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into acuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had beentwisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towersrose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip.
Baskerville Hall, said he.
Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shiningeyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze offantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on eitherside, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars heads of theBaskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs ofrafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit ofSir Charless South African gold.
Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheelswere again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branchesin a sombre tunnel [702] over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as helooked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghostat the farther end.
Was it here? he asked in a low voice.
No, no, the yew alley is on the other side.
The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.
Its no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in sucha place as this, said he. Its enough to scare any man. Ill have a row ofelectric lamps up here inside of six months, and you wont know it again,with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front of thehall door.
The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house laybefore us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy blockof building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped inivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat ofarms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twintowers, ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To rightand left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dulllight shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the highchimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang asingle black column of smoke.
Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!
A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the doorof the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against theyellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand downour bags.
You dont mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry? said Dr.
Mortimer. My wife is expecting me.
Surely you will stay and have some dinner?
No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I wouldstay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guidethan I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I canbe of service.
The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned intothe hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartmentin which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with hugebaulks of age-blackened oak. In the great old-fashioned fireplace behindthe high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I heldout our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazedround us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling,the stags heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre inthe subdued light of the central lamp.
Its just as I imagined it, said Sir Henry. Is it not the very picture ofan old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in whichfor five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to thinkof it.
I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed abouthim. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows traileddown the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore hadreturned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of usnow with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was aremarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard andpale, distinguished features.
Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?
Is it ready?
In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your rooms. Mywife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have madeyour fresh [703] arrangements, but you will understand that under the newconditions this house will require a considerable staff.
What new conditions?
I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we wereable to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have morecompany, and so you will need changes in your household.
Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?
Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir.
But your family have been with us for several generations, have theynot? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old familyconnection.
I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butlers white face.
I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir, wewere both very much attached to Sir Charles and his death gave us ashock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we shallnever again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall.
But what do you intend to do?
I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves insome business. Sir Charless generosity has given us the means to do so.
And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms.
A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridorsextended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedroomsopened. My own was in the same wing as Baskervilles and almost nextdoor to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than thecentral part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles didsomething to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had leftupon my mind.
But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place ofshadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the daiswhere the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents.
At one end a minstrels gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot acrossabove our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rowsof flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an oldtimebanquet, it might have softened; but now, when two black-clothedgentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, onesvoice became hushed and ones spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, inevery variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of theRegency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silent company.
We talked little, and I for one was glad when the meal was over and wewere able to retire into the modern billiard-room and smoke a cigarette.
My word, it isnt a very cheerful place, said Sir Henry. I supposeone can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present. Idont wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone in sucha house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early to-night, andperhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning.
I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from mywindow. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the halldoor. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. Ahalf moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I sawbeyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of themelancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last impressionwas in keeping with the rest.
[704] And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yetwakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep whichwould not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of thehours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And thensuddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my ears,clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the muffled,strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up inbed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far away and wascertainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with every nerve on thealert, but there came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustleof the ivy on the wall.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 7The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 7THE STAPLETONS OF MERRIPIT HOUSETHE fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface fromour minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both ofus by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat atbreakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows,throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which coveredthem. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and itwas hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had strucksuch a gloom into our souls upon the evening before.
I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame! saidthe baronet. We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, sowe took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is allcheerful once more.
And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination, I answered.
Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think,sobbing in the night?
That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heardsomething of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it,so I concluded that it was all a dream.
I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of awoman.
We must ask about this right away. He rang the bell and askedBarrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to methat the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listenedto his masters question.
There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry, he answered.
One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is mywife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come fromher.
And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I metMrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. Shewas a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expressionof mouth. But her telltale eyes were red and glanced at me from betweenswollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so herhusband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery indeclaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did sheweep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-beardedman there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It washe who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we hadonly his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old mansdeath. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all, whom we had seenin the [705] cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been thesame. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such animpression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the pointforever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpenpostmaster and find whether the test telegram had really been placed inBarrymores own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at leasthave something to report to Sherlock Holmes.
Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that thetime was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four milesalong the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, inwhich two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house ofDr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was alsothe village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram.
Certainly, sir, said he, I had the telegram delivered to Mr.
Barrymore exactly as directed.
Who delivered it?
My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore atthe Hall last week, did you not?
Yes, father, I delivered it.
Into his own hands? I asked.
Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into hisown hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymores hands, and she promisedto deliver it at once.
Did you see Mr. Barrymore?
No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft.
If you didnt see him, how do you know he was in the loft?
Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is, said thepostmaster testily. Didnt he get the telegram? If there is any mistake itis for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain.
It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clearthat in spite of Holmess ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had notbeen in London all the time. Suppose that it were soCsuppose that thesame man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the firstto dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he theagent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interestcould he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of thestrange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was thathis work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent uponcounteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that whichhad been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared awaya comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores.
But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate toaccount for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving aninvisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that nomore complex case had come to him in all the long series of hissensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray,lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupationsand able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility frommy shoulders.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feetbehind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expectingto see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who waspursuing me. He was a small, [706] slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man,flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age,dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanicalspecimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net inone of his hands.
You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson, said he ashe came panting up to where I stood. Here on the moor we are homelyfolk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly haveheard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, ofMerripit House.
Your net and box would have told me as much, said I, for I knewthat Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?
I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me fromthe window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way Ithought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that SirHenry is none the worse for his journey?
He is very well, thank you.
We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles thenew baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy manto come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need not tellyou that it means a very great deal to the countryside. Sir Henry has, Isuppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?
I do not think that it is likely.
Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts thefamily?
I have heard it.
It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Anynumber of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creatureupon the moor. He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyesthat he took the matter more seriously. The story took a great hold uponthe imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragicend.
But how?
His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog mighthave had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really didsee something of the kind upon that last night in the yew alley. I fearedthat some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old man, and Iknew that his heart was weak.
How did you know that?
My friend Mortimer told me.
You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he diedof fright in consequence?
Have you any better explanation?
I have not come to any conclusion.
Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
The words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at theplacid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprisewas intended.
It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr. Watson,
said he. The records of your detective have reached us here, and youcould not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimertold me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then itfollows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, andI am naturally curious to know what view he may take.
I am afraid that I cannot answer that question.
[707] May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?
He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage hisattention.
What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us.
But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I canbe of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had anyindication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose toinvestigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid oradvice.
I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry,and that I need no help of any kind.
Excellent! said Stapleton. You are perfectly right to be wary anddiscreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiableintrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again.
We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from theroad and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill layupon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry.
The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns andbrambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated agray plume of smoke.
A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House,
said he. Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure ofintroducing you to my sister.
My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henrys side. But then Iremembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table waslittered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes hadexpressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. Iaccepted Stapletons invitation, and we turned together down the path.
It is a wonderful place, the moor, said he, looking round over theundulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granitefoaming up into fantastic surges. You never tire of the moor. You cannotthink the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren,and so mysterious.
You know it well, then?
I have only been here two years. The residents would call me anewcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes ledme to explore every part of the country round, and I should think thatthere are few men who know it better than I do.
Is it hard to know?
Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north herewith the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anythingremarkable about that?
It would be a rare place for a gallop.
You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several theirlives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thicklyover it?
Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest.
Stapleton laughed.
That is the great Grimpen Mire, said he. A false step yonder meansdeath to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponieswander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long timecraning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dryseasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awfulplace. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive.
By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!
[708] Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges.
Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cryechoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companionsnerves seemed to be stronger than mine.
Its gone! said he. The mire has him. Two in two days, and manymore, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weatherand never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. Itsa bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.
And you say you can penetrate it?
Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. Ihave found them out.
But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?
Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on allsides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the courseof years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you havethe wit to reach them.
I shall try my luck some day.
He looked at me with a surprised face.
For Gods sake put such an idea out of your mind, said he. Yourblood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be theleast chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certaincomplex landmarks that I am able to do it.
Halloa! I cried. What is that?
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled thewhole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dullmurmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy,throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curiousexpression in his face.
Queer place, the moor! said he.
But what is it?
The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for itsprey. Ive heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swellingplain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over thevast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a torbehind us.
You are an educated man. You dont believe such nonsense as that?
said I. What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?
Bogs make queer noises sometimes. Its the mud settling, or the waterrising, or something.
No, no, that was a living voice.
Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?
No, I never did.
Its a very rare birdCpractically extinctCin England now, but all thingsare possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn thatwhat we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.
Its the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life.
Yes, its rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hillsideyonder. What do you make of those?
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, ascore of them at least.
What are they? Sheep-pens?
[709] No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric manlived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived theresince, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These arehis wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and hiscouch if you have the curiosity to go inside.
But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?
Neolithic manCno date.
What did he do?
He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin whenthe bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the greattrench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find some verysingular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! Itis surely Cyclopides.
A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instantStapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit ofit. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and myacquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuftbehind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky,zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. Iwas standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for hisextraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in thetreacherous mire when I heard the sound of steps and, turning round,found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the directionin which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, butthe dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close.
I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had beentold, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and Iremembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. Thewoman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommontype. There could not have been a greater contrast between brother andsister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes,while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen inEnglandCslim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, soregular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitivemouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure andelegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonelymoorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then shequickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about tomake some explanatory remark when her own words turned all mythoughts into a new channel.
Go back! she said. Go straight back to London, instantly.
I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, andshe tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.
Why should I go back? I asked.
I cannot explain. She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lispin her utterance. But for Gods sake do what I ask you. Go back andnever set foot upon the moor again.
But I have only just come.
Man, man! she cried. Can you not tell when a warning is for yourown good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this placeat all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said.
Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mares-tailsyonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, youare rather late to see the beauties of the place.
[710] Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathinghard and flushed with his exertions.
Halloa, Beryl! said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of hisgreeting was not altogether a cordial one.
Well, Jack, you are very hot.
Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found inthe late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him! He spokeunconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girlto me.
You have introduced yourselves, I can see.
Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see thetrue beauties of the moor.
Why, who do you think this is?
I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville.
No, no, said I. Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name isDr. Watson.
A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. We have beentalking at cross purposes, said she.
Why, you had not very much time for talk, her brother remarked withthe same questioning eyes.
I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely avisitor, said she. It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or latefor the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see MerripitHouse?
A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm ofsome grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair andturned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, asis usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of thewhole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange,wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with thehouse. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with anelegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I lookedfrom their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rollingunbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could havebrought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in sucha place.
Queer spot to choose, is it not? said he as if in answer to my thought.
And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Beryl?
Quite happy, said she, but there was no ring of conviction in herwords.
I had a school, said Stapleton. It was in the north country. The workto a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but theprivilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds,and of impressing them with ones own character and ideals was verydear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic brokeout in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from theblow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, ifit were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, Icould rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes forbotany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sisteris as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been broughtupon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of ourwindow.
It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dullCless for you,perhaps, than for your sister.
No, no, I am never dull, said she quickly.
[711] We have books, we have our studies, and we have interestingneighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor SirCharles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well and misshim more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were tocall this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?
I am sure that he would be delighted.
Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may inour humble way do something to make things more easy for him until hebecomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs,Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is themost complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that youhave looked through them lunch will be almost ready.
But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor,the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had beenassociated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tingedmy thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vagueimpressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of MissStapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubtthat some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure tostay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking thegrass-grown path by which we had come.
It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for thosewho knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to seeMiss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face wasbeautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand to her side.
I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson, said she. Ihad not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother maymiss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake Imade in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said,which have no application whatever to you.
But I cant forget them, Miss Stapleton, said I. I am Sir Henrysfriend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why itwas that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.
A womans whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you willunderstand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do.
No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look inyour eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever sinceI have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life hasbecome like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patcheseverywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track.
Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to conveyyour warning to Sir Henry.
An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, buther eyes had hardened again when she answered me.
You make too much of it, Dr. Watson, said she. My brother and Iwere very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him veryintimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He wasdeeply impressed with the curse which hung over his family, and whenthis tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for thefears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when anothermember of the family came down to live here, [712] and I felt that heshould be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which Iintended to convey.
But what is the danger?
You know the story of the hound?
I do not believe in such nonsense.
But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him awayfrom a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world iswide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?
Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henrys nature. I fear thatunless you can give me some more definite information than this it wouldbe impossible to get him to move.
I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.
I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant nomore than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish yourbrother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, oranyone else, could object.
My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinksthat it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be veryangry if he knew that I had said anything which might induce Sir Henryto go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I mustget back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!
She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scatteredboulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way toBaskerville Hall.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 8The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 8FIRST REPORT OF DR. WATSONFROM this point onward I will follow the course of events by transcribingmy own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie before me on the table.
One page is missing, but otherwise they are exactly as written and showmy feelings and suspicions of the moment more accurately than mymemory, clear as it is upon these tragic events, can possibly do.
Baskerville Hall, October 13th.
MY DEAR HOLMES:
My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to dateas to all that has occurred in this most God-forsaken corner of the world.
The longer one stays here the more does the spirit of the moor sink intoones soul, its vastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once outupon its bosom you have left all traces of modern England behind you,but, on the other hand, you are conscious everywhere of the homes andthe work of the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are thehouses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge monolithswhich are supposed to have marked their temples. As you look at theirgray stone huts against the scarred hillsides you leave your own agebehind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out fromthe low door, fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, youwould feel that his presence there was more natural than your own. Thestrange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what mustalways have been most [713] unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but Icould imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried race who wereforced to accept that which none other would occupy.
All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me andwill probably be very uninteresting to your severely practical mind. I canstill remember your complete indifference as to whether the sun movedround the earth or the earth round the sun. Let me, therefore, return to thefacts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville.
If you have not had any report within the last few days it is because upto to-day there was nothing of importance to relate. Then a verysurprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell you in due course.
But, first of all, I must keep you in touch with some of the other factors inthe situation.
One of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped convictupon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that he has got rightaway, which is a considerable relief to the lonely householders of thisdistrict. A fortnight has passed since his flight, during which he has notbeen seen and nothing has been heard of him. It is surely inconceivablethat he could have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course,so far as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any one ofthese stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there is nothing to eatunless he were to catch and slaughter one of the moor sheep. We think,therefore, that he has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep the better inconsequence.
We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could takegood care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy momentswhen I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles from any help.
There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, thelatter not a very strong man. They would be helpless in the hands of adesperate fellow like this Notting Hill criminal if he could once effect anentrance. Both Sir Henry and I were concerned at their situation, and itwas suggested that Perkins the groom should go over to sleep there, butStapleton would not hear of it.
The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a considerableinterest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered at, for time hangsheavily in this lonely spot to an active man like him, and she is a veryfascinating and beautiful woman. There is something tropical and exoticabout her which forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotionalbrother. Yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a verymarked influence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at himas she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. I trust that he iskind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes and a firm set of his thin lips,which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would findhim an interesting study.
He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the verynext morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of thewicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion ofsome miles across the moor to a place which is so dismal that it mighthave suggested the story. We found a short valley between rugged torswhich led to an open, grassy space flecked over with the white cottongrass. In the middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at theupper end until they looked like the huge corroding fangs of somemonstrous beast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the oldtragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more thanonce whether he did really believe in the possibility of the interference ofthe supernatural [714] in the affairs of men. He spoke lightly, but it wasevident that he was very much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in hisreplies, but it was easy to see that he said less than he might, and that hewould not express his whole opinion out of consideration for the feelingsof the baronet. He told us of similar cases, where families had sufferedfrom some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that heshared the popular view upon the matter.
On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it wasthere that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton. From thefirst moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her,and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. He referred to heragain and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passedthat we have not seen something of the brother and sister. They dine hereto-night, and there is some talk of our going to them next week. Onewould imagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton,and yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongestdisapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some attentionto his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead alonely life without her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if hewere to stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I amcertain that he does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I haveseveral times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from beingtete-a-tete. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henryto go out alone will become very much more onerous if a love affair wereto be added to our other difficulties. My popularity would soon suffer if Iwere to carry out your orders to the letter.
The other dayCThursday, to be more exactCDr. Mortimer lunched withus. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down and has got aprehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was there such asingle-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came in afterwards, andthe good doctor took us all to the yew alley at Sir Henrys request to showus exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long,dismal walk, the yew alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge,with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is an oldtumble-down summer-house. Halfway down is the moor-gate, where theold gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a latch.
Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of the affair andtried to picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood there he sawsomething coming across the moor, something which terrified him so thathe lost his wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror andexhaustion. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. Andfrom what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound, black, silent,and monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale,watchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim andvague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it.
One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.
Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us.
He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion isfor the British law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. He fightsfor the mere pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up eitherside of a question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costlyamusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parishto make him open it. At others he will with his own hands tear downsome other mans gate and declare that a path has existed there from timeimmemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. He islearned in [715] old manorial and communal rights, and he applies hisknowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthy andsometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried intriumph down the village street or else burned in effigy, according to hislatest exploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands atpresent, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his fortune andso draw his sting and leave him harmless for the future. Apart from thelaw he seems a kindly, good-natured person, and I only mention himbecause you were particular that I should send some description of thepeople who surround us. He is curiously employed at present, for, beingan amateur astronomer, he has an excellent telescope, with which he liesupon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hopeof catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he would confine hisenergies to this all would be well, but there are rumours that he intends toprosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of thenext of kin because he dug up the neolithic skull in the barrow on LongDown. He helps to keep our lives from being monotonous and gives alittle comic relief where it is badly needed.
And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict, theStapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let me end onthat which is most important and tell you more about the Barrymores, andespecially about the surprising development of last night.
First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London inorder to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have alreadyexplained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that the test wasworthless and that we have no proof one way or the other. I told SirHenry how the matter stood, and he at once, in his downright fashion, hadBarrymore up and asked him whether he had received the telegramhimself. Barrymore said that he had.
Did the boy deliver it into your own hands? asked Sir Henry.
Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.
No, said he, I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife broughtit up to me.
Did you answer it yourself?
No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it.
In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.
I could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning,Sir Henry, said he. I trust that they do not mean that I have doneanything to forfeit your confidence?
Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by givinghim a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London outfit havingnow all arrived.
Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person, verylimited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical. You couldhardly conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have told you how, on thefirst night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then I have morethan once observed traces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrowgnaws ever at her heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memorywhich haunts her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being adomestic tyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular andquestionable in this mans character, but the adventure of last night bringsall my suspicions to a head.
And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that I amnot a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in this house myslumbers have [716] been lighter than ever. Last night, about two in themorning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passing my room. I rose,opened my door, and peeped out. A long black shadow was trailing downthe corridor. It was thrown by a man who walked softly down the passagewith a candle held in his hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with nocovering to his feet. I could merely see the outline, but his height told methat it was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly, andthere was something indescribably guilty and furtive in his wholeappearance.
I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which runsround the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side. I waited untilhe had passed out of sight and then I followed him. When I came roundthe balcony he had reached the end of the farther corridor, and I could seefrom the glimmer of light through an open door that he had entered one ofthe rooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so thathis expedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shonesteadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down the passage asnoiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of the door.
Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held againstthe glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and his face seemed tobe rigid with expectation as he stared out into the blackness of the moor.
For some minutes he stood watching intently. Then he gave a deep groanand with an impatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made myway back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passingonce more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had falleninto a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I could nottell whence the sound came. What it all means I cannot guess, but there issome secret business going on in this house of gloom which sooner orlater we shall get to the bottom of. I do not trouble you with my theories,for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. I have had a long talkwith Sir Henry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaignfounded upon my observations of last night. I will not speak about it justnow, but it should make my next report interesting reading.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 9The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 9SECOND REPORT OF DR. WATSONTHE LIGHT UPON THE MOORBaskerville Hall, Oct. 15th.
MY DEAR HOLMES:
If I was compelled to leave you without much news during the earlydays of my mission you must acknowledge that I am making up for losttime, and that events are now crowding thick and fast upon us. In my lastreport I ended upon my top note with Barrymore at the window, and nowI have quite a budget already which will, unless I am much mistaken,considerably surprise you. Things have taken a turn which I could nothave anticipated. In some ways they have within the last forty-eight hoursbecome much clearer and in some ways they have become morecomplicated. But I will tell you all and you shall judge for yourself.
Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went downthe corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on thenight before. [717] The western window through which he had stared sointently has, I noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in thehouseCit commands the nearest outlook on to the moor. There is anopening between two trees which enables one from this point of view tolook right down upon it, while from all the other windows it is only adistant glimpse which can be obtained. It follows, therefore, thatBarrymore, since only this window would serve the purpose, must havebeen looking out for something or somebody upon the moor. The nightwas very dark, so that I can hardly imagine how he could have hoped tosee anyone. It had struck me that it was possible that some love intriguewas on foot. That would have accounted for his stealthy movements andalso for the uneasiness of his wife. The man is a striking-looking fellow,very well equipped to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theoryseemed to have something to support it. That opening of the door which Ihad heard after I had returned to my room might mean that he had goneout to keep some clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myself inthe morning, and I tell you the direction of my suspicions, however muchthe result may have shown that they were unfounded.
But whatever the true explanation of Barrymores movements mightbe, I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until I couldexplain them was more than I could bear. I had an interview with thebaronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had seen. Hewas less surprised than I had expected.
I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to speakto him about it, said he. Two or three times I have heard his steps in thepassage, coming and going, just about the hour you name.
Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window, Isuggested.
Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him and see whatit is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmes would do if hewere here.
I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest, said I. Hewould follow Barrymore and see what he did.
Then we shall do it together.
But surely he would hear us.
The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance ofthat. Well sit up in my room to-night and wait until he passes. Sir Henryrubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed theadventure as a relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor.
The baronet has been in communication with the architect whoprepared the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, sothat we may expect great changes to begin here soon. There have beendecorators and furnishers up from Plymouth, and it is evident that ourfriend has large ideas and means to spare no pains or expense to restorethe grandeur of his family. When the house is renovated and refurnished,all that he will need will be a wife to make it complete. Betweenourselves there are pretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if thelady is willing, for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated with awoman than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And yetthe course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as one would underthe circumstances expect. To-day, for example, its surface was broken bya very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend considerableperplexity and annoyance.
After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir Henryput on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of course I did the same.
[718] What, are you coming, Watson? he asked, looking at me in acurious way.
That depends on whether you are going on the moor, said I.
Yes, I am.
Well, you know what my instructions are. I am sorry to intrude, butyou heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leave you, andespecially that you should not go alone upon the moor.
Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile.
My dear fellow, said he, Holmes, with all his wisdom, did notforesee some things which have happened since I have been on the moor.
You understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in the world whowould wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out alone.
It put me in a most awkward position. I was at a loss what to say orwhat to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane andwas gone.
But when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached mebitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight. Iimagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to you and toconfess that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for yourinstructions. I assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought. It mightnot even now be too late to overtake him, so I set off at once in thedirection of Merripit House.
I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anythingof Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor path branches off.
There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the wrong direction after all, Imounted a hill from which I could command a viewCthe same hill whichis cut into the dark quarry. Thence I saw him at once. He was on the moorpath, about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who couldonly be Miss Stapleton. It was clear that there was already anunderstanding between them and that they had met by appointment. Theywere walking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw her makingquick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest in whatshe was saying, while he listened intently, and once or twice shook hishead in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks watching them, very muchpuzzled as to what I should do next. To follow them and break into theirintimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet my clear duty wasnever for an instant to let him out of my sight. To act the spy upon afriend was a hateful task. Still, I could see no better course than toobserve him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing tohim afterwards what I had done. It is true that if any sudden danger hadthreatened him I was too far away to be of use, and yet I am sure that youwill agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that there wasnothing more which I could do.
Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and werestanding deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was suddenlyaware that I was not the only witness of their interview. A wisp of greenfloating in the air caught my eye, and another glance showed me that itwas carried on a stick by a man who was moving among the brokenground. It was Stapleton with his butterfly-net. He was very much closerto the pair than I was, and he appeared to be moving in their direction. Atthis instant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His armwas round her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from himwith her face averted. He stooped his head to hers, and she raised onehand as if in protest. Next moment I saw them spring apart and turnhurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of the interruption. He wasrunning wildly towards them, [719] his absurd net dangling behind him.
He gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of the lovers.
What the scene meant I could not imagine, but it seemed to me thatStapleton was abusing Sir Henry, who offered explanations, whichbecame more angry as the other refused to accept them. The lady stood byin haughty silence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckonedin a peremptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at SirHenry, walked off by the side of her brother. The naturalists angrygestures showed that the lady was included in his displeasure. Thebaronet stood for a minute looking after them, and then he walked slowlyback the way that he had come, his head hanging, the very picture ofdejection.
What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed tohave witnessed so intimate a scene without my friends knowledge. I randown the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. His face wasflushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at hiswits ends what to do.
Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from? said he. You dontmean to say that you came after me in spite of all?
I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remainbehind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that hadoccurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmedhis anger, and he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh.
You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe placefor a man to be private, said he, but, by thunder, the whole countrysideseems to have been out to see me do my wooingCand a mighty poorwooing at that! Where had you engaged a seat?
I was on that hill.
Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the front.
Did you see him come out on us?
Yes, I did.
Did he ever strike you as being crazyCthis brother of hers?
I cant say that he ever did.
I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until to-day, but youcan take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a strait-jacket. Whatsthe matter with me, anyhow? Youve lived near me for some weeks,Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there anything that would prevent mefrom making a good husband to a woman that I loved?
I should say not.
He cant object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that hehas this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt man or woman inmy life that I know of. And yet he would not so much as let me touch thetips of her fingers.
Did he say so?
That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, Ive only known her thesefew weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made for me, and she,tooC she was happy when she was with me, and that Ill swear. Theres alight in a womans eyes that speaks louder than words. But he has neverlet us get together, and it was only to-day for the first time that I saw achance of having a few words with her alone. She was glad to meet me,but when she did it was not love that she would talk about, and shewouldnt have let me talk about it either if she could have stopped it. Shekept coming back to it that this was a place of danger, and that she wouldnever be happy until I had left it. I told her that since I had seen [720] her Iwas in no hurry to leave it, and that if she really wanted me to go, the onlyway to work it was for her to arrange to go with me. With that I offered inas many words to marry her, but before she could answer, down came thisbrother of hers, running at us with a face on him like a madman. He wasjust white with rage, and those light eyes of his were blazing with fury.
What was I doing with the lady? How dared I offer her attentions whichwere distasteful to her? Did I think that because I was a baronet I could dowhat I liked? If he had not been her brother I should have known betterhow to answer him. As it was I told him that my feelings towards hissister were such as I was not ashamed of, and that I hoped that she mighthonour me by becoming my wife. That seemed to make the matter nobetter, so then I lost my temper too, and I answered him rather more hotlythan I should perhaps, considering that she was standing by. So it endedby his going off with her, as you saw, and here am I as badly puzzled aman as any in this county. Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and Illowe you more than ever I can hope to pay.
I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely puzzledmyself. Our friends title, his fortune, his age, his character, and hisappearance are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him unless itbe this dark fate which runs in his family. That his advances should berejected so brusquely without any reference to the ladys own wishes andthat the lady should accept the situation without protest is very amazing.
However, our conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapletonhimself that very afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for hisrudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview with Sir Henryin his study the upshot of their conversation was that the breach is quitehealed, and that we are to dine at Merripit House next Friday as a sign ofit.
I dont say now that he isnt a crazy man, said Sir Henry; I cantforget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but I mustallow that no man could make a more handsome apology than he hasdone.
Did he give any explanation of his conduct?
His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural enough, andI am glad that he should understand her value. They have always beentogether, and according to his account he has been a very lonely man withonly her as a companion, so that the thought of losing her was reallyterrible to him. He had not understood, he said, that I was becomingattached to her, but when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so,and that she might be taken away from him, it gave him such a shock thatfor a time he was not responsible for what he said or did. He was verysorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish and howselfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a beautiful womanlike his sister to himself for her whole life. If she had to leave him he hadrather it was to a neighbour like myself than to anyone else. But in anycase it was a blow to him, and it would take him some time before hecould prepare himself to meet it. He would withdraw all opposition uponhis part if I would promise for three months to let the matter rest and to becontent with cultivating the ladys friendship during that time withoutclaiming her love. This I promised, and so the matter rests.
So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It is something tohave touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we are floundering.
We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavour upon his sisterssuitorCeven when that suitor was so eligible a one as Sir Henry. And nowI pass on to another thread which I have extricated out of the tangledskein, the mystery of the sobs in the night, [721] of the tear-stained face ofMrs. Barrymore, of the secret journey of the butler to the western latticewindow. Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have notdisappointed you as an agentCthat you do not regret the confidence whichyou showed in me when you sent me down. All these things have by onenights work been thoroughly cleared.
I have said by one nights work, but, in truth, it was by two nights
work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat up with Sir Henry inhis rooms until nearly three oclock in the morning, but no sound of anysort did we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs. It was a mostmelancholy vigil and ended by each of us falling asleep in our chairs.
Fortunately we were not discouraged, and we determined to try again.
The next night we lowered the lamp and sat smoking cigarettes withoutmaking the least sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours crawledby, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient interestwhich the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into which he hopes thegame may wander. One struck, and two, and we had almost for thesecond time given it up in despair when in an instant we both sat boltupright in our chairs, with all our weary senses keenly on the alert oncemore. We had heard the creak of a step in the passage.
Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the distance.
Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in pursuit.
Already our man had gone round the gallery, and the corridor was all indarkness. Softly we stole along until we had come into the other wing.
We were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure,his shoulders rounded, as he tiptoed down the passage. Then he passedthrough the same door as before, and the light of the candle framed it inthe darkness and shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of thecorridor. We shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before wedared to put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the precaution ofleaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards snapped andcreaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible that he shouldfail to hear our approach. However, the man is fortunately rather deaf, andhe was entirely preoccupied in that which he was doing. When at last wereached the door and peeped through we found him crouching at thewindow, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed against the pane,exactly as I had seen him two nights before.
We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man towhom the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked into theroom, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with asharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. His darkeyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror andastonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry to me.
What are you doing here, Barrymore?
Nothing, sir. His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak,and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. Itwas the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are fastened.
On the second floor?
Yes, sir, all the windows.
Look here, Barrymore, said Sir Henry sternly, we have made up ourminds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell itsooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies! What were you doing at thatwindow?
The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his handstogether like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery.
[722] I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to the window.
And why were you holding a candle to the window?
Dont ask me, Sir HenryCdont ask me! I give you my word, sir, that itis not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it concerned no one but myselfI would not try to keep it from you.
A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the tremblinghand of the butler.
He must have been holding it as a signal, said I. Let us see if there isany answer. I held it as he had done, and stared out into the darkness ofthe night. Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the trees and thelighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the clouds. Andthen I gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pin-point of yellow light hadsuddenly transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of theblack square framed by the window.
There it is! I cried.
No, no, sir, it is nothingCnothing at all! the butler broke in; I assureyou, sirC C
Move your light across the window, Watson! cried the baronet. See,the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal?
Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is thisconspiracy that is going on?
The mans face became openly defiant.
It is my business, and not yours. I will not tell.
Then you leave my employment right away.
Very good, sir. If I must I must.
And you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed ofyourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years underthis roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot against me.
No, no, sir; no, not against you! It was a womans voice, and Mrs.
Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standingat the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comicwere it not for the intensity of feeling upon her face.
We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our things, 
said the butler.
Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir HenryCall mine. He has done nothing except for my sake, and because I askedhim.
Speak out, then! What does it mean?
My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him perishat our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him,and his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it.
Then your brother isC C
The escaped convict, sirCSelden, the criminal.
Thats the truth, sir, said Barrymore. I said that it was not my secretand that I could not tell it to you. But now you have heard it, and you willsee that if there was a plot it was not against you.
This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night andthe light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at the woman inamazement. Was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was ofthe same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country?
Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. Wehumoured him too much when he was a lad and gave him his own way ineverything until [723] he came to think that the world was made for hispleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. Then as he grew olderhe met wicked companions, and the devil entered into him until he brokemy mothers heart and dragged our name in the dirt. From crime to crimehe sank lower and lower until it is only the mercy of God which hassnatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the littlecurly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with as an elder sisterwould. That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here andthat we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself here onenight, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what couldwe do? We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then youreturned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor thananywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there.
But every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting alight in the window, and if there was an answer my husband took outsome bread and meat to him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, butas long as he was there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth,as I am an honest Christian woman, and you will see that if there is blamein the matter it does not lie with my husband but with me, for whose sakehe has done all that he has.
The womans words came with an intense earnestness which carriedconviction with them.
Is this true, Barrymore?
Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it.
Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget whatI have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about thismatter in the morning.
When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henryhad flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. Faraway in the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellowlight.
I wonder he dares, said Sir Henry.
It may be so placed as to be only visible from here.
Very likely. How far do you think it is?
Out by the Cleft Tor, I think.
Not more than a mile or two off.
Hardly that.
Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it. Andhe is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By thunder, Watson, I amgoing out to take that man!
The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if theBarrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had beenforced from them. The man was a danger to the community, anunmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. Wewere only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him back wherehe could do no harm. With his brutal and violent nature, others wouldhave to pay the price if we held our hands. Any night, for example, ourneighbours the Stapletons might be attacked by him, and it may have beenthe thought of this which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.
I will come, said I.
Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we start thebetter, as the fellow may put out his light and be off.
In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition.
We [724] hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning ofthe autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves. The night air washeavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and again the moonpeeped out for an instant, but clouds were driving over the face of the sky,and just as we came out on the moor a thin rain began to fall. The lightstill burned steadily in front.
Are you armed? I asked.
I have a hunting-crop.
We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperatefellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy beforehe can resist.
I say, Watson, said the baronet, what would Holmes say to this?
How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?
As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloomof the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the bordersof the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind through the silence ofthe night, a long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad moanin which it died away. Again and again it sounded, the whole airthrobbing with it, strident, wild, and menacing. The baronet caught mysleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness.
My God, whats that, Watson?
I dont know. Its a sound they have on the moor. I heard it oncebefore.
It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stoodstraining our ears, but nothing came.
Watson, said the baronet, it was the cry of a hound.
My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice whichtold of the sudden horror which had seized him.
What do they call this sound? he asked.
Who?
The folk on the countryside?
Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call it?
Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?
I hesitated but could not escape the question.
They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
He groaned and was silent for a few moments.
A hound it was, he said at last, but it seemed to come from milesaway, over yonder, I think.
It was hard to say whence it came.
It rose and fell with the wind. Isnt that the direction of the greatGrimpen Mire?
Yes, it is.
Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didnt you think yourselfthat it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You need not fear tospeak the truth.
Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it might be thecalling of a strange bird.
No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all thesestories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause? Youdont believe it, do you, Watson?
No, no.
And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is anotherto stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry asthat. And my [725] uncle! There was the footprint of the hound beside himas he lay. It all fits together. I dont think that I am a coward, Watson, butthat sound seemed to freeze my very blood. Feel my hand!
It was as cold as a block of marble.
Youll be all right to-morrow.
I dont think Ill get that cry out of my head. What do you advise thatwe do now?
Shall we turn back?
No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it.
We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. Comeon! Well see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon themoor.
We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of thecraggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily infront. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon a pitchdarknight, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon thehorizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us. But atlast we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeedvery close. A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks whichflanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent itfrom being visible, save in the direction of Baskerville Hall. A boulder ofgranite concealed our approach, and crouching behind it we gazed over itat the signal light. It was strange to see this single candle burning there inthe middle of the moor, with no sign of life near itCjust the one straightyellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it.
What shall we do now? whispered Sir Henry.
Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get aglimpse of him.
The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Overthe rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust outan evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with vilepassions. Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with mattedhair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt inthe burrows on the hillsides. The light beneath him was reflected in hissmall, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through thedarkness like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of thehunters.
Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been thatBarrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or thefellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not well,but I could read his fears upon his wicked face. Any instant he might dashout the light and vanish in the darkness. I sprang forward therefore, andSir Henry did the same. At the same moment the convict screamed out acurse at us and hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulderwhich had sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat, stronglybuilt figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. At the samemoment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds. We rushedover the brow of the hill, and there was our man running with great speeddown the other side, springing over the stones in his way with the activityof a mountain goat. A lucky long shot of my revolver might have crippledhim, but I had brought it only to defend myself if attacked and not toshoot an unarmed man who was running away.
We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soonfound that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him for a longtime in the moonlight [726] until he was only a small speck movingswiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. We ran and ranuntil we were completely blown, but the space between us grew everwider. Finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks, while wewatched him disappearing in the distance.
And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange andunexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to gohome, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low upon theright, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the lowercurve of its silver disc. There, outlined as black as an ebony statue on thatshining background, I saw the figure of a man upon the tor. Do not thinkthat it was a delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my lifeseen anything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was that ofa tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little separated, his arms folded,his head bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormous wilderness ofpeat and granite which lay before him. He might have been the very spiritof that terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from theplace where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much tallerman. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in theinstant during which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone.
There was the sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of themoon, but its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure.
I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was somedistance away. The baronets nerves were still quivering from that cry,which recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the moodfor fresh adventures. He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor andcould not feel the thrill which his strange presence and his commandingattitude had given to me. A warder, no doubt, said he. The moor hasbeen thick with them since this fellow escaped. Well, perhaps hisexplanation may be the right one, but I should like to have some furtherproof of it. To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown peoplewhere they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that wehave not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our ownprisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you mustacknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in thematter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite irrelevant, butstill I feel that it is best that I should let you have all the facts and leaveyou to select for yourself those which will be of most service to you inhelping you to your conclusions. We are certainly making some progress.
So far as the Barrymores go we have found the motive of their actions,and that has cleared up the situation very much. But the moor with itsmysteries and its strange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever.
Perhaps in my next I may be able to throw some light upon this also. Bestof all would it be if you could come down to us. In any case you will hearfrom me again in the course of the next few days.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 10The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 10EXTRACT FROM THE DIARYOF DR. WATSONSO FAR I have been able to quote from the reports which I haveforwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however, Ihave arrived at a point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandonthis method and to trust [727] once more to my recollections, aided by thediary which I kept at the time. A few extracts from the latter will carry meon to those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon mymemory. I proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortivechase of the convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.
October 16th. A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The house isbanked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the drearycurves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the hills, andthe distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon their wet faces.
It is melancholy outside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after theexcitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my heartand a feeling of impending dangerCever present danger, which is the moreterrible because I am unable to define it.
And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long sequence ofincidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is atwork around us. There is the death of the last occupant of the Hall,fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend, and there are therepeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creatureupon the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound whichresembled the distant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible, thatit should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral houndwhich leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling is surelynot to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such a superstition, andMortimer also; but if I have one quality upon earth it is common sense,and nothing will persuade me to believe in such a thing. To do so wouldbe to descend to the level of these poor peasants, who are not content witha mere fiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shootingfrom his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and Iam his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard this crying uponthe moor. Suppose that there were really some huge hound loose upon it;that would go far to explain everything. But where could such a hound lieconcealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from, how was itthat no one saw it by day? It must be confessed that the naturalexplanation offers almost as many difficulties as the other. And always,apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in London,the man in the cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry against themoor. This at least was real, but it might have been the work of aprotecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemynow? Has he remained in London, or has he followed us down here?
Could heCcould he be the stranger whom I saw upon the tor?
It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet there aresome things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seendown here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The figure was fartaller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Frankland. Barrymoreit might possibly have been, but we had left him behind us, and I amcertain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then is still doggingus, just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken himoff. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might findourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose I must nowdevote all my energies.
My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second andwisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible toanyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have been strangely shakenby that sound upon the moor. I [728] will say nothing to add to hisanxieties, but I will take my own steps to attain my own end.
We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore askedleave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study somelittle time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the soundof voices raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was whichwas under discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and calledfor me.
Barrymore considers that he has a grievance, he said. He thinks thatit was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down when he, of hisown free will, had told us the secret.
The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.
I may have spoken too warmly, sir, said he, and if I have, I am surethat I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much surprised whenI heard you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that youhad been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has enough to fight againstwithout my putting more upon his track.
If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a differentthing, said the baronet, you only told us, or rather your wife only toldus, when it was forced from you and you could not help yourself.
I didnt think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir HenryCindeedI didnt.
The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over themoor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You only want to geta glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr. Stapletons house, forexample, with no one but himself to defend it. Theres no safety foranyone until he is under lock and key.
Hell break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word upon that.
But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I assure you, SirHenry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have beenmade and he will be on his way to South America. For Gods sake, sir, Ibeg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the moor. Theyhave given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is readyfor him. You cant tell on him without getting my wife and me intotrouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police.
What do you say, Watson?
I shrugged my shoulders. If he were safely out of the country it wouldrelieve the tax-payer of a burden.
But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?
He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with allthat he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he washiding.
That is true, said Sir Henry. Well, BarrymoreC C
God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have killedmy poor wife had he been taken again.
I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after whatwe have heard, I dont feel as if I could give the man up, so there is anend of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go.
With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitatedand then came back.
Youve been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the best I canfor you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should havesaid it before, but [729] it was long after the inquest that I found it out.
Ive never breathed a word about it yet to mortal man. Its about poor SirCharless death.
The baronet and I were both upon our feet. Do you know how hedied?
No, sir, I dont know that.
What then?
I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman.
To meet a woman! He?
Yes, sir.
And the womans name?
I cant give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Herinitials were L. L.
How do you know this, Barrymore?
Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usuallya great many letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kindheart, so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. Butthat morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took themore notice of it. It was from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in awomans hand.
Well?
Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have donehad it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning outSir Charless studyCit had never been touched since his deathCand shefound the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. The greater partof it was charred to pieces, but one little slip, the end of a page, hungtogether, and the writing could still be read, though it was gray on a blackground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letter, and itsaid: Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at thegate by ten oclock. Beneath it were signed the initials L. L.
Have you got that slip?
No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it.
Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing?
Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I should not havenoticed this one, only it happened to come alone.
And you have no idea who L. L. is?
No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay ourhands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charless death.
I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal thisimportant information.
Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to us.
And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of Sir Charles, as wewell might be considering all that he has done for us. To rake this upcouldnt help our poor master, and its well to go carefully when theres alady in the case. Even the best of usC C
You thought it might injure his reputation?
Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have beenkind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell youall that I know about the matter.
Very good, Barrymore; you can go. When the butler had left us SirHenry turned to me. Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light?
It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before.
So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up the wholebusiness. [730] We have gained that much. We know that there is someonewho has the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we shoulddo?
Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue forwhich he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring himdown.
I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morningsconversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busyof late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street were few and short,with no comments upon the information which I had supplied and hardlyany reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbingall his faculties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attentionand renew his interest. I wish that he were here.
October 17th. All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on the ivyand dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak,cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has sufferedsomething to atone for them. And then I thought of that other oneCtheface in the cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out in thatdelugeCthe unseen watcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put onmy waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of darkimaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling aboutmy ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now, for even thefirm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tor upon which Ihad seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked outmyself across the melancholy downs. Rain squalls drifted across theirrusset face, and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over thelandscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills. Inthe distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towersof Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They were the only signs ofhuman life which I could see, save only those prehistoric huts which laythickly upon the slopes of the hills. Nowhere was there any trace of thatlonely man whom I had seen on the same spot two nights before.
As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his dogcartover a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouseof Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passedthat he has not called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. Heinsisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lifthomeward. I found him much troubled over the disappearance of his littlespaniel. It had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gavehim such consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the GrimpenMire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again.
By the way, Mortimer, said I as we jolted along the rough road, Isuppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whomyou do not know?
Hardly any, I think.
Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are L.
L.?
He thought for a few minutes.
No, said he. There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom Icant answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whoseinitials are those. Wait a bit though, he added after a pause. There isLaura LyonsC her initials are L. L.Cbut she lives in Coombe Tracey.
Who is she? I asked.
She is Franklands daughter.
What? Old Frankland the crank?
Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching onthe moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The fault fromwhat I hear may [731] not have been entirely on one side. Her fatherrefused to have anything to do with her because she had married withouthis consent and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, betweenthe old sinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time.
How does she live?
I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more, forhis own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she may havedeserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her storygot about, and several of the people here did something to enable her toearn an honest living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir Charles for another. Igave a trifle myself. It was to set her up in a typewriting business.
He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to satisfyhis curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why weshould take anyone into our confidence. To-morrow morning I shall findmy way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, ofequivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearingone incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing thewisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to aninconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Franklands skullbelonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. Ihave not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.
I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous andmelancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now,which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time.
Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played cartafterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I tookthe chance to ask him a few questions.
Well, said I, has this precious relation of yours departed, or is hestill lurking out yonder?
I dont know, sir. I hope to Heaven that he has gone, for he hasbrought nothing but trouble here! Ive not heard of him since I left outfood for him last, and that was three days ago.
Did you see him then?
No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.
Then he was certainly there?
So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it.
I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore.
You know that there is another man then?
Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor.
Have you seen him?
No, sir.
How do you know of him then?
Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. Hes in hiding, too,but hes not a convict as far as I can make out. I dont like it, Dr.
WatsonCI tell you straight, sir, that I dont like it. He spoke with asudden passion of earnestness.
Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but thatof your master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tellme, frankly, what it is that you dont like.
Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst orfound it difficult to express his own feelings in words.
[732] Its all these goings-on, sir, he cried at last, waving his handtowards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. Theres foul playsomewhere, and theres black villainy brewing, to that Ill swear! Veryglad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again!
But what is it that alarms you?
Look at Sir Charless death! That was bad enough, for all that thecoroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. Theres not a manwould cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this strangerhiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! Whats he waiting for?
What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name ofBaskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day that SirHenrys new servants are ready to take over the Hall.
But about this stranger, said I. Can you tell me anything about him?
What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or what he wasdoing?
He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one and gives nothingaway. At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that hehad some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he was, as far as he couldsee, but what he was doing he could not make out.
And where did he say that he lived?
Among the old houses on the hillsideCthe stone huts where the oldfolk used to live.
But how about his food?
Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and bringsall he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants.
Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time.
When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and Ilooked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossingoutline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what mustit be in a stone hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be whichleads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep andearnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hutupon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which hasvexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed beforeI have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 11The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 11THE MAN ON THE TORTHE extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter hasbrought my narrative up to the eighteenth of October, a time when thesestrange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion.
The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon myrecollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at thetime. I start them from the day which succeeded that upon which I hadestablished two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyonsof Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made anappointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his death, theother that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among thestone huts upon the hillside. With these two facts in my [733] possession Ifelt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I couldnot throw some further light upon these dark places.
I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about Mrs.
Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him atcards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him aboutmy discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany me toCoombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on secondthoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might bebetter. The more formal we made the visit the less information we mightobtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings ofconscience, and drove off upon my new quest.
When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses, andI made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had nodifficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed. Amaid showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting-room alady, who was sitting before a Remington typewriter, sprang up with apleasant smile of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that Iwas a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of myvisit.
The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme beauty. Hereyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, thoughconsiderably freckled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of thebrunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the sulphur rose.
Admiration was, I repeat, the first impression. But the second wascriticism. There was something subtly wrong with the face, somecoarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some loosenessof lip which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are afterthoughts.
At the moment I was simply conscious that I was in thepresence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking me thereasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until that instant howdelicate my mission was.
I have the pleasure, said I, of knowing your father.
It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.
There is nothing in common between my father and me, she said. Iowe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not for the lateSir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I might have starvedfor all that my father cared.
It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here tosee you.
The freckles started out on the ladys face.
What can I tell you about him? she asked, and her fingers playednervously over the stops of her typewriter.
You knew him, did you not?
I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If I am ableto support myself it is largely due to the interest which he took in myunhappy situation.
Did you correspond with him?
The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.
What is the object of these questions? she asked sharply.
The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I should askthem here than that the matter should pass outside our control.
She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she looked upwith something reckless and defiant in her manner.
Well, Ill answer, she said. What are your questions?
[734] Did you correspond with Sir Charles?
I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy andhis generosity.
Have you the dates of those letters?
No.
Have you ever met him?
Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a veryretiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth.
But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he knowenough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say that he hasdone?
She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.
There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united tohelp me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of SirCharless. He was exceedingly kind, and it was through him that SirCharles learned about my affairs.
I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton hisalmoner upon several occasions, so the ladys statement bore the impressof truth upon it.
Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you? Icontinued.
Mrs. Lyon flushed with anger again.
Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question.
I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it.
Then I answer, certainly not.
Not on the very day of Sir Charless death?
The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me.
Her dry lips could not speak the No which I saw rather than heard.
Surely your memory deceives you, said I. I could even quote apassage of your letter. It ran Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burnthis letter, and be at the gate by ten oclock.
I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supremeeffort.
Is there no such thing as a gentleman? she gasped.
You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But sometimesa letter may be legible even when burned. You acknowledge now that youwrote it?
Yes, I did write it, she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent ofwords. I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have no reason to beashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed that if I had aninterview I could gain his help, so I asked him to meet me.
But why at such an hour?
Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next dayand might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not getthere earlier.
But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?
Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelorshouse?
Well, what happened when you did get there?
I never went.
Mrs. Lyons!
No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Somethingintervened to prevent my going.
What was that?
That is a private matter. I cannot tell it.
You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir Charlesat the very hour [735] and place at which he met his death, but you denythat you kept the appointment.
That is the truth.
Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past thatpoint.
Mrs. Lyons, said I as I rose from this long and inconclusiveinterview, you are taking a very great responsibility and putting yourselfin a very false position by not making an absolutely clean breast of allthat you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police you will find howseriously you are compromised. If your position is innocent, why did youin the first instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date?
Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from itand that I might find myself involved in a scandal.
And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy yourletter?
If you have read the letter you will know.
I did not say that I had read all the letter.
You quoted some of it.
I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned and itwas not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that you were sopressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received onthe day of his death.
The matter is a very private one.
The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.
I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy historyyou will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it.
I have heard so much.
My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom Iabhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by thepossibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrotethis letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was a prospect of myregaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. It meanteverything to meCpeace of mind, happiness, self-respectCeverything. Iknew Sir Charless generosity, and I thought that if he heard the storyfrom my own lips he would help me.
Then how is it that you did not go?
Because I received help in the interval from another source.
Why, then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?
So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper nextmorning.
The womans story hung coherently together, and all my questionswere unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had,indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about thetime of the tragedy.
It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been toBaskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary totake her there, and could not have returned to Coombe Tracey until theearly hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not be kept secret.
The probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, apart of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I hadreached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path bywhich I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet the more Ithought of the ladys face and of her manner the more I felt thatsomething was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale?
Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced fromher? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy?
Surely the explanation of all this could not [736] be as innocent as shewould have me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in thatdirection, but must turn back to that other clue which was to be sought foramong the stone huts upon the moor.
And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove back andnoted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient people. Barrymoresonly indication had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandonedhuts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout the length andbreadth of the moor. But I had my own experience for a guide since it hadshown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor.
That, then, should be the centre of my search. From there I should exploreevery hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right one. If this manwere inside it I should find out from his own lips, at the point of myrevolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dogged us so long. Hemight slip away from us in the crowd of Regent Street, but it wouldpuzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other hand, if I shouldfind the hut and its tenant should not be within it I must remain there,however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him inLondon. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earthwhere my master had failed.
Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now atlast it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was none otherthan Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered and red-faced,outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the highroad alongwhich I travelled.
Good-day, Dr. Watson, cried he with unwonted good humour, youmust really give your horses a rest and come in to have a glass of wineand to congratulate me.
My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what Ihad heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was anxious to sendPerkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. Ialighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk over in timefor dinner. Then I followed Frankland into his dining-room.
It is a great day for me, sirCone of the red-letter days of my life, hecried with many chuckles. I have brought off a double event. I mean toteach them in these parts that law is law, and that there is a man here whodoes not fear to invoke it. I have established a right of way through thecentre of old Middletons park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yardsof his own front door. What do you think of that? Well teach thesemagnates that they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of thecommoners, confound them! And Ive closed the wood where theFernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think thatthere are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where they likewith their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. Watson, andboth in my favour. I havent had such a day since I had Sir John Morlandfor trespass because he shot in his own warren.
How on earth did you do that?
Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay readingCFrankland v.
Morland, Court of Queens Bench. It cost me 200, but I got my verdict.
Did it do you any good?
None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the matter. Iact entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no doubt, for example, thatthe Fernworthy people will burn me in effigy to-night. I told the policelast time they did it that they should stop these disgraceful exhibitions.
The County Constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has notafforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of Franklandv. Regina will bring the matter before the [737] attention of the public. Itold them that they would have occasion to regret their treatment of me,and already my words have come true.
How so? I asked.
The old man put on a very knowing expression.
Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but nothingwould induce me to help the rascals in any way.
I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get awayfrom his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seenenough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that anystrong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences.
Some poaching case, no doubt? said I with an indifferent manner.
Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! Whatabout the convict on the moor?
I started. You dont mean that you know where he is? said I.
I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I couldhelp the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that theway to catch that man was to find out where he got his food and so trace itto him?
He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. Nodoubt, said I; but how do you know that he is anywhere upon themoor?
I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger whotakes him his food.
My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the powerof this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a weight from mymind.
Youll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. Isee him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He passes alongthe same path at the same hour, and to whom should he be going exceptto the convict?
Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of interest.
A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. Itwas on his track, and not upon the convicts, that Frankland had stumbled.
If I could get his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. Butincredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards.
I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of one ofthe moorland shepherds taking out his fathers dinner.
The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat.
His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskers bristled likethose of an angry cat.
Indeed, sir! said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching moor. Doyou see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see the low hill beyondwith the thornbush upon it? It is the stoniest part of the whole moor. Isthat a place where a shepherd would be likely to take his station? Yoursuggestion, sir, is a most absurd one.
I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the facts. Mysubmission pleased him and led him to further confidences.
You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I come toan opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his bundle. Everyday, and sometimes twice a day, I have been ableCbut wait a moment, Dr.
Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is there at the present momentsomething moving upon that hillside?
It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark dotagainst the dull green and gray.
Come, sir, come! cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. You will seewith your own eyes and judge for yourself.
[738] The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye to it andgave a cry of satisfaction.
Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!
There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon hisshoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached the crest I saw theragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue sky. Helooked round him with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who dreadspursuit. Then he vanished over the hill.
Well! Am I right?
Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.
And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But notone word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy also, Dr.
Watson. Not a word! You understand!
Just as you wish.
They have treated me shamefullyCshamefully. When the facts comeout in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of indignationwill run through the country. Nothing would induce me to help the policein any way. For all they cared it might have been me, instead of myeffigy, which these rascals burned at the stake. Surely you are not going!
You will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!
But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading him fromhis announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road as longas his eye was on me, and then I struck off across the moor and made forthe stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. Everything wasworking in my favour, and I swore that it should not be through lack ofenergy or perseverance that I should miss the chance which fortune hadthrown in my way.
The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, andthe long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and grayshadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out ofwhich jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over thewide expanse there was no sound and no movement. One great gray bird,a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to bethe only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desertbeneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery andurgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhereto be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circleof the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one whichretained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the weather. My heartleaped within me as I saw it. This must be the burrow where the strangerlurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding placeChis secretwas within my grasp.
As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do whenwith poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied myself thatthe place had indeed been used as a habitation. A vague pathway amongthe boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. Allwas silent within. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might beprowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure.
Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of myrevolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The place wasempty.
But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. Thiswas certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a waterprooflay upon that [739] very stone slab upon which neolithic man had onceslumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it laysome cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of emptytins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, asmy eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a halffull bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flatstone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small clothbundleCthe same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescope uponthe shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, andtwo tins of preserved peaches. As I set it down again, after havingexamined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet ofpaper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read, roughlyscrawled in pencil: Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.
For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out themeaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who wasbeing dogged by this secret man. He had not followed me himself, but hehad set an agentCthe boy, perhapsCupon my track, and this was his report.
Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor which hadnot been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling of anunseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy,holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that onerealized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.
If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hutin search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind,nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character orintentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he mustbe of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. When Ithought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood howstrong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in thatinhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chanceour guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut until I knew.
Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarletand gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distantpools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There were the two towersof Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked thevillage of Grimpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house ofthe Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the goldenevening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of thepeace of Nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of thatinterview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nervesbut a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited withsombre patience for the coming of its tenant.
And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a bootstriking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer andnearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cocked the pistol in mypocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity ofseeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showedthat he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and ashadow fell across the opening of the hut.
It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson, said a well-known voice. Ireally think that you will be more comfortable outside than in.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 12The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 12DEATH ON THE MOORFOR a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears.
Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weightof responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul. That cold,incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world.
Holmes! I criedCHolmes!
Come out, said he, and please be careful with the revolver.
I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone outside,his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonishedfeatures. He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face bronzedby the sun and roughened by the wind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap helooked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, withthat catlike love of personal cleanliness which was one of hischaracteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen as perfectas if he were in Baker Street.
I never was more glad to see anyone in my life, said I as I wrung himby the hand.
Or more astonished, eh?
Well, I must confess to it.
The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no idea thatyou had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it,until I was within twenty paces of the door.
My footprint, I presume?
No, Watson; I fear that I could not undertake to recognize yourfootprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously desire todeceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I see the stub ofa cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend Watsonis in the neighbourhood. You will see it there beside the path. You threwit down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged into theempty hut.
Exactly.
I thought as muchCand knowing your admirable tenacity I wasconvinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach,waiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thought that I was thecriminal?
I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out.
Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me,perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so imprudent as toallow the moon to rise behind me?
Yes, I saw you then.
And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this one?
No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where tolook.
The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make itout when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens. He rose and peepedinto the hut. Ha, I see that Cartwright has brought up some supplies.
Whats this paper? So you have been to Coombe Tracey, have you?
Yes.
[741] To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?
Exactly.
Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on parallellines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall have a fairly fullknowledge of the case.
Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed theresponsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for mynerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what haveyou been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street working out thatcase of blackmailing.
That was what I wished you to think.
Then you use me, and yet do not trust me! I cried with somebitterness. I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes.
My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in manyother cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play atrick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your own sake that I did it, and itwas my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to comedown and examine the matter for myself. Had I been with Sir Henry andyou it is confident that my point of view would have been the same asyours, and my presence would have warned our very formidableopponents to be on their guard. As it is, I have been able to get about as Icould not possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I remainan unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight at acritical moment.
But why keep me in the dark?
For you to know could not have helped us and might possibly have ledto my discovery. You would have wished to tell me something, or in yourkindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and soan unnecessary risk would be run. I brought Cartwright down withmeCyou remember the little chap at the express officeCand he has seenafter my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. What does manwant more? He has given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pairof feet, and both have been invaluable.
Then my reports have all been wasted!CMy voice trembled as Irecalled the pains and the pride with which I had composed them.
Holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket.
Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I assureyou. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only delayed one dayupon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal and theintelligence which you have shown over an extraordinarily difficult case.
I was still rather raw over the deception which had been practised uponme, but the warmth of Holmess praise drove my anger from my mind. Ifelt also in my heart that he was right in what he said and that it was reallybest for our purpose that I should not have known that he was upon themoor.
Thats better, said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face. Andnow tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura LyonsCit was notdifficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you had gone, for I amalready aware that she is the one person in Coombe Tracey who might beof service to us in the matter. In fact, if you had not gone to-day it isexceedingly probable that I should have gone to-morrow.
The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had turnedchill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There, sitting together inthe twilight, [742] I told Holmes of my conversation with the lady. Sointerested was he that I had to repeat some of it twice before he wassatisfied.
This is most important, said he when I had concluded. It fills up agap which I had been unable to bridge in this most complex affair. Youare aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists between this lady and theman Stapleton?
I did not know of a close intimacy.
There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write, thereis a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a verypowerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to detach his wifeCC
His wife?
I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you havegiven me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapleton is in reality hiswife.
Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could hehave permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?
Sir Henrys falling in love could do no harm to anyone except SirHenry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make love to her, asyou have yourself observed. I repeat that the lady is his wife and not hissister.
But why this elaborate deception?
Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to himin the character of a free woman.
All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took shapeand centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive, colourless man, withhis straw hat and his butterfly-net, I seemed to see something terribleCacreature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and amurderous heart.
It is he, then, who is our enemyCit is he who dogged us in London?
So I read the riddle.
And the warningCit must have come from her!
Exactly.
The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed, loomedthrough the darkness which had girt me so long.
But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the womanis his wife?
Because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece ofautobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and I dare say hehas many a time regretted it since. He was once a schoolmaster in thenorth of England. Now, there is no one more easy to trace than aschoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies by which one may identifyany man who has been in the profession. A little investigation showed methat a school had come to grief under atrocious circumstances, and thatthe man who had owned itCthe name was differentChad disappeared withhis wife. The descriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing manwas devoted to entomology the identification was complete.
The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the shadows.
If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyons comein? I asked.
That is one of the points upon which your own researches have shed alight. Your interview with the lady has cleared the situation very much. Idid not know about a projected divorce between herself and her husband.
In that case, regarding Stapleton as an unmarried man, she counted nodoubt upon becoming his wife.
And when she is undeceived?
Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our first duty tosee [743] herCboth of usCto-morrow. Dont you think, Watson, that youare away from your charge rather long? Your place should be atBaskerville Hall.
The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had settledupon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky.
One last question, Holmes, I said as I rose. Surely there is no needof secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it all? What is heafter?
Holmess voice sank as he answered:
It is murder, WatsonCrefined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. Do notask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, even as his are uponSir Henry, and with your help he is already almost at my mercy. There isbut one danger which can threaten us. It is that he should strike before weare ready to do so. Another dayCtwo at the mostCand I have my casecomplete, but until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fondmother watched her ailing child. Your mission to-day has justified itself,and yet I could almost wish that you had not left his side. Hark!
A terrible screamCa prolonged yell of horror and anguish burst out ofthe silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in myveins.
Oh, my God! I gasped. What is it? What does it mean?
Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at thedoor of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward, his facepeering into the darkness.
Hush! he whispered. Hush!
The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealedout from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst upon ourears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.
Where is it? Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of hisvoice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul. Where is it,Watson?
There, I think. I pointed into the darkness.
No, there!
Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and muchnearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, mutteredrumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low,constant murmur of the sea.
The hound! cried Holmes. Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, ifwe are too late!
He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed at hisheels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediatelyin front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavythud. We halted and listened. Not another sound broke the heavy silenceof the windless night.
I saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted. Hestamped his feet upon the ground.
He has beaten us, Watson. We are too late.
No, no, surely not!
Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes ofabandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has happened wellavenge him!
Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders, forcingour way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushing down slopes,heading always in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come.
At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round him, but the shadows werethick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon its dreary face.
[744] Can you see anything?
Nothing.
But, hark, what is that?
A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our left!
On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked astone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark,irregular object. As we ran towards it the vague outline hardened into adefinite shape. It was a prostrate man face downward upon the ground,the head doubled under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded andthe body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. Sogrotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant realize that thatmoan had been the passing of his soul. Not a whisper, not a rustle, rosenow from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid his handupon him and held it up again with an exclamation of horror. The gleamof the match which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon theghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim.
And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faintwithin usCthe body of Sir Henry Baskerville!
There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddytweed suitCthe very one which he had worn on the first morning that wehad seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, andthen the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out ofour souls. Holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through thedarkness.
The brute! the brute! I cried with clenched hands. Oh, Holmes, Ishall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate.
I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case wellrounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my client. It is thegreatest blow which has befallen me in my career. But how could IknowChow could I knowCthat he would risk his life alone upon the moorin the face of all my warnings?
That we should have heard his screamsCmy God, those screams!Candyet have been unable to save him! Where is this brute of a hound whichdrove him to his death? It may be lurking among these rocks at thisinstant. And Stapleton, where is he? He shall answer for this deed.
He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have been murderedCtheone frightened to death by the very sight of a beast which he thought to besupernatural, the other driven to his end in his wild flight to escape fromit. But now we have to prove the connection between the man and thebeast. Save from what we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence ofthe latter, since Sir Henry has evidently died from the fall. But, byheavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power before anotherday is past!
We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body,overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had broughtall our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. Then as the moonrose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor friend hadfallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor, halfsilver and half gloom. Far away, miles off, in the direction of Grimpen, asingle steady yellow light was shining. It could only come from the lonelyabode of the Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at it as I gazed.
Why should we not seize him at once?
Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the lastdegree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we make onefalse move the villain may escape us yet.
[745] What can we do?
There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we can onlyperform the last offices to our poor friend.
Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approachedthe body, black and clear against the silvered stones. The agony of thosecontorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes withtears.
We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way tothe Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?
He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing andlaughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern, self-containedfriend? These were hidden fires, indeed!
A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!
A beard?
It is not the baronetCit isCwhy, it is my neighbour, the convict!
With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that drippingbeard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There could be no doubtabout the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. It was indeed thesame face which had glared upon me in the light of the candle from overthe rockCthe face of Selden, the criminal.
Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the baronethad told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to Barrymore.
Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in his escape. Boots,shirt, capCit was all Sir Henrys. The tragedy was still black enough, butthis man had at least deserved death by the laws of his country. I toldHolmes how the matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulnessand joy.
Then the clothes have been the poor devils death, said he. It is clearenough that the hound has been laid on from some article of SirHenrysCthe boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in all probabilityCandso ran this man down. There is one very singular thing, however: Howcame Selden, in the darkness, to know that the hound was on his trail?
He heard him.
To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like thisconvict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk recapture byscreaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have run a long way afterhe knew the animal was on his track. How did he know?
A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all ourconjectures are correctC C
I presume nothing.
Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose that itdoes not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it gounless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would be there.
My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that weshall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remainforever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poorwretchs body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens.
I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicatewith the police.
Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far. Halloa,Watson, whats this? Its the man himself, by all thats wonderful andaudacious! Not a word to show your suspicionsCnot a word, or my planscrumble to the ground.
[746] A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull redglow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish thedapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped when he sawus, and then came on again.
Why, Dr. Watson, thats not you, is it? You are the last man that Ishould have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. But,dear me, whats this? Somebody hurt? NotCdont tell me that it is ourfriend Sir Henry! He hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. Iheard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers.
WhoCwhos this? he stammered.
It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown.
Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he hadovercome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked sharply fromHolmes to me.
Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?
He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks. Myfriend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry.
I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy aboutSir Henry.
Why about Sir Henry in particular? I could not help asking.
Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did notcome I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his safety whenI heard cries upon the moor. By the wayChis eyes darted again from myface to HolmessC did you hear anything else besides a cry?
No, said Holmes; did you?
No.
What do you mean, then?
Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound,and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. I was wonderingif there were any evidence of such a sound to-night.
We heard nothing of the kind, said I.
And what is your theory of this poor fellows death?
I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off hishead. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallenover here and broken his neck.
That seems the most reasonable theory, said Stapleton, and he gave asigh which I took to indicate his relief. What do you think about it, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes?
My friend bowed his compliments.
You are quick at identification, said he.
We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson camedown. You are in time to see a tragedy.
Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friends explanation will coverthe facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with meto-morrow.
Oh, you return to-morrow?
That is my intention.
I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences whichhave puzzled us?
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. Aninvestigator needs facts and not legends or rumours. It has not been asatisfactory case.
[747] My friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner.
Stapleton still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.
I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it wouldgive my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it. I thinkthat if we put something over his face he will be safe until morning.
And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapletons offer of hospitality,Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving the naturalist to returnalone. Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over thebroad moor, and behind him that one black smudge on the silvered slopewhich showed where the man was lying who had come so horribly to hisend.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 13The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 13FIXING THE NETSWERE at close grips at last, said Holmes as we walked together acrossthe moor. What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled himself togetherin the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found thatthe wrong man had fallen a victim to his plot. I told you in London,Watson, and I tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman moreworthy of our steel.
I am sorry that he has seen you.
And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it.
What effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that heknows you are here?
It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to desperatemeasures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be too confident inhis own cleverness and imagine that he has completely deceived us.
Why should we not arrest him at once?
My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your instinct isalways to do something energetic. But supposing, for arguments sake,that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth the better off should webe for that? We could prove nothing against him. Theres the devilishcunning of it! If he were acting through a human agent we could get someevidence, but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it wouldnot help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master.
Surely we have a case.
Not a shadow of oneConly surmise and conjecture. We should belaughed out of court if we came with such a story and such evidence.
There is Sir Charless death.
Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died ofsheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how are we toget twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are there of a hound?
Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we know that a hound doesnot bite a dead body and that Sir Charles was dead before ever the bruteovertook him. But we have to prove all this, and we are not in a positionto do it.
Well, then, to-night?
We are not much better off to-night. Again, there was no directconnection between the hound and the mans death. We never saw thehound. We heard it, [748] but we could not prove that it was running uponthis mans trail. There is a complete absence of motive. No, my dearfellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we have no case atpresent, and that it is worth our while to run any risk in order to establishone.
And how do you propose to do so?
I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when theposition of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own plan as well.
Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but I hope before the day ispast to have the upper hand at last.
I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in thought,as far as the Baskerville gates.
Are you coming up?
Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last word,Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him think thatSeldens death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He will have abetter nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo to-morrow,when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright, to dine with thesepeople.
And so am I.
Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will beeasily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I think that we areboth ready for our suppers.
Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes, forhe had for some days been expecting that recent events would bring himdown from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however, when he foundthat my friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations for itsabsence. Between us we soon supplied his wants, and then over a belatedsupper we explained to the baronet as much of our experience as itseemed desirable that he should know. But first I had the unpleasant dutyof breaking the news to Barrymore and his wife. To him it may have beenan unmitigated relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the worldhe was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her healways remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the child whohad clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman tomourn him.
Ive been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in themorning, said the baronet. I guess I should have some credit, for I havekept my promise. If I hadnt sworn not to go about alone I might have hada more lively evening, for I had a message from Stapleton asking me overthere.
I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening, saidHolmes drily. By the way, I dont suppose you appreciate that we havebeen mourning over you as having broken your neck?
Sir Henry opened his eyes. How was that?
This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your servant whogave them to him may get into trouble with the police.
That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as I know.
Thats lucky for himCin fact, its lucky for all of you, since you are allon the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not sure that as aconscientious detective my first duty is not to arrest the whole household.
Watsons reports are most incriminating documents.
But how about the case? asked the baronet. Have you madeanything out of the tangle? I dont know that Watson and I are much thewiser since we came down.
[749] I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation rathermore clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly difficult andmost complicated business. There are several points upon which we stillwant light Cbut it is coming all the same.
Weve had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. Weheard the hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not all emptysuperstition. I had something to do with dogs when I was out West, and Iknow one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that one and put him on achain Ill be ready to swear you are the greatest detective of all time.
I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will give meyour help.
Whatever you tell me to do I will do.
Very good; and I will ask you also to do it blindly, without alwaysasking the reason.
Just as you like.
If you will do this I think the chances are that our little problem willsoon be solved. I have no doubtC C
He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the air.
The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so still that it mighthave been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of alertnessand expectation.
What is it? we both cried.
I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internalemotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone withamused exultation.
Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur, said he as he waved his handtowards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. Watsonwont allow that I know anything of art, but that is mere jealousy becauseour views upon the subject differ. Now, these are a really very fine seriesof portraits.
Well, Im glad to hear you say so, said Sir Henry, glancing withsome surprise at my friend. I dont pretend to know much about thesethings, and Id be a better judge of a horse or a steer than of a picture. Ididnt know that you found time for such things.
I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. Thats a Kneller,Ill swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and the stout gentlemanwith the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They are all family portraits, Ipresume?
Every one.
Do you know the names?
Barrymore has been coaching me in them, and I think I can say mylessons fairly well.
Who is the gentleman with the telescope?
That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in theWest Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paper is SirWilliam Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of the House ofCommons under Pitt.
And this Cavalier opposite to meCthe one with the black velvet andthe lace?
Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause of all themischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Were not likely to forget him.
I gazed with interest and some surprise upon the portrait.
Dear me! said Holmes, he seems a quiet, meek-mannered manenough, but I dare say that there was a lurking devil in his eyes. I hadpictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person.
[750] Theres no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and thedate, 1647, are on the back of the canvas.
Holmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer seemed tohave a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually fixed upon itduring supper. It was not until later, when Sir Henry had gone to hisroom, that I was able to follow the trend of his thoughts. He led me backinto the banqueting-hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it upagainst the time-stained portrait on the wall.
Do you see anything there?
I looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the white lacecollar, and the straight, severe face which was framed between them. Itwas not a brutal countenance, but it was prim, hard, and stern, with a firmset,thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly intolerant eye.
Is it like anyone you know?
There is something of Sir Henry about the jaw.
Just a suggestion, perhaps. But wait an instant! He stood upon achair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved his right armover the broad hat and round the long ringlets.
Good heavens! I cried in amazement.
The face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas.
Ha, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces andnot their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal investigator that heshould see through a disguise.
But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait.
Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears to beboth physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is enough toconvert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The fellow is aBaskervilleCthat is evident.
With designs upon the succession.
Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one of ourmost obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him, and Idare swear that before to-morrow night he will be fluttering in our net ashelpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, a cork, and a card, and weadd him to the Baker Street collection! He burst into one of his rare fitsof laughter as he turned away from the picture. I have not heard him laughoften, and it has always boded ill to somebody.
I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier still, forI saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.
Yes, we should have a full day to-day, he remarked, and he rubbedhis hands with the joy of action. The nets are all in place, and the drag isabout to begin. Well know before the day is out whether we have caughtour big, lean-jawed pike, or whether he has got through the meshes.
Have you been on the moor already?
I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death ofSelden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled in thematter. And I have also communicated with my faithful Cartwright, whowould certainly have pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog does athis masters grave, if I had not set his mind at rest about my safety.
What is the next move?
To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!
[751] Good-morning, Holmes, said the baronet. You look like ageneral who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff.
That is the exact situation. Watson was asking for orders.
And so do I.
Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our friendsthe Stapletons to-night.
I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitable people, and Iam sure that they would be very glad to see you.
I fear that Watson and I must go to London.
To London?
Yes, I think that we should be more useful there at the presentjuncture.
The baronets face perceptibly lengthened.
I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The Halland the moor are not very pleasant places when one is alone.
My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what Itell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been happy to havecome with you, but that urgent business required us to be in town. Wehope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will you remember to give themthat message?
If you insist upon it.
There is no alternative, I assure you.
I saw by the baronets clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by what heregarded as our desertion.
When do you desire to go? he asked coldly.
Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey, butWatson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come back to you.
Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell him that you regret thatyou cannot come.
I have a good mind to go to London with you, said the baronet. Whyshould I stay here alone?
Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word thatyou would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay.
All right, then, Ill stay.
One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Send backyour trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home.
To walk across the moor?
Yes.
But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not todo.
This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence inyour nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essential that youshould do it.
Then I will do it.
And as you value your life do not go across the moor in any directionsave along the straight path which leads from Merripit House to theGrimpen Road, and is your natural way home.
I will do just what you say.
Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast aspossible, so as to reach London in the afternoon.
I was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered thatHolmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit wouldterminate next day. It had not crossed my mind, however, that he wouldwish me to go with him, nor could I understand how we could both beabsent at a moment which he himself [752] declared to be critical. Therewas nothing for it, however, but implicit obedience; so we bade good-byeto our rueful friend, and a couple of hours afterwards we were at thestation of Coombe Tracey and had dispatched the trap upon its returnjourney. A small boy was waiting upon the platform.
Any orders, sir?
You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you arriveyou will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, to say that ifhe finds the pocketbook which I have dropped he is to send it byregistered post to Baker Street.
Yes, sir.
And ask at the station office if there is a message for me.
The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. It ran:
Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrivefive-forty.
LESTRADE.
That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of theprofessionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now, Watson, Ithink that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon youracquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons.
His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use thebaronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really gone,while we should actually return at the instant when we were likely to beneeded. That telegram from London, if mentioned by Sir Henry to theStapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds. Already Iseemed to see our nets drawing closer around that lean-jawed pike.
Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened hisinterview with a frankness and directness which considerably amazed her.
I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of thelate Sir Charles Baskerville, said he. My friend here, Dr. Watson, hasinformed me of what you have communicated, and also of what you havewithheld in connection with that matter.
What have I withheld? she asked defiantly.
You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gate at tenoclock. We know that that was the place and hour of his death. You havewithheld what the connection is between these events.
There is no connection.
In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one. ButI think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection, after all. I wishto be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard this case as one ofmurder, and the evidence may implicate not only your friend Mr.
Stapleton but his wife as well.
The lady sprang from her chair.
His wife! she cried.
The fact is no longer a secret. The person who has passed for his sisteris really his wife.
Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms ofher chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with the pressureof her grip.
His wife! she said again. His wife! He is not a married man.
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do soC C! The fierceflash of her eyes said more than any words.
I have come prepared to do so, said Holmes, drawing several papersfrom his [753] pocket. Here is a photograph of the couple taken in Yorkfour years ago. It is indorsed Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, but you will haveno difficulty in recognizing him, and her also, if you know her by sight.
Here are three written descriptions by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. andMrs. Vandeleur, who at that time kept St. Olivers private school. Readthem and see if you can doubt the identity of these people.
She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid face ofa desperate woman.
Mr. Holmes, she said, this man had offered me marriage oncondition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has lied to me,the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of truth has he evertold me. And whyCwhy? I imagined that all was for my own sake. Butnow I see that I was never anything but a tool in his hands. Why should Ipreserve faith with him who never kept any with me? Why should I try toshield him from the consequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me whatyou like, and there is nothing which I shall hold back. One thing I swearto you, and that is that when I wrote the letter I never dreamed of anyharm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend.
I entirely believe you, madam, said Sherlock Holmes. The recital ofthese events must be very painful to you, and perhaps it will make iteasier if I tell you what occurred, and you can check me if I make anymaterial mistake. The sending of this letter was suggested to you byStapleton?
He dictated it.
I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive helpfrom Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?
Exactly.
And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keepingthe appointment?
He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other manshould find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poorman himself he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacleswhich divided us.
He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heardnothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?
No.
And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment withSir Charles?
He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that Ishould certainly be suspected if the facts came out. He frightened me intoremaining silent.
Quite so. But you had your suspicions?
She hesitated and looked down.
I knew him, she said. But if he had kept faith with me I shouldalways have done so with him.
I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape, saidSherlock Holmes. You have had him in your power and he knew it, andyet you are alive. You have been walking for some months very near tothe edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning now, Mrs.
Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us again.
Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty thinsaway in front of us, said Holmes as we stood waiting for the arrival ofthe express from town. I shall soon be in the position of being able to putinto a single connected narrative one of the most singular and sensationalcrimes of modern times. Students of [754] criminology will remember theanalogous incidents in Godno, in Little Russia, in the year 66, and ofcourse there are the Anderson murders in North Carolina, but this casepossesses some features which are entirely its own. Even now we have noclear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very much surprisedif it is not clear enough before we go to bed this night.
The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wirybulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all threeshook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in whichLestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since thedays when they had first worked together. I could well remember thescorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in thepractical man.
Anything good? he asked.
The biggest thing for years, said Holmes. We have two hours beforewe need think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting somedinner, and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your throatby giving you a breath of the pure night air of Dartmoor. Never beenthere? Ah, well, I dont suppose you will forget your first visit.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 14The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 14THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLESONE of Sherlock Holmess defectsCif, indeed, one may call it a defectCwas that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans to anyother person until the instant of their fulfilment. Partly it came no doubtfrom his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprisethose who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution,which urged him never to take any chances. The result, however, wasvery trying for those who were acting as his agents and assistants. I hadoften suffered under it, but never more so than during that long drive inthe darkness. The great ordeal was in front of us; at last we were about tomake our final effort, and yet Holmes had said nothing, and I could onlysurmise what his course of action would be. My nerves thrilled withanticipation when at last the cold wind upon our faces and the dark, voidspaces on either side of the narrow road told me that we were back uponthe moor once again. Every stride of the horses and every turn of thewheels was taking us nearer to our supreme adventure.
Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of thehired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial matters when ournerves were tense with emotion and anticipation. It was a relief to me,after that unnatural restraint, when we at last passed Franklands houseand knew that we were drawing near to the Hall and to the scene ofaction. We did not drive up to the door but got down near the gate of theavenue. The wagonette was paid off and ordered to return to CoombeTracey forthwith, while we started to walk to Merripit House.
Are you armed, Lestrade?
The little detective smiled.
As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long as Ihave my hip-pocket I have something in it.
Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies.
[755] Youre mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. Whats thegame now?
A waiting game.
My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place, said the detectivewith a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and atthe huge lake of fog which lay over the Grimpen Mire. I see the lights ofa house ahead of us.
That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must request youto walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper.
We moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for thehouse, but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards fromit.
This will do, said he. These rocks upon the right make an admirablescreen.
We are to wait here?
Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow,Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson? Canyou tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed windows at thisend?
I think they are the kitchen windows.
And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?
That is certainly the dining-room.
The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep forwardquietly and see what they are doingCbut for heavens sake dont let themknow that they are watched!
I tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall whichsurrounded the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached a pointwhence I could look straight through the uncurtained window.
There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton. Theysat with their profiles towards me on either side of the round table. Bothof them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front of them.
Stapleton was talking with animation, but the baronet looked pale anddistrait. Perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across the ill-omenedmoor was weighing heavily upon his mind.
As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir Henryfilled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing at his cigar. Iheard the creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots upon gravel. Thesteps passed along the path on the other side of the wall under which Icrouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist pause at the door of an outhousein the corner of the orchard. A key turned in a lock, and as hepassed in there was a curious scuffling noise from within. He was only aminute or so inside, and then I heard the key turn once more and hepassed me and reentered the house. I saw him rejoin his guest, and I creptquietly back to where my companions were waiting to tell them what Ihad seen.
You say, Watson, that the lady is not there? Holmes asked when Ihad finished my report.
No.
Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other roomexcept the kitchen?
I cannot think where she is.
I have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense, whitefog. It was drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself up like a wallon that side of us, low but thick and well defined. The moon shone on it,and it looked like a great shimmering ice-field, with the heads of thedistant tors as rocks borne upon its surface. Holmess face was turnedtowards it, and he muttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift.
[756] Its moving towards us, Watson.
Is that serious?
Very serious, indeedCthe one thing upon earth which could havedisarranged my plans. He cant be very long, now. It is already tenoclock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his coming outbefore the fog is over the path.
The night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold and bright,while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain light.
Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof and bristlingchimneys hard outlined against the silver-spangled sky. Broad bars ofgolden light from the lower windows stretched across the orchard and themoor. One of them was suddenly shut off. The servants had left thekitchen. There only remained the lamp in the dining-room where the twomen, the murderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted overtheir cigars.
Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one-half of themoor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the first thinwisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted window.
The farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and the trees werestanding out of a swirl of white vapour. As we watched it the fog-wreathscame crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly into onedense bank, on which the upper floor and the roof floated like a strangeship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand passionately upon therock in front of us and stamped his feet in his impatience.
If he isnt out in a quarter of an hour the path will be covered. In halfan hour we wont be able to see our hands in front of us.
Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?
Yes, I think it would be as well.
So as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we werehalf a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea, with the moonsilvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorably on.
We are going too far, said Holmes. We dare not take the chance ofhis being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costs we must hold ourground where we are. He dropped on his knees and clapped his ear to theground. Thank God, I think that I hear him coming.
A sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching amongthe stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in front of us. Thesteps grew louder, and through the fog, as through a curtain, there steppedthe man whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise as heemerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he came swiftly along the path,passed close to where we lay, and went on up the long slope behind us.
As he walked he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man whois ill at ease.
Hist! cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol.
Look out! Its coming!
There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the heartof that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of where we lay,and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror was about to breakfrom the heart of it. I was at Holmess elbow, and I glanced for an instantat his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in themoonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, andhis lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell ofterror and threw himself face downward upon the ground. I sprang to myfeet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by [757] thedreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of thefog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a houndas mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyesglowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap wereoutlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disorderedbrain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish beconceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us outof the wall of fog.
With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track,following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So paralyzed were we bythe apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered ournerve. Then Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature gave ahideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. He did notpause, however, but bounded onward. Far away on the path we saw SirHenry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised inhorror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting himdown.
But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to thewinds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could wound himwe could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night.
I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me as much as I outpaced thelittle professional. In front of us as we flew up the track we heard screamafter scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in timeto see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worryat his throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels of hisrevolver into the creatures flank. With a last howl of agony and a vicioussnap in the air, it rolled upon its back, four feet pawing furiously, and thenfell limp upon its side. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to thedreadful, shimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger. Thegiant hound was dead.
Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his collar,and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw that there was nosign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time. Already our friendseyelids shivered and he made a feeble effort to move. Lestrade thrust hisbrandy-flask between the baronets teeth, and two frightened eyes werelooking up at us.
My God! he whispered. What was it? What, in heavens name, wasit?
Its dead, whatever it is, said Holmes. Weve laid the family ghostonce and forever.
In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was lyingstretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it was not a puremastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of the twoCgaunt, savage, andas large as a small lioness. Even now, in the stillness of death, the hugejaws seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame and the small, deep-set,cruel eyes were ringed with fire. I placed my hand upon the glowingmuzzle, and as I held them up my own fingers smouldered and gleamedin the darkness.
Phosphorus, I said.
A cunning preparation of it, said Holmes, sniffing at the dead animal.
There is no smell which might have interfered with his power of scent.
We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having exposed you to thisfright. I was prepared for a hound, but not for such a creature as this. Andthe fog gave us little time to receive him.
You have saved my life.
Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?
[758] Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be ready foranything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you propose to do?
To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventures to-night. Ifyou will wait, one or other of us will go back with you to the Hall.
He tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale andtrembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he sat shiveringwith his face buried in his hands.
We must leave you now, said Holmes. The rest of our work must bedone, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and now weonly want our man.
Its a thousand to one against our finding him at the house, hecontinued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. Those shotsmust have told him that the game was up.
We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them.
He followed the hound to call him offCof that you may be certain. No,no, hes gone by this time! But well search the house and make sure.
The front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room toroom to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us in thepassage. There was no light save in the dining-room, but Holmes caughtup the lamp and left no corner of the house unexplored. No sign could wesee of the man whom we were chasing. On the upper floor, however, oneof the bedroom doors was locked.
Theres someone in here, cried Lestrade. I can hear a movement.
Open this door!
A faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck the doorjust over the lock with the flat of his foot and it flew open. Pistol in hand,we all three rushed into the room.
But there was no sign within it of that desperate and defiant villainwhom we expected to see. Instead we were faced by an object so strangeand so unexpected that we stood for a moment staring at it in amazement.
The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the walls werelined by a number of glass-topped cases full of that collection ofbutterflies and moths the formation of which had been the relaxation ofthis complex and dangerous man. In the centre of this room there was anupright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for theold worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. To this post afigure was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which had beenused to secure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it was thatof a man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat and was securedat the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of the face, andover it two dark eyesCeyes full of grief and shame and a dreadfulquestioningCstared back at us. In a minute we had torn off the gag,unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor in front ofus. As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw the clear red weal of awhiplash across her neck.
The brute! cried Holmes. Here, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle! Puther in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage and exhaustion.
She opened her eyes again.
Is he safe? she asked. Has he escaped?
He cannot escape us, madam.
No, no, I did not mean my husband. Sir Henry? Is he safe?
Yes.
[759] And the hound?
It is dead.
She gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
Thank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treated me!
She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that theywere all mottled with bruises. But this is nothingCnothing! It is my mindand soul that he has tortured and defiled. I could endure it all, ill-usage,solitude, a life of deception, everything, as long as I could still cling to thehope that I had his love, but now I know that in this also I have been hisdupe and his tool. She broke into passionate sobbing as she spoke.
You bear him no good will, madam, said Holmes. Tell us thenwhere we shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, help us nowand so atone.
There is but one place where he can have fled, she answered. Thereis an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. It was there that hekept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he mighthave a refuge. That is where he would fly.
The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held thelamp towards it.
See, said he. No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire tonight.
She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed withfierce merriment.
He may find his way in, but never out, she cried. How can he seethe guiding wands to-night? We planted them together, he and I, to markthe pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only have plucked them outto-day. Then indeed you would have had him at your mercy!
It was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the fog had lifted.
Meanwhile we left Lestrade in possession of the house while Holmes andI went back with the baronet to Baskerville Hall. The story of theStapletons could no longer be withheld from him, but he took the blowbravely when he learned the truth about the woman whom he had loved.
But the shock of the nights adventures had shattered his nerves, andbefore morning he lay delirious in a high fever under the care of Dr.
Mortimer. The two of them were destined to travel together round theworld before Sir Henry had become once more the hale, hearty man thathe had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate.
And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular narrative, inwhich I have tried to make the reader share those dark fears and vaguesurmises which clouded our lives so long and ended in so tragic a manner.
On the morning after the death of the hound the fog had lifted and wewere guided by Mrs. Stapleton to the point where they had found apathway through the bog. It helped us to realize the horror of thiswomans life when we saw the eagerness and joy with which she laid uson her husbands track. We left her standing upon the thin peninsula offirm, peaty soil which tapered out into the widespread bog. From the endof it a small wand planted here and there showed where the pathzigzagged from tuft to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pitsand foul quagmires which barred the way to the stranger. Rank reeds andlush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavy miasmaticvapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us more than once thighdeepinto the dark, quivering mire, which [760] shook for yards in softundulations around our feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as wewalked, and when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand wastugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful wasthe clutch in which it held us. Once only we saw a trace that someone hadpassed that perilous way before us. From amid a tuft of cotton-grasswhich bore it up out of the slime some dark thing was projecting. Holmessank to his waist as he stepped from the path to seize it, and had we notbeen there to drag him out he could never have set his foot upon firm landagain. He held an old black boot in the air. Meyers, Toronto, wasprinted on the leather inside.
It is worth a mud bath, said he. It is our friend Sir Henrys missingboot.
Thrown there by Stapleton in his flight.
Exactly. He retained it in his hand after using it to set the hound uponthe track. He fled when he knew the game was up, still clutching it. Andhe hurled it away at this point of his flight. We know at least that he cameso far in safety.
But more than that we were never destined to know, though there wasmuch which we might surmise. There was no chance of finding footstepsin the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we atlast reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly forthem. But no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes. If the earth told atrue story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towardswhich he struggled through the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in theheart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the hugemorass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man isforever buried.
Many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had hidhis savage ally. A huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filled with rubbishshowed the position of an abandoned mine. Beside it were the crumblingremains of the cottages of the miners, driven away no doubt by the foulreek of the surrounding swamp. In one of these a staple and chain with aquantity of gnawed bones showed where the animal had been confined. Askeleton with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it lay among the dbris.
A dog! said Holmes. By Jove, a curly-haired spaniel. Poor Mortimerwill never see his pet again. Well, I do not know that this place containsany secret which we have not already fathomed. He could hide his hound,but he could not hush its voice, and hence came those cries which even indaylight were not pleasant to hear. On an emergency he could keep thehound in the out-house at Merripit, but it was always a risk, and it wasonly on the supreme day, which he regarded as the end of all his efforts,that he dared do it. This paste in the tin is no doubt the luminous mixturewith which the creature was daubed. It was suggested, of course, by thestory of the family hell-hound, and by the desire to frighten old SirCharles to death. No wonder the poor devil of a convict ran and screamed,even as our friend did, and as we ourselves might have done, when hesaw such a creature bounding through the darkness of the moor upon histrack. It was a cunning device, for, apart from the chance of driving yourvictim to his death, what peasant would venture to inquire too closely intosuch a creature should he get sight of it, as many have done, upon themoor? I said it in London, Watson, and I say it again now, that never yethave we helped to hunt down a more dangerous man than he who is lyingyonderChe swept his long arm towards the huge mottled expanse ofgreen-splotched bog which stretched away until it merged into the russetslopes of the moor.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 15The Hound of the BaskervillesChapter 15A RETROSPECTIONIT WAS the end of November, and Holmes and I sat, upon a raw andfoggy night, on either side of a blazing fire in our sitting-room in BakerStreet. Since the tragic upshot of our visit to Devonshire he had beenengaged in two affairs of the utmost importance, in the first of which hehad exposed the atrocious conduct of Colonel Upwood in connection withthe famous card scandal of the Nonpareil Club, while in the second hehad defended the unfortunate Mme. Montpensier from the charge ofmurder which hung over her in connection with the death of her stepdaughter,Mlle. Carere, the young lady who, as it will be remembered,was found six months later alive and married in New York. My friendwas in excellent spirits over the success which had attended a successionof difficult and important cases, so that I was able to induce him todiscuss the details of the Baskerville mystery. I had waited patiently forthe opportunity, for I was aware that he would never permit cases tooverlap, and that his clear and logical mind would not be drawn from itspresent work to dwell upon memories of the past. Sir Henry and Dr.
Mortimer were, however, in London, on their way to that long voyagewhich had been recommended for the restoration of his shattered nerves.
They had called upon us that very afternoon, so that it was natural that thesubject should come up for discussion.
The whole course of events, said Holmes, from the point of view ofthe man who called himself Stapleton was simple and direct, although tous, who had no means in the beginning of knowing the motives of hisactions and could only learn part of the facts, it all appeared exceedinglycomplex. I have had the advantage of two conversations with Mrs.
Stapleton, and the case has now been so entirely cleared up that I am notaware that there is anything which has remained a secret to us. You willfind a few notes upon the matter under the heading B in my indexed listof cases.
Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of eventsfrom memory.
Certainly, though I cannot guarantee that I carry all the facts in mymind. Intense mental concentration has a curious way of blotting out whathas passed. The barrister who has his case at his fingers ends and is ableto argue with an expert upon his own subject finds that a week or two ofthe courts will drive it all out of his head once more. So each of my casesdisplaces the last, and Mlle. Carere has blurred my recollection ofBaskerville Hall. To-morrow some other little problem may be submittedto my notice which will in turn dispossess the fair French lady and theinfamous Upwood. So far as the case of the hound goes, however, I willgive you the course of events as nearly as I can, and you will suggestanything which I may have forgotten.
My inquiries show beyond all question that the family portrait did notlie, and that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville. He was a son of thatRodger Baskerville, the younger brother of Sir Charles, who fled with asinister reputation to South America, where he was said to have diedunmarried. He did, as a matter of fact, marry, and had one child, thisfellow, whose real name is the same as his fathers. He married BerylGarcia, one of the beauties of Costa Rica, and, having purloined aconsiderable sum of public money, he changed his name to Vandeleur[762] and fled to England, where he established a school in the east ofYorkshire. His reason for attempting this special line of business was thathe had struck up an acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon thevoyage home, and that he had used this mans ability to make theundertaking a success. Fraser, the tutor, died, however, and the schoolwhich had begun well sank from disrepute into infamy. The Vandeleursfound it convenient to change their name to Stapleton, and he brought theremains of his fortune, his schemes for the future, and his taste forentomology to the south of England. I learn at the British Museum that hewas a recognized authority upon the subject, and that the name ofVandeleur has been permanently attached to a certain moth which he had,in his Yorkshire days, been the first to describe.
We now come to that portion of his life which has proved to be ofsuch intense interest to us. The fellow had evidently made inquiry andfound that only two lives intervened between him and a valuable estate.
When he went to Devonshire his plans were, I believe, exceedingly hazy,but that he meant mischief from the first is evident from the way in whichhe took his wife with him in the character of his sister. The idea of usingher as a decoy was clearly already in his mind, though he may not havebeen certain how the details of his plot were to be arranged. He meant inthe end to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool or run any riskfor that end. His first act was to establish himself as near to his ancestralhome as he could, and his second was to cultivate a friendship with SirCharles Baskerville and with the neighbours.
The baronet himself told him about the family hound, and so preparedthe way for his own death. Stapleton, as I will continue to call him, knewthat the old mans heart was weak and that a shock would kill him. Somuch he had learned from Dr. Mortimer. He had heard also that SirCharles was superstitious and had taken this grim legend very seriously.
His ingenious mind instantly suggested a way by which the baronet couldbe done to death, and yet it would be hardly possible to bring home theguilt to the real murderer.
Having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out withconsiderable finesse. An ordinary schemer would have been content towork with a savage hound. The use of artificial means to make thecreature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. The dog he boughtin London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers in Fulham Road. It wasthe strongest and most savage in their possession. He brought it down bythe North Devon line and walked a great distance over the moor so as toget it home without exciting any remarks. He had already on his insecthunts learned to penetrate the Grimpen Mire, and so had found a safehiding-place for the creature. Here he kennelled it and waited his chance.
But it was some time coming. The old gentleman could not bedecoyed outside of his grounds at night. Several times Stapleton lurkedabout with his hound, but without avail. It was during these fruitlessquests that he, or rather his ally, was seen by peasants, and that the legendof the demon dog received a new confirmation. He had hoped that hiswife might lure Sir Charles to his ruin, but here she proved unexpectedlyindependent. She would not endeavour to entangle the old gentleman in asentimental attachment which might deliver him over to his enemy.
Threats and even, I am sorry to say, blows refused to move her. Shewould have nothing to do with it, and for a time Stapleton was at adeadlock.
He found a way out of his difficulties through the chance that SirCharles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him the ministerof his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman, Mrs. Laura Lyons.
By representing himself [763] as a single man he acquired completeinfluence over her, and he gave her to understand that in the event of herobtaining a divorce from her husband he would marry her. His plans weresuddenly brought to a head by his knowledge that Sir Charles was aboutto leave the Hall on the advice of Dr. Mortimer, with whose opinion hehimself pretended to coincide. He must act at once, or his victim mightget beyond his power. He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons to writethis letter, imploring the old man to give her an interview on the eveningbefore his departure for London. He then, by a specious argument,prevented her from going, and so had the chance for which he had waited.
Driving back in the evening from Coombe Tracey he was in time toget his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bring the beastround to the gate at which he had reason to expect that he would find theold gentleman waiting. The dog, incited by its master, sprang over thewicket-gate and pursued the unfortunate baronet, who fled screamingdown the yew alley. In that gloomy tunnel it must indeed have been adreadful sight to see that huge black creature, with its flaming jaws andblazing eyes, bounding after its victim. He fell dead at the end of the alleyfrom heart disease and terror. The hound had kept upon the grassy borderwhile the baronet had run down the path, so that no track but the manswas visible. On seeing him lying still the creature had probablyapproached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had turned away again. Itwas then that it left the print which was actually observed by Dr.
Mortimer. The hound was called off and hurried away to its lair in theGrimpen Mire, and a mystery was left which puzzled the authorities,alarmed the countryside, and finally brought the case within the scope ofour observation.
So much for the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. You perceive thedevilish cunning of it, for really it would be almost impossible to make acase against the real murderer. His only accomplice was one who couldnever give him away, and the grotesque, inconceivable nature of thedevice only served to make it more effective. Both of the womenconcerned in the case, Mrs. Stapleton and Mrs. Laura Lyons, were leftwith a strong suspicion against Stapleton. Mrs. Stapleton knew that hehad designs upon the old man, and also of the existence of the hound.
Mrs. Lyons knew neither of these things, but had been impressed by thedeath occurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which wasonly known to him. However, both of them were under his influence, andhe had nothing to fear from them. The first half of his task wassuccessfully accomplished, but the more difficult still remained.
It is possible that Stapleton did not know of the existence of an heir inCanada. In any case he would very soon learn it from his friend Dr.
Mortimer, and he was told by the latter all details about the arrival ofHenry Baskerville. Stapletons first idea was that this young stranger fromCanada might possibly be done to death in London without coming downto Devonshire at all. He distrusted his wife ever since she had refused tohelp him in laying a trap for the old man, and he dared not leave her longout of his sight for fear he should lose his influence over her. It was forthis reason that he took her to London with him. They lodged, I find, atthe Mexborough Private Hotel, in Craven Street, which was actually oneof those called upon by my agent in search of evidence. Here he kept hiswife imprisoned in her room while he, disguised in a beard, followed Dr.
Mortimer to Baker Street and afterwards to the station and to theNorthumberland Hotel. His wife had some inkling of his plans; but shehad such a fear of her husbandCa fear founded upon brutal ill-treatmentCthat she dare not write to warn the man [764] whom she knew to be indanger. If the letter should fall into Stapletons hands her own life wouldnot be safe. Eventually, as we know, she adopted the expedient of cuttingout the words which would form the message, and addressing the letter ina disguised hand. It reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning ofhis danger.
It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of Sir Henrysattire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, he might always havethe means of setting him upon his track. With characteristic promptnessand audacity he set about this at once, and we cannot doubt that the bootsor chamber-maid of the hotel was well bribed to help him in his design.
By chance, however, the first boot which was procured for him was a newone and, therefore, useless for his purpose. He then had it returned andobtained anotherCa most instructive incident, since it proved conclusivelyto my mind that we were dealing with a real hound, as no othersupposition could explain this anxiety to obtain an old boot and thisindifference to a new one. The more outr and grotesque an incident isthe more carefully it deserves to be examined, and the very point whichappears to complicate a case is, when duly considered and scientificallyhandled, the one which is most likely to elucidate it.
Then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowedalways by Stapleton in the cab. From his knowledge of our rooms and ofmy appearance, as well as from his general conduct, I am inclined to thinkthat Stapletons career of crime has been by no means limited to thissingle Baskerville affair. It is suggestive that during the last three yearsthere have been four considerable burglaries in the west country, for noneof which was any criminal ever arrested. The last of these, at FolkestoneCourt, in May, was remarkable for the cold-blooded pistolling of thepage, who surprised the masked and solitary burglar. I cannot doubt thatStapleton recruited his waning resources in this fashion, and that for yearshe has been a desperate and dangerous man.
We had an example of his readiness of resource that morning when hegot away from us so successfully, and also of his audacity in sending backmy own name to me through the cabman. From that moment heunderstood that I had taken over the case in London, and that thereforethere was no chance for him there. He returned to Dartmoor and awaitedthe arrival of the baronet.
One moment! said I. You have, no doubt, described the sequence ofevents correctly, but there is one point which you have left unexplained.
What became of the hound when its master was in London?
I have given some attention to this matter and it is undoubtedly ofimportance. There can be no question that Stapleton had a confidant,though it is unlikely that he ever placed himself in his power by sharingall his plans with him. There was an old manservant at Merripit House,whose name was Anthony. His connection with the Stapletons can betraced for several years, as far back as the school-mastering days, so thathe must have been aware that his master and mistress were really husbandand wife. This man has disappeared and has escaped from the country. Itis suggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England, whileAntonio is so in all Spanish or Spanish-American countries. The man, likeMrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but with a curious lispingaccent. I have myself seen this old man cross the Grimpen Mire by thepath which Stapleton had marked out. It is very probable, therefore, thatin the absence of his master it was he who cared for the hound, though hemay never have known the purpose for which the beast was used.
[765] The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire, whither they weresoon followed by Sir Henry and you. One word now as to how I stoodmyself at that time. It may possibly recur to your memory that when Iexamined the paper upon which the printed words were fastened I made aclose inspection for the water-mark. In doing so I held it within a fewinches of my eyes, and was conscious of a faint smell of the scent knownas white jessamine. There are seventy-five perfumes, which it is verynecessary that a criminal expert should be able to distinguish from eachother, and cases have more than once within my own experiencedepended upon their prompt recognition. The scent suggested thepresence of a lady, and already my thoughts began to turn towards theStapletons. Thus I had made certain of the hound, and had guessed at thecriminal before ever we went to the west country.
It was my game to watch Stapleton. It was evident, however, that Icould not do this if I were with you, since he would be keenly on hisguard. I deceived everybody, therefore, yourself included, and I camedown secretly when I was supposed to be in London. My hardships werenot so great as you imagined, though such trifling details must neverinterfere with the investigation of a case. I stayed for the most part atCoombe Tracey, and only used the hut upon the moor when it wasnecessary to be near the scene of action. Cartwright had come down withme, and in his disguise as a country boy he was of great assistance to me.
I was dependent upon him for food and clean linen. When I was watchingStapleton, Cartwright was frequently watching you, so that I was able tokeep my hand upon all the strings.
I have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly, beingforwarded instantly from Baker Street to Coombe Tracey. They were ofgreat service to me, and especially that one incidentally truthful piece ofbiography of Stapletons. I was able to establish the identity of the manand the woman and knew at last exactly how I stood. The case had beenconsiderably complicated through the incident of the escaped convict andthe relations between him and the Barrymores. This also you cleared up ina very effective way, though I had already come to the same conclusionsfrom my own observations.
By the time that you discovered me upon the moor I had a completeknowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case which could go to ajury. Even Stapletons attempt upon Sir Henry that night which ended inthe death of the unfortunate convict did not help us much in provingmurder against our man. There seemed to be no alternative but to catchhim red-handed, and to do so we had to use Sir Henry, alone andapparently unprotected, as a bait. We did so, and at the cost of a severeshock to our client we succeeded in completing our case and drivingStapleton to his destruction. That Sir Henry should have been exposed tothis is, I must confess, a reproach to my management of the case, but wehad no means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing spectacle whichthe beast presented, nor could we predict the fog which enabled him toburst upon us at such short notice. We succeeded in our object at a costwhich both the specialist and Dr. Mortimer assure me will be a temporaryone. A long journey may enable our friend to recover not only from hisshattered nerves but also from his wounded feelings. His love for the ladywas deep and sincere, and to him the saddest part of all this blackbusiness was that he should have been deceived by her.
It only remains to indicate the part which she had played throughout.
There can be no doubt that Stapleton exercised an influence over herwhich may have been love or may have been fear, or very possibly both,since they are by no means [766] incompatible emotions. It was, at least,absolutely effective. At his command she consented to pass as his sister,though he found the limits of his power over her when he endeavoured tomake her the direct accessory to murder. She was ready to warn Sir Henryso far as she could without implicating her husband, and again and againshe tried to do so. Stapleton himself seems to have been capable ofjealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying court to the lady, eventhough it was part of his own plan, still he could not help interruptingwith a passionate outburst which revealed the fiery soul which his selfcontainedmanner so cleverly concealed. By encouraging the intimacy hemade it certain that Sir Henry would frequently come to Merripit Houseand that he would sooner or later get the opportunity which he desired.
On the day of the crisis, however, his wife turned suddenly against him.
She had learned something of the death of the convict, and she knew thatthe hound was being kept in the out-house on the evening that Sir Henrywas coming to dinner. She taxed her husband with his intended crime,and a furious scene followed in which he showed her for the first timethat she had a rival in his love. Her fidelity turned in an instant to bitterhatred, and he saw that she would betray him. He tied her up, therefore,that she might have no chance of warning Sir Henry, and he hoped, nodoubt, that when the whole countryside put down the baronets death tothe curse of his family, as they certainly would do, he could win his wifeback to accept an accomplished fact and to keep silent upon what sheknew. In this I fancy that in any case he made a miscalculation, and that,if we had not been there, his doom would none the less have been sealed.
A woman of Spanish blood does not condone such an injury so lightly.
And now, my dear Watson, without referring to my notes, I cannot giveyou a more detailed account of this curious case. I do not know thatanything essential has been left unexplained.
He could not hope to frighten Sir Henry to death as he had done theold uncle with his bogie hound.
The beast was savage and half-starved. If its appearance did notfrighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze the resistance whichmight be offered.
No doubt. There only remains one difficulty. If Stapleton came intothe succession, how could he explain the fact that he, the heir, had beenliving unannounced under another name so close to the property? Howcould he claim it without causing suspicion and inquiry?
It is a formidable difficulty, and I fear that you ask too much whenyou expect me to solve it. The past and the present are within the field ofmy inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question toanswer. Mrs. Stapleton has heard her husband discuss the problem onseveral occasions. There were three possible courses. He might claim theproperty from South America, establish his identity before the Britishauthorities there, and so obtain the fortune without ever coming toEngland at all; or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the shorttime that he need be in London; or, again, he might furnish an accomplicewith the proofs and papers, putting him in as heir, and retaining a claimupon some proportion of his income. We cannot doubt from what weknow of him that he would have found some way out of the difficulty.
And now, my dear Watson, we have had some weeks of severe work, andfor one evening, I think, we may turn our thoughts into more pleasantchannels. I have a box for Les Huguenots. Have you heard the DeReszkes? Might I trouble you then to be ready in half an hour, and we canstop at Marcinis for a little dinner on the way?
David Soucek, 1998 The Valley of FearThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE VALLEY OF FEARThe Strand Magazine from Sept. 1914 with the firsttwo chapters of the novel.
PART 1:
The Tragedy of BirlstoneChapter 1. The WarningChapter 2. Sherlock Holmes DiscoursesChapter 3. The Tragedy of BirlstoneChapter 4. DarknessChapter 5. The People of the DramaChapter 6. A Dawning LightChapter 7. The SolutionPART 2:
The ScowresChapter 1. The ManChapter 2. The BodymasterChapter 3. Lodge 341, VermissaChapter 4. The Valley of FearChapter 5. The Darkest HourChapter 6. DangerChapter 7. The Trapping of Biry EdwardsEpilogueFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Sept. 1914 - May 1915, with 31 illustrations byFrank Wiles. First book edition on 27 Feb. 1915 by G. H. Doran Co. of New York (thestory wasn't still published in the Strand). First British book edition by Smith, Elder &Co. on 3 June 1915, in an edition of 6,000 copiesDavid Soucek, 1998The Valley of FearPART 1THE TRAGEDY OF BIRLSTONEChapter 1THE WARNINGI AM inclined to thinkC C said I.
I should do so, Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but Illadmit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. Really, Holmes,
said I severely, you are a little trying at times.
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give anyimmediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with hisuntasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which hehad just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope itself, held itup to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the flap.
It is Porlocks writing, said he thoughtfully. I can hardly doubt thatit is Porlocks writing, though I have seen it only twice before. The Greeke with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is Porlock, then itmust be something of the very first importance.
He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexationdisappeared in the interest which the words awakened.
Who then is Porlock? I asked.
Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identification mark; butbehind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In a former letter he franklyinformed me that the name was not his own, and defied me ever to tracehim among the teeming millions of this great city. Porlock is important,not for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in touch. Picture toyourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lionCanythingthat is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable: not onlyformidable, Watson, but sinisterCin the highest degree sinister. That iswhere he comes within my purview. You have heard me speak ofProfessor Moriarty?
The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks asC C
My blushes, Watson! Holmes murmured in a deprecating voice.
I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public.
A touch! A distinct touch! cried Holmes. You are developing acertain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I mustlearn to guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal you are utteringlibel in the eyes of the lawCand there lie the glory and the wonder of it!
The greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every deviltry, thecontrolling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made ormarred the destiny of nations Cthats the man! But so [770] aloof is hefrom general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in hismanagement and self-effacement, that for those very words that you haveuttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your years pensionas a solatium for his wounded character. Is he not the celebrated author ofThe Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book which ascends to such rarefiedheights of pure mathematics that it is said that there was no man in thescientific press capable of criticizing it? Is this a man to traduce? Foulmoutheddoctor and slandered professorCsuch would be your respectiveroles! Thats genius, Watson. But if I am spared by lesser men, our daywill surely come.
May I be there to see! I exclaimed devoutly. But you were speakingof this man Porlock.
Ah, yesCthe so-called Porlock is a link in the chain some little wayfrom its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a sound linkCbetweenourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so far as I have been able totest it.
But no chain is stronger than its weakest link.
Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance of Porlock.
Led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged bythe judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to him bydevious methods, he has once or twice given me advance informationwhich has been of valueCthat highest value which anticipates andprevents rather than avenges crime. I cannot doubt that, if we had thecipher, we should find that this communication is of the nature that Iindicate.
Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. I rose and,leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran asfollows:
534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171What do you make of it, Holmes?
It is obviously an attempt to convey secret information.
But what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?
In this instance, none at all.
Why do you say in this instance?
Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easily as I dothe apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amuse theintelligence without fatiguing it. But this is different. It is clearly areference to the words in a page of some book. Until I am told which pageand which book I am powerless.
But why Douglas and Birlstone?
Clearly because those are words which were not contained in the pagein question.
Then why has he not indicated the book?
Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning whichis the delight of your friends, would surely prevent you from inclosingcipher and message in the same envelope. Should it miscarry, you areundone. As it is, both have to go wrong before any harm comes from it.
Our second post is now overdue, and I shall be surprised if it does notbring us either a further letter of explanation, or, as is more probable, thevery volume to which these figures refer.
Holmess calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes by theappearance of Billy, the page, with the very letter which we wereexpecting.
[771] The same writing, remarked Holmes, as he opened theenvelope, and actually signed, he added in an exultant voice as heunfolded the epistle. Come, we are getting on, Watson. His browclouded, however, as he glanced over the contents.
Dear me, this is very disappointing! I fear, Watson, that all ourexpectations come to nothing. I trust that the man Porlock will come to noharm.
DEAR MR. HOLMES [he says]:
I will go no further in this matter. It is too dangerousChesuspects me. I can see that he suspects me. He came to me quiteunexpectedly after I had actually addressed this envelope with theintention of sending you the key to the cipher. I was able to coverit up. If he had seen it, it would have gone hard with me. But I readsuspicion in his eyes. Please burn the cipher message, which cannow be of no use to you.
FRED PORLOCK.
Holmes sat for some little time twisting this letter between his fingers,and frowning, as he stared into the fire.
After all, he said at last, there may be nothing in it. It may be onlyhis guilty conscience. Knowing himself to be a traitor, he may have readthe accusation in the others eyes.
The other being, I presume, Professor Moriarty.
No less! When any of that party talk about He you know whom theymean. There is one predominant He for all of them.
But what can he do?
Hum! Thats a large question. When you have one of the first brainsof Europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness at his back, thereare infinite possibilities. Anyhow, Friend Porlock is evidently scared outof his sensesCkindly compare the writing in the note to that upon itsenvelope; which was done, he tells us, before this ill-omened visit. Theone is clear and firm. The other hardly legible.
Why did he write at all? Why did he not simply drop it?
Because he feared I would make some inquiry after him in that case,and possibly bring trouble on him.
No doubt, said I. Of course. I had picked up the original ciphermessage and was bending my brows over it. Its pretty maddening tothink that an important secret may lie here on this slip of paper, and that itis beyond human power to penetrate it.
Sherlock Holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and lit theunsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest meditations. Iwonder! said he, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Perhaps thereare points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect. Let usconsider the problem in the light of pure reason. This mans reference isto a book. That is our point of departure.
A somewhat vague one.
Let us see then if we can narrow it down. As I focus my mind upon it,it seems rather less impenetrable. What indications have we as to thisbook?
None.
Well, well, it is surely not quite so bad as that. The cipher messagebegins with a large 534, does it not? We may take it as a workinghypothesis that 534 is the particular page to which the cipher refers. Soour book has already become a large book, which is surely somethinggained. What other indications have we as [772] to the nature of this largebook? The next sign is C2. What do you make of that, Watson?
Chapter the second, no doubt.
Hardly that, Watson. You will, I am sure, agree with me that if thepage be given, the number of the chapter is immaterial. Also that if page534 finds us only in the second chapter, the length of the first one musthave been really intolerable.
Column! I cried.
Brilliant, Watson. You are scintillating this morning. If it is notcolumn, then I am very much deceived. So now, you see, we begin tovisualize a large book, printed in double columns, which are each of aconsiderable length, since one of the words is numbered in the documentas the two hundred and ninety-third. Have we reached the limits of whatreason can supply?
I fear that we have.
Surely you do yourself an injustice. One more coruscation, my dearWatson Cyet another brain-wave! Had the volume been an unusual one,he would have sent it to me. Instead of that, he had intended, before hisplans were nipped, to send me the clue in this envelope. He says so in hisnote. This would seem to indicate that the book is one which he thought Iwould have no difficulty in finding for myself. He had itCand he imaginedthat I would have it, too. In short, Watson, it is a very common book.
What you say certainly sounds plausible.
So we have contracted our field of search to a large book, printed indouble columns and in common use.
The Bible! I cried triumphantly.
Good, Watson, good! But not, if I may say so, quite good enough!
Even if I accepted the compliment for myself, I could hardly name anyvolume which would be less likely to lie at the elbow of one of Moriartysassociates. Besides, the editions of Holy Writ are so numerous that hecould hardly suppose that two copies would have the same pagination.
This is clearly a book which is standardized. He knows for certain that hispage 534 will exactly agree with my page 534.
But very few books would correspond with that.
Exactly. Therein lies our salvation. Our search is narrowed down tostandardized books which anyone may be supposed to possess.
Bradshaw!
There are difficulties, Watson. The vocabulary of Bradshaw is nervousand terse, but limited. The selection of words would hardly lend itself tothe sending of general messages. We will eliminate Bradshaw. Thedictionary is, I fear, inadmissible for the same reason. What then is left?
An almanac!
Excellent, Watson! I am very much mistaken if you have not touchedthe spot. An almanac! Let us consider the claims of Whitakers Almanac.
It is in common use. It has the requisite number of pages. It is in doublecolumn. Though reserved in its earlier vocabulary, it becomes, if Iremember right, quite garrulous towards the end. He picked the volumefrom his desk. Here is page 534, column two, a substantial block of printdealing, I perceive, with the trade and resources of British India. Jot downthe words, Watson! Number thirteen is Mahratta. Not, I fear, a veryauspicious beginning. Number one hundred and twenty-seven isGovernment; which at least makes sense, though somewhat irrelevant toourselves and Professor Moriarty. Now let us try again. What does theMahratta government [773] do? Alas! the next word is pigs-bristles. Weare undone, my good Watson! It is finished!
He had spoken in jesting vein, but the twitching of his bushy eyebrowsbespoke his disappointment and irritation. I sat helpless and unhappy,staring into the fire. A long silence was broken by a sudden exclamationfrom Holmes, who dashed at a cupboard, from which he emerged with asecond yellow-covered volume in his hand.
We pay the price, Watson, for being too up-to-date! he cried. Weare before our time, and suffer the usual penalties. Being the seventh ofJanuary, we have very properly laid in the new almanac. It is more thanlikely that Porlock took his message from the old one. No doubt he wouldhave told us so had his letter of explanation been written. Now let us seewhat page 534 has in store for us. Number thirteen is There, which ismuch more promising. Number one hundred and twenty-seven isisCThere isCHolmess eyes were gleaming with excitement, and histhin, nervous fingers twitched as he counted the wordsCdanger. Ha!
Ha! Capital! Put that down, Watson. There isdangerCmayCcomeCveryCsoonCone. Then we have the nameDouglasCrichCcountryCnowCatCBirlstoneCHouseCBirlstoneCconfidenceCisCpressing.
There, Watson! What do you think of pure reason and its fruit? If thegreen-grocer had such a thing as a laurel wreath, I should send Billyround for it.
I was staring at the strange message which I had scrawled, as hedeciphered it, upon a sheet of foolscap on my knee.
What a queer, scrambling way of expressing his meaning! said I.
On the contrary, he has done quite remarkably well, said Holmes.
When you search a single column for words with which to express yourmeaning, you can hardly expect to get everything you want. You arebound to leave something to the intelligence of your correspondent. Thepurport is perfectly clear. Some deviltry is intended against one Douglas,whoever he may be, residing as stated, a rich country gentleman. He issureCconfidence was as near as he could get to confidentCthat it ispressing. There is our resultCand a very workmanlike little bit of analysisit was!
Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work, evenas he mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which heaspired. He was still chuckling over his success when Billy swung openthe door and Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard was ushered into theroom.
Those were the early days at the end of the 80s, when AlecMacDonald was far from having attained the national fame which he hasnow achieved. He was a young but trusted member of the detective force,who had distinguished himself in several cases which had been intrustedto him. His tall, bony figure gave promise of exceptional physicalstrength, while his great cranium and deep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no lessclearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out from behind his bushyeyebrows. He was a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a hardAberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success,his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For thisreason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateurcolleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness withwhich he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothinghigher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonaldhad talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive [774] thatthere was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who alreadystood alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes wasnot prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, andsmiled at the sight of him.
You are an early bird, Mr. Mac, said he. I wish you luck with yourworm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot.
If you said hope instead of fear, it would be nearer the truth, Imthinking, Mr. Holmes, the inspector answered, with a knowing grin.
Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, Iwont smoke, I thank you. Ill have to be pushing on my way; for theearly hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better thanyour own self. ButCbutC C
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look ofabsolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet uponwhich I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
Douglas! he stammered. Birlstone! Whats this, Mr. Holmes? Man,its witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you getthose names?
It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. ButwhyCwhats amiss with the names?
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment.
Just this, said he, that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House washorribly murdered last night!
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 2The Valley of FearChapter 2SHERLOCK HOLMES DISCOURSESIT WAS one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. Itwould be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited bythe amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in hissingular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from longoverstimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectualperceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of thehorror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face showedrather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees thecrystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.
Remarkable! said he. Remarkable!
You dont seem surprised.
Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised?
I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know tobe important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Withinan hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that theperson is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not surprised.
In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts aboutthe letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands andhis great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle.
I was going down to Birlstone this morning, said he. I had come toask you if you cared to come with meCyou and your friend here. But fromwhat you say we might perhaps be doing better work in London.
I rather think not, said Holmes.
[775] Hang it all, Mr. Holmes! cried the inspector. The papers willbe full of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but wheres the mysteryif there is a man in London who prophesied the crime before ever itoccurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest willfollow.
No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on theso-called Porlock?
MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him.
Posted in CamberwellCthat doesnt help us much. Name, you say, isassumed. Not much to go on, certainly. Didnt you say that you have senthim money?
Twice.
And how?
In notes to Camberwell postoffice.
Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?
No.
The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. Why not?
Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrote that Iwould not try to trace him.
You think there is someone behind him?
I know there is.
This professor that Ive heard you mention?
Exactly!
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glancedtowards me. I wont conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in theC. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over thisprofessor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems to bea very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man.
Im glad youve got so far as to recognize the talent.
Man, you cant but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it mybusiness to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talk gotthat way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe, andmade it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but I dont mind sayingthat it was a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeenupbringing. Hed have made a grand meenister with his thin face and grayhair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on myshoulder as we were parting, it was like a fathers blessing before you goout into the cold, cruel world.
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. Great! he said. Great! Tellme, Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, Isuppose, in the professors study?
Thats so.
A fine room, is it not?
Very fineCvery handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes.
You sat in front of his writing desk?
Just so.
Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?
Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face.
It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professorshead?
I dont miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, Isaw the pictureCa young woman with her head on her hands, peeping atyou sideways.
That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze.
[776] The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
Jean Baptiste Greuze, Holmes continued, joining his finger tips andleaning well back in his chair, was a French artist who flourishedbetween the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course, to his workingcareer. Modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formedof him by his contemporaries.
The inspectors eyes grew abstracted. Hadnt we betterC C he said.
We are doing so, Holmes interrupted. All that I am saying has avery direct and vital bearing upon what you have called the BirlstoneMystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it.
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. Yourthoughts move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a linkor two, and I cant get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can bethe connection between this dead painting man and the affair atBirlstone?
All knowledge comes useful to the detective, remarked Holmes.
Even the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled LaJeune Fille a lAgneau fetched one million two hundred thousandfrancsCmore than forty thousand poundsCat the Portalis sale may start atrain of reflection in your mind.
It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly interested.
I may remind you, Holmes continued, that the professors salary canbe ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. It is sevenhundred a year.
Then how could he buyC C
Quite so! How could he?
Ay, thats remarkable, said the inspector thoughtfully. Talk away,Mr. Holmes. Im just loving it. Its fine!
Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admirationCthecharacteristic of the real artist. What about Birlstone? he asked.
Weve time yet, said the inspector, glancing at his watch. Ive a cabat the door, and it wont take us twenty minutes to Victoria. But about thispicture: I thought you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that you had never metProfessor Moriarty.
No, I never have.
Then how do you know about his rooms?
Ah, thats another matter. I have been three times in his rooms, twicewaiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came.
OnceC well, I can hardly tell about the once to an official detective. It wason the last occasion that I took the liberty of running over his papersCwiththe most unexpected results.
You found something compromising?
Absolutely nothing. That was what amazed me. However, you havenow seen the point of the picture. It shows him to be a very wealthy man.
How did he acquire wealth? He is unmarried. His younger brother is astation master in the west of England. His chair is worth seven hundred ayear. And he owns a Greuze.
Well?
Surely the inference is plain.
You mean that he has a great income and that he must earn it in anillegal fashion?
Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking soCdozens ofexiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the webwhere the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. I only mention theGreuze because it brings the matter within the range of your ownobservation.
[777] Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting: itsmore than interestingCits just wonderful. But let us have it a little clearerif you can. Is it forgery, coining, burglaryCwhere does the money comefrom?
Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?
Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was he not?
I dont take much stock of detectives in novelsCchaps that do things andnever let you see how they do them. Thats just inspiration: not business.
Jonathan Wild wasnt a detective, and he wasnt in a novel. He was amaster criminal, and he lived last centuryC1750 or thereabouts.
Then hes no use to me. Im a practical man.
Mr. Mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in your life wouldbe to shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day at theannals of crime. Everything comes in circlesCeven Professor Moriarty.
Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of the London criminals, to whom hesold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent. commission.
The old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up. Its all been donebefore, and will be again. Ill tell you one or two things about Moriartywhich may interest you.
Youll interest me, right enough.
I happen to know who is the first link in his chainCa chain with thisNapoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men,pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sortof crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, asaloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. What do youthink he pays him?
Id like to hear.
Six thousand a year. Thats paying for brains, you seeCthe Americanbusiness principle. I learned that detail quite by chance. Its more than thePrime Minister gets. That gives you an idea of Moriartys gains and of thescale on which he works. Another point: I made it my business to huntdown some of Moriartys checks latelyCjust common innocent checks thathe pays his household bills with. They were drawn on six different banks.
Does that make any impression on your mind?
Queer, certainly! But what do you gather from it?
That he wanted no gossip about his wealth. No single man shouldknow what he had. I have no doubt that he has twenty banking accounts;the bulk of his fortune abroad in the Deutsche Bank or the CreditLyonnais as likely as not. Sometime when you have a year or two to spareI commend to you the study of Professor Moriarty.
Inspector MacDonald had grown steadily more impressed as theconversation proceeded. He had lost himself in his interest. Now hispractical Scotch intelligence brought him back with a snap to the matterin hand.
He can keep, anyhow, said he. Youve got us side-tracked with yourinteresting anecdotes, Mr. Holmes. What really counts is your remark thatthere is some connection between the professor and the crime. That youget from the warning received through the man Porlock. Can we for ourpresent practical needs get any further than that?
We may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. It is, asI gather from your original remarks, an inexplicable, or at least anunexplained, murder. Now, presuming that the source of the crime is aswe suspect it to be, there might be two different motives. In the firstplace, I may tell you that Moriarty rules with a rod of iron over hispeople. His discipline is tremendous. There is only one [778] punishmentin his code. It is death. Now we might suppose that this murderedmanCthis Douglas whose approaching fate was known by one of the archcriminalssubordinatesChad in some way betrayed the chief. Hispunishment followed, and would be known to allCif only to put the fear ofdeath into them.
Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes.
The other is that it has been engineered by Moriarty in the ordinarycourse of business. Was there any robbery?
I have not heard.
If so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis and in favourof the second. Moriarty may have been engaged to engineer it on apromise of part spoils, or he may have been paid so much down tomanage it. Either is possible. But whichever it may be, or if it is somethird combination, it is down at Birlstone that we must seek the solution. Iknow our man too well to suppose that he has left anything up here whichmay lead us to him.
Then to Birlstone we must go! cried MacDonald, jumping from hischair. My word! its later than I thought. I can give you, gentlemen, fiveminutes for preparation, and that is all.
And ample for us both, said Holmes, as he sprang up and hastened tochange from his dressing gown to his coat. While we are on our way,Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be good enough to tell me all about it.
All about it proved to be disappointingly little, and yet there wasenough to assure us that the case before us might well be worthy of theexperts closest attention. He brightened and rubbed his thin handstogether as he listened to the meagre but remarkable details. A long seriesof sterile weeks lay behind us, and here at last there was a fitting objectfor those remarkable powers which, like all special gifts, become irksometo their owner when they are not in use. That razor brain blunted andrusted with inaction.
Sherlock Holmess eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmer hue,and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when the call forwork reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, he listened intently toMacDonalds short sketch of the problem which awaited us in Sussex.
The inspector was himself dependent, as he explained to us, upon ascribbled account forwarded to him by the milk train in the early hours ofthe morning. White Mason, the local officer, was a personal friend, andhence MacDonald had been notified much more promptly than is usual atScotland Yard when provincials need their assistance. It is a very coldscent upon which the Metropolitan expert is generally asked to run.
DEAR INSPECTOR MACDONALD [said the letter which he read tous]:
Official requisition for your services is in separate envelope.
This is for your private eye. Wire me what train in the morningyou can get for Birlstone, and I will meet itCor have it met if I amtoo occupied. This case is a snorter. Dont waste a moment ingetting started. If you can bring Mr. Holmes, please do so; for hewill find something after his own heart. We would think the wholething had been fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasnt a deadman in the middle of it. My word! it is a snorter.
Your friend seems to be no fool, remarked Holmes.
No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am any judge.
Well, have you anything more?
Only that he will give us every detail when we meet.
[779] Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he hadbeen horribly murdered?
That was in the inclosed official report. It didnt say horrible: thatsnot a recognized official term. It gave the name John Douglas. Itmentioned that his injuries had been in the head, from the discharge of ashotgun. It also mentioned the hour of the alarm, which was close on tomidnight last night. It added that the case was undoubtedly one of murder,but that no arrest had been made, and that the case was one whichpresented some very perplexing and extraordinary features. Thatsabsolutely all we have at present, Mr. Holmes.
Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac. Thetemptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the baneof our profession. I can see only two things for certain at presentCa greatbrain in London, and a dead man in Sussex. Its the chain between that weare going to trace.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 3The Valley of FearChapter 3THE TRAGEDY OF BIRLSTONENOW for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificantpersonality and to describe events which occurred before we arrived uponthe scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards. Only inthis way can I make the reader appreciate the people concerned and thestrange setting in which their fate was cast.
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of halftimberedcottages on the northern border of the county of Sussex. Forcenturies it had remained unchanged; but within the last few years itspicturesque appearance and situation have attracted a number of well-todoresidents, whose villas peep out from the woods around. These woodsare locally supposed to be the extreme fringe of the great Weald forest,which thins away until it reaches the northern chalk downs. A number ofsmall shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increasedpopulation; so there seems some prospect that Birlstone may soon growfrom an ancient village into a modern town. It is the centre for aconsiderable area of country, since Tunbridge Wells, the nearest place ofimportance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward, over the borders ofKent.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for itshuge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone. Part of thisvenerable building dates back to the time of the first crusade, when Hugode Capus built a fortalice in the centre of the estate, which had beengranted to him by the Red King. This was destroyed by fire in 1543, andsome of its smoke-blackened corner stones were used when, in Jacobeantimes, a brick country house rose upon the ruins of the feudal castle.
The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond-panedwindows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early seventeenthcentury. Of the double moats which had guarded its more warlikepredecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up, and served the humblefunction of a kitchen garden. The inner one was still there, and lay fortyfeet in breadth, though now only a few feet in depth, round the wholehouse. A small stream fed it and continued beyond it, [780] so that thesheet of water, though turbid, was never ditchlike or unhealthy. Theground floor windows were within a foot of the surface of the water.
The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains andwindlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The latest tenants ofthe Manor House had, however, with characteristic energy, set this right,and the drawbridge was not only capable of being raised, but actually wasraised every evening and lowered every morning. By thus renewing thecustom of the old feudal days the Manor House was converted into anisland during the nightCa fact which had a very direct bearing upon themystery which was soon to engage the attention of all England.
The house had been untenanted for some years and was threatening tomoulder into a picturesque decay when the Douglases took possession ofit. This family consisted of only two individualsCJohn Douglas and hiswife. Douglas was a remarkable man, both in character and in person. Inage he may have been about fifty, with a strong-jawed, rugged face, agrizzling moustache, peculiarly keen gray eyes, and a wiry, vigorousfigure which had lost nothing of the strength and activity of youth. Hewas cheery and genial to all, but somewhat offhand in his manners, givingthe impression that he had seen life in social strata on some far lowerhorizon than the county society of Sussex.
Yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by his morecultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularity among thevillagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects, and attending theirsmoking concerts and other functions, where, having a remarkably richtenor voice, he was always ready to oblige with an excellent song. Heappeared to have plenty of money, which was said to have been gained inthe California gold fields, and it was clear from his own talk and that ofhis wife that he had spent a part of his life in America.
The good impression which had been produced by his generosity andby his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gained for utterindifference to danger. Though a wretched rider, he turned out at everymeet, and took the most amazing falls in his determination to hold hisown with the best. When the vicarage caught fire he distinguished himselfalso by the fearlessness with which he reentered the building to saveproperty, after the local fire brigade had given it up as impossible. Thus itcame about that John Douglas of the Manor House had within five yearswon himself quite a reputation in Birlstone.
His wife, too, was popular with those who had made her acquaintance;though, after the English fashion, the callers upon a stranger who settledin the county without introductions were few and far between. Thismattered the less to her, as she was retiring by disposition, and very muchabsorbed, to all appearance, in her husband and her domestic duties. Itwas known that she was an English lady who had met Mr. Douglas inLondon, he being at that time a widower. She was a beautiful woman, tall,dark, and slender, some twenty years younger than her husband; adisparity which seemed in no wise to mar the contentment of their familylife.
It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best,that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete, sincethe wife was either very reticent about her husbands past life, or else, asseemed more likely, was imperfectly informed about it. It had also beennoted and commented upon by a few observant people that there weresigns sometimes of some nerve-strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas, andthat she would display acute uneasiness if [781] her absent husband shouldever be particularly late in his return. On a quiet countryside, where allgossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the Manor House did notpass without remark, and it bulked larger upon peoples memory whenthe events arose which gave it a very special significance.
There was yet another individual whose residence under that roof was,it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence at the time of thestrange happenings which will now be narrated brought his nameprominently before the public. This was Cecil James Barker, of HalesLodge, Hampstead.
Cecil Barkers tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the mainstreet of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome visitor atthe Manor House. He was the more noticed as being the only friend of thepast unknown life of Mr. Douglas who was ever seen in his new Englishsurroundings. Barker was himself an undoubted Englishman; but by hisremarks it was clear that he had first known Douglas in America and hadthere lived on intimate terms with him. He appeared to be a man ofconsiderable wealth, and was reputed to be a bachelor.
In age he was rather younger than DouglasCforty-five at the mostCatall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved, prize-fighter face,thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of masterful black eyes whichmight, even without the aid of his very capable hands, clear a way for himthrough a hostile crowd. He neither rode nor shot, but spent his days inwandering round the old village with his pipe in his mouth, or in drivingwith his host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the beautifulcountryside. An easy-going, free-handed gentleman, said Ames, thebutler. But, my word! I had rather not be the man that crossed him! Hewas cordial and intimate with Douglas, and he was no less friendly withhis wifeCa friendship which more than once seemed to cause someirritation to the husband, so that even the servants were able to perceivehis annoyance. Such was the third person who was one of the familywhen the catastrophe occurred.
As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out of a largehousehold to mention the prim, respectable, and capable Ames, and Mrs.
Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who relieved the lady of some of herhousehold cares. The other six servants in the house bear no relation tothe events of the night of January 6th.
It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small localpolice station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the Sussex Constabulary.
Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up to the door and pealedfuriously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy had occurred at the ManorHouse, and John Douglas had been murdered. That was the breathlessburden of his message. He had hurried back to the house, followed withina few minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at the scene of thecrime a little after twelve oclock, after taking prompt steps to warn thecounty authorities that something serious was afoot.
On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found the drawbridgedown, the windows lighted up, and the whole household in a state of wildconfusion and alarm. The white-faced servants were huddling together inthe hall, with the frightened butler wringing his hands in the doorway.
Only Cecil Barker seemed to be master of himself and his emotions; hehad opened the door which was nearest to the entrance and he hadbeckoned to the sergeant to follow him. At that moment there arrived Dr.
Wood, a brisk and capable general practitioner from the village. The threemen entered the fatal room together, while the [782] horror-stricken butlerfollowed at their heels, closing the door behind him to shut out the terriblescene from the maid servants.
The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbs in thecentre of the room. He was clad only in a pink dressing gown, whichcovered his night clothes. There were carpet slippers on his bare feet. Thedoctor knelt beside him and held down the hand lamp which had stood onthe table. One glance at the victim was enough to show the healer that hispresence could be dispensed with. The man had been horribly injured.
Lying across his chest was a curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrelsawed off a foot in front of the triggers. It was clear that this had beenfired at close range and that he had received the whole charge in the face,blowing his head almost to pieces. The triggers had been wired together,so as to make the simultaneous discharge more destructive.
The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendousresponsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. We will touchnothing until my superiors arrive, he said in a hushed voice, staring inhorror at the dreadful head.
Nothing has been touched up to now, said Cecil Barker. Ill answerfor that. You see it all exactly as I found it.
When was that? The sergeant had drawn out his notebook.
It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress, and I wassitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report. It was not veryloud Cit seemed to be muffled. I rushed downCI dont suppose it wasthirty seconds before I was in the room.
Was the door open?
Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. Hisbedroom candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit the lamp someminutes afterward.
Did you see no one?
No. I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stair behind me, and Irushed out to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight. Mrs. Allen, thehousekeeper, came and took her away. Ames had arrived, and we ranback into the room once more.
But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night.
Yes, it was up until I lowered it.
Then how could any murderer have got away? It is out of thequestion! Mr. Douglas must have shot himself.
That was our first idea. But see! Barker drew aside the curtain, andshowed that the long, diamond-paned window was open to its full extent.
And look at this! He held the lamp down and illuminated a smudge ofblood like the mark of a boot-sole upon the wooden sill. Someone hasstood there in getting out.
You mean that someone waded across the moat?
Exactly!
Then if you were in the room within half a minute of the crime, hemust have been in the water at that very moment.
I have not a doubt of it. I wish to heaven that I had rushed to thewindow! But the curtain screened it, as you can see, and so it neveroccurred to me. Then I heard the step of Mrs. Douglas, and I could not lether enter the room. It would have been too horrible.
Horrible enough! said the doctor, looking at the shattered head andthe terrible marks which surrounded it. Ive never seen such injuriessince the Birlstone railway smash.
But, I say, remarked the police sergeant, whose slow, bucoliccommon sense [783] was still pondering the open window. Its all verywell your saying that a man escaped by wading this moat, but what I askyou is, how did he ever get into the house at all if the bridge was up?
Ah, thats the question, said Barker.
At what oclock was it raised?
It was nearly six oclock, said Ames, the butler.
Ive heard, said the sergeant, that it was usually raised at sunset.
That would be nearer half-past four than six at this time of year.
Mrs. Douglas had visitors to tea, said Ames. I couldnt raise it untilthey went. Then I wound it up myself.
Then it comes to this, said the sergeant: If anyone came fromoutsideC if they didCthey must have got in across the bridge before six andbeen in hiding ever since, until Mr. Douglas came into the room aftereleven.
That is so! Mr. Douglas went round the house every night the lastthing before he turned in to see that the lights were right. That broughthim in here. The man was waiting and shot him. Then he got awaythrough the window and left his gun behind him. Thats how I read it; fornothing else will fit the facts.
The sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man on thefloor. The initials V. V. and under them the number 341 were rudelyscrawled in ink upon it.
Whats this? he asked, holding it up.
Barker looked at it with curiosity. I never noticed it before, he said.
The murderer must have left it behind him.
V. V.C341. I can make no sense of that.
The sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers. Whats V. V.?
Somebodys initials, maybe. What have you got there, Dr. Wood?
It was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug in front ofthe fireplaceCa substantial, workmanlike hammer. Cecil Barker pointed toa box of brass-headed nails upon the mantelpiece.
Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday, he said. I saw himmyself, standing upon that chair and fixing the big picture above it. Thataccounts for the hammer.
Wed best put it back on the rug where we found it, said the sergeant,scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. It will want the best brainsin the force to get to the bottom of this thing. It will be a London jobbefore it is finished. He raised the hand lamp and walked slowly roundthe room. Hullo! he cried, excitedly, drawing the window curtain to oneside. What oclock were those curtains drawn?
When the lamps were lit, said the butler. It would be shortly afterfour.
Someone had been hiding here, sure enough. He held down the light,and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in the corner. Im boundto say this bears out your theory, Mr. Barker. It looks as if the man gotinto the house after four when the curtains were drawn, and before sixwhen the bridge was raised. He slipped into this room, because it was thefirst that he saw. There was no other place where he could hide, so hepopped in behind this curtain. That all seems clear enough. It is likely thathis main idea was to burgle the house; but Mr. Douglas chanced to comeupon him, so he murdered him and escaped.
Thats how I read it, said Barker. But, I say, arent we wastingprecious time? Couldnt we start out and scour the country before thefellow gets away?
The sergeant considered for a moment.
[784] There are no trains before six in the morning; so he cant getaway by rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, its odds thatsomeone will notice him. Anyhow, I cant leave here myself until I amrelieved. But I think none of you should go until we see more clearly howwe all stand.
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the body.
Whats this mark? he asked. Could this have any connection with thecrime?
The dead mans right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown, andexposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm was acurious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out in vividrelief upon the lard-coloured skin.
Its not tattooed, said the doctor, peering through his glasses. I neversaw anything like it. The man has been branded at some time as theybrand cattle. What is the meaning of this?
I dont profess to know the meaning of it, said Cecil Barker; but Ihave seen the mark on Douglas many times this last ten years.
And so have I, said the butler. Many a time when the master hasrolled up his sleeves I have noticed that very mark. Ive often wonderedwhat it could be.
Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow, said the sergeant.
But its a rum thing all the same. Everything about this case is rum.
Well, what is it now?
The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and was pointingat the dead mans outstretched hand.
Theyve taken his wedding ring! he gasped.
What!
Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold wedding ring on thelittle finger of his left hand. That ring with the rough nugget on it wasabove it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger. Theres the nuggetand theres the snake, but the wedding ring is gone.
Hes right, said Barker.
Do you tell me, said the sergeant, that the wedding ring was belowthe other?
Always!
Then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ring you callthe nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards put the nugget ringback again.
That is so!
The worthy country policeman shook his head. Seems to me thesooner we get London on to this case the better, said he. White Masonis a smart man. No local job has ever been too much for White Mason. Itwont be long now before he is here to help us. But I expect well have tolook to London before we are through. Anyhow, Im not ashamed to saythat it is a deal too thick for the likes of me.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 4The Valley of FearChapter 4DARKNESSAT THREE in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the urgentcall from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in alight dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. By the five-forty train in themorning he had sent his message to Scotland Yard, and he was at theBirlstone station at twelve oclock to welcome [785] us. White Mason wasa quiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with a cleanshaved,ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adornedwith gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, oranything upon earth except a very favourable specimen of the provincialcriminal officer.
A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald! he kept repeating. Wellhave the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. Im hopingwe will get our work done before they get poking their noses into it andmessing up all the trails. There has been nothing like this that I canremember. There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr. Holmes,or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicos will have aword to say before we finish. Your room is at the Westville Arms.
Theres no other place; but I hear that it is clean and good. The man willcarry your bags. This way, gentlemen, if you please.
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective. In tenminutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we were seated in theparlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of those eventswhich have been outlined in the previous chapter. MacDonald made anoccasional note; while Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression ofsurprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys the rareand precious bloom.
Remarkable! he said, when the story was unfolded, mostremarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the features have beenmore peculiar.
I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes, said White Mason in greatdelight. Were well up with the times in Sussex. Ive told you now howmatters were, up to the time when I took over from Sergeant Wilsonbetween three and four this morning. My word! I made the old mare go!
But I need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for there wasnothing immediate that I could do. Sergeant Wilson had all the facts. Ichecked them and considered them and maybe added a few of my own.
What were they? asked Holmes eagerly.
Well, I first had the hammer examined. There was Dr. Wood there tohelp me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I was hoping that if Mr.
Douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might have left his markupon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat. But there was nostain.
That, of course, proves nothing at all, remarked InspectorMacDonald. There has been many a hammer murder and no trace on thehammer.
Quite so. It doesnt prove it wasnt used. But there might have beenstains, and that would have helped us. As a matter of fact there were none.
Then I examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, asSergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that, ifyou pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. Whoeverfixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chancesof missing his man. The sawed gun was not more than two foot longConecould carry it easily under ones coat. There was no complete makersname; but the printed letters P-E-N were on the fluting between thebarrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw.
A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller? asked Holmes.
Exactly.
Pennsylvania Small Arms CompanyCwell known American firm,
said Holmes.
White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looksat the Harley Street specialist who by a word can solve the difficulties thatperplex him.
That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. Wonderful!
[786] Wonderful! Do you carry the names of all the gun makers in theworld in your memory?
Holmes dismissed the subject with a wave.
No doubt it is an American shotgun, White Mason continued. Iseem to have read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon used in someparts of America. Apart from the name upon the barrel, the idea hadoccurred to me. There is some evidence, then, that this man who enteredthe house and killed its master was an American.
MacDonald shook his head. Man, you are surely travelling overfast,
said he. I have heard no evidence yet that any stranger was ever in thehouse at all.
The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, the marks ofboots in the corner, the gun!
Nothing there that could not have been arranged. Mr. Douglas was anAmerican, or had lived long in America. So had Mr. Barker. You dontneed to import an American from outside in order to account forAmerican doings.
Ames, the butlerC C
What about him? Is he reliable?
Ten years with Sir Charles ChandosCas solid as a rock. He has beenwith Douglas ever since he took the Manor House five years ago. He hasnever seen a gun of this sort in the house.
The gun was made to conceal. Thats why the barrels were sawed. Itwould fit into any box. How could he swear there was no such gun in thehouse?
Well, anyhow, he had never seen one.
MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. Im not convinced yetthat there was ever anyone in the house, said he. Im asking you toconseedar (his accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in hisargument) Im asking you to conseedar what it involves if you supposethat this gun was ever brought into the house, and that all these strangethings were done by a person from outside. Oh, man, its justinconceivable! Its clean against common sense! I put it to you, Mr.
Holmes, judging it by what we have heard.
Well, state your case, Mr. Mac, said Holmes in his most judicial style.
The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. The ringbusiness and the card point to premeditated murder for some privatereason. Very good. Here is a man who slips into a house with thedeliberate intention of committing murder. He knows, if he knowsanything, that he will have a deeficulty in making his escape, as the houseis surrounded with water. What weapon would he choose? You would saythe most silent in the world. Then he could hope when the deed was doneto slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and to get away at hisleisure. Thats understandable. But is it understandable that he should goout of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could select,knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house to the spotas quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that he will be seen beforehe can get across the moat? Is that credible, Mr. Holmes?
Well, you put the case strongly, my friend replied thoughtfully. Itcertainly needs a good deal of justification. May I ask, Mr. White Mason,whether you examined the farther side of the moat at once to see if therewere any signs of the man having climbed out from the water?
There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, and onecould hardly expect them.
No tracks or marks?
[787] None.
Ha! Would there be any objection, Mr. White Mason, to our goingdown to the house at once? There may possibly be some small pointwhich might be suggestive.
I was going to propose it, Mr. Holmes; but I thought it well to put youin touch with all the facts before we go. I suppose if anything shouldstrike youC C White Mason looked doubtfully at the amateur.
I have worked with Mr. Holmes before, said Inspector MacDonald.
He plays the game.
My own idea of the game, at any rate, said Holmes, with a smile. Igo into a case to help the ends of justice and the work of the police. If Ihave ever separated myself from the official force, it is because they havefirst separated themselves from me. I have no wish ever to score at theirexpense. At the same time, Mr. White Mason, I claim the right to work inmy own way and give my results at my own timeCcomplete rather than instages.
I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you all weknow,  said White Mason cordially. Come along, Dr. Watson, andwhen the time comes well all hope for a place in your book.
We walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollarded elmson each side of it. Just beyond were two ancient stone pillars, weatherstainedand lichen-blotched, bearing upon their summits a shapelesssomething which had once been the rampant lion of Capus of Birlstone. Ashort walk along the winding drive with such sward and oaks around it asone only sees in rural England, then a sudden turn, and the long, lowJacobean house of dingy, liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an oldfashionedgarden of cut yews on each side of it. As we approached it,there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as stilland luminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter sunshine.
Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuries ofbirths and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of foxhunters. Strange that now in its old age this dark business should havecast its shadow upon the venerable walls! And yet those strange, peakedroofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fitting covering to grim andterrible intrigue. As I looked at the deep-set windows and the long sweepof the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, I felt that no more fitting scenecould be set for such a tragedy.
Thats the window, said White Mason, that one on the immediateright of the drawbridge. Its open just as it was found last night.
It looks rather narrow for a man to pass.
Well, it wasnt a fat man, anyhow. We dont need your deductions,Mr. Holmes, to tell us that. But you or I could squeeze through all right.
Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. Then heexamined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it.
Ive had a good look, Mr. Holmes, said White Mason. There isnothing there, no sign that anyone has landedCbut why should he leaveany sign?
Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always turbid?
Generally about this colour. The stream brings down the clay.
How deep is it?
About two feet at each side and three in the middle.
So we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned incrossing.
No, a child could not be drowned in it.
[788] We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint,gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor old fellowwas white and quivering from the shock. The village sergeant, a tall,formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in the room of Fate. Thedoctor had departed.
Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson? asked White Mason.
No, sir.
Then you can go home. Youve had enough. We can send for you ifwe want you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warn Mr.
Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want aword with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you will allow me togive you the views I have formed first, and then you will be able to arriveat your own.
He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip of fact anda cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him some way inhis profession. Holmes listened to him intently, with no sign of thatimpatience which the official exponent too often produced.
Is it suicide, or is it murderCthats our first question, gentlemen, is itnot? If it were suicide, then we have to believe that this man began bytaking off his wedding ring and concealing it; that he then came downhere in his dressing gown, trampled mud into a corner behind the curtainin order to give the idea someone had waited for him, opened the window,put blood on theC C
We can surely dismiss that, said MacDonald.
So I think. Suicide is out of the question. Then a murder has beendone. What we have to determine is, whether it was done by someoneoutside or inside the house.
Well, lets hear the argument.
There are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one or the otherit must be. We will suppose first that some person or persons inside thehouse did the crime. They got this man down here at a time wheneverything was still and yet no one was asleep. They then did the deedwith the queerest and noisiest weapon in the world so as to tell everyonewhat had happenedCa weapon that was never seen in the house before.
That does not seem a very likely start, does it?
No, it does not.
Well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only aminute at the most had passed before the whole householdCnot Mr. CecilBarker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but Ames and all ofthem were on the spot. Do you tell me that in that time the guilty personmanaged to make footmarks in the corner, open the window, mark the sillwith blood, take the wedding ring off the dead mans finger, and all therest of it? Its impossible!
You put it very clearly, said Holmes. I am inclined to agree withyou.
Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was done bysomeone from outside. We are still faced with some big difficulties; butanyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities. The man got into thehouse between four-thirty and six; that is to say, between dusk and thetime when the bridge was raised. There had been some visitors, and thedoor was open; so there was nothing to prevent him. He may have been acommon burglar, or he may have had some private grudge against Mr.
Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas has spent most of his life in America, andthis shotgun seems to be an American weapon, it would seem that theprivate grudge is the more likely theory. He slipped into this roombecause it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the curtain. Therehe remained [789] until past eleven at night. At that time Mr. Douglasentered the room. It was a short interview, if there were any interview atall; for Mrs. Douglas declares that her husband had not left her more thana few minutes when she heard the shot.
The candle shows that, said Holmes.
Exactly. The candle, which was a new one, is not burned more thanhalf an inch. He must have placed it on the table before he was attacked;otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when he fell. This shows that hewas not attacked the instant that he entered the room. When Mr. Barkerarrived the candle was lit and the lamp was out.
Thats all clear enough.
Well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr. Douglasenters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appears from behind thecurtain. He is armed with this gun. He demands the wedding ringCHeavenonly knows why, but so it must have been. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Theneither in cold blood or in the course of a struggleCDouglas may havegripped the hammer that was found upon the matChe shot Douglas in thishorrible way. He dropped his gun and also it would seem this queercardCV. V. 341, whatever that may meanC and he made his escapethrough the window and across the moat at the very moment when CecilBarker was discovering the crime. Hows that, Mr. Holmes?
Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing.
Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasnt that anything else iseven worse! cried MacDonald. Somebody killed the man, and whoeverit was I could clearly prove to you that he should have done it some otherway. What does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like that?
What does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was his one chanceof escape? Come, Mr. Holmes, its up to you to give us a lead, since yousay Mr. White Masons theory is unconvincing.
Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion, missingno word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right and to left, andhis forehead wrinkled with speculation.
I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a theory, Mr.
Mac, said he, kneeling down beside the body. Dear me! these injuriesare really appalling. Can we have the butler in for a moment? . . . Ames, Iunderstand that you have often seen this very unusual markCa brandedtriangle inside a circleCupon Mr. Douglass forearm?
Frequently, sir.
You never heard any speculation as to what it meant?
No, sir.
It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It is undoubtedlya burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a small piece of plaster at theangle of Mr. Douglass jaw. Did you observe that in life?
Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning.
Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?
Not for a very long time, sir.
Suggestive! said Holmes. It may, of course, be a mere coincidence,or it may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he hadreason to apprehend danger. Had you noticed anything unusual in hisconduct, yesterday, Ames?
It struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir.
Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We do seem tomake [790] a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would rather do thequestioning, Mr. Mac?
No, Mr. Holmes, its in better hands than mine.
Well, then, we will pass to this cardCV. V. 341. It is rough cardboard.
Have you any of the sort in the house?
I dont think so.
Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from eachbottle on to the blotting paper. It was not printed in this room, he said;this is black ink and the other purplish. It was done by a thick pen, andthese are fine. No, it was done elsewhere, I should say. Can you makeanything of the inscription, Ames?
No, sir, nothing.
What do you think, Mr. Mac?
It gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort; the samewith his badge upon the forearm.
Thats my idea, too, said White Mason.
Well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see how farour difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makes his wayinto the house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his head nearly off with thisweapon, and escapes by wading the moat, after leaving a card beside thedead man, which will, when mentioned in the papers, tell other membersof the society that vengeance has been done. That all hangs together. Butwhy this gun, of all weapons?
Exactly.
And why the missing ring?
Quite so.
And why no arrest? Its past two now. I take it for granted that sincedawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a wetstranger?
That is so, Mr. Holmes.
Well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready,they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up to now!
Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lens theblood mark on the sill. It is clearly the tread of a shoe. It is remarkablybroad; a splay-foot, one would say. Curious, because, so far as one cantrace any footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was amore shapely sole. However, they are certainly very indistinct. Whatsthis under the side table?
Mr. Douglass dumb-bells, said Ames.
Dumb-bellCtheres only one. Wheres the other?
I dont know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I have notnoticed them for months.
One dumb-bellC C Holmes said seriously; but his remarks wereinterrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in at us. Ihad no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barker of whom I hadheard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with a questioning glancefrom face to face.
Sorry to interrupt your consultation, said he, but you should hear thelatest news.
An arrest?
No such luck. But theyve found his bicycle. The fellow left hisbicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundred yards ofthe hall door.
We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the driveinspecting a [791] bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump ofevergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well used Rudge-Whitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. There was asaddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to the owner.
It would be a grand help to the police, said the inspector, if thesethings were numbered and registered. But we must be thankful for whatweve got. If we cant find where he went to, at least we are likely to getwhere he came from. But what in the name of all that is wonderful madethe fellow leave it behind? And how in the world has he got away withoutit? We dont seem to get a gleam of light in the case, Mr. Holmes.
Dont we? my friend answered thoughtfully. I wonder!
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 5The Valley of FearChapter 5THE PEOPLE OF THE DRAMAHAVE you seen all you want of the study? asked White Mason as wereentered the house.
For the time, said the inspector, and Holmes nodded.
Then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some of thepeople in the house. We could use the dining room, Ames. Please comeyourself first and tell us what you know.
The butlers account was a simple and a clear one, and he gave aconvincing impression of sincerity. He had been engaged five yearsbefore, when Douglas first came to Birlstone. He understood that Mr.
Douglas was a rich gentleman who had made his money in America. Hehad been a kind and considerate employer Cnot quite what Ames wasused to, perhaps; but one cant have everything. He never saw any signsof apprehension in Mr. Douglas: on the contrary, he was the most fearlessman he had ever known. He ordered the drawbridge to be pulled up everynight because it was the ancient custom of the old house, and he liked tokeep the old ways up.
Mr. Douglas seldom went to London or left the village; but on the daybefore the crime he had been shopping at Tunbridge Wells. He (Ames)had observed some restlessness and excitement on the part of Mr.
Douglas that day; for he had seemed impatient and irritable, which wasunusual with him. He had not gone to bed that night; but was in the pantryat the back of the house, putting away the silver, when he heard the bellring violently. He heard no shot; but it was hardly possible he would, asthe pantry and kitchens were at the very back of the house and there wereseveral closed doors and a long passage between. The housekeeper hadcome out of her room, attracted by the violent ringing of the bell. Theyhad gone to the front of the house together.
As they reached the bottom of the stair he had seen Mrs. Douglascoming down it. No, she was not hurrying; it did not seem to him that shewas particularly agitated. Just as she reached the bottom of the stair Mr.
Barker had rushed out of the study. He had stopped Mrs. Douglas andbegged her to go back.
For Gods sake, go back to your room! he cried. Poor Jack is dead!
You can do nothing. For Gods sake, go back!
After some persuasion upon the stairs Mrs. Douglas had gone back. Shedid not [792] scream. She made no outcry whatever. Mrs. Allen, thehousekeeper, had taken her upstairs and stayed with her in the bedroom.
Ames and Mr. Barker had then returned to the study, where they hadfound everything exactly as the police had seen it. The candle was not litat that time; but the lamp was burning. They had looked out of thewindow; but the night was very dark and nothing could be seen or heard.
They had then rushed out into the hall, where Ames had turned thewindlass which lowered the drawbridge. Mr. Barker had then hurried offto get the police.
Such, in its essentials, was the evidence of the butler.
The account of Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was, so far as it went, acorroboration of that of her fellow servant. The housekeepers room wasrather nearer to the front of the house than the pantry in which Ames hadbeen working. She was preparing to go to bed when the loud ringing ofthe bell had attracted her attention. She was a little hard of hearing.
Perhaps that was why she had not heard the shot; but in any case the studywas a long way off. She remembered hearing some sound which sheimagined to be the slamming of a door. That was a good deal earlierChalfan hour at least before the ringing of the bell. When Mr. Ames ran to thefront she went with him. She saw Mr. Barker, very pale and excited, comeout of the study. He intercepted Mrs. Douglas, who was coming down thestairs. He entreated her to go back, and she answered him, but what shesaid could not be heard.
Take her up! Stay with her! he had said to Mrs. Allen.
She had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to sootheher. She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but made no otherattempt to go downstairs. She just sat in her dressing gown by herbedroom fire, with her head sunk in her hands. Mrs. Allen stayed with hermost of the night. As to the other servants, they had all gone to bed, andthe alarm did not reach them until just before the police arrived. Theyslept at the extreme back of the house, and could not possibly have heardanything.
So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination savelamentations and expressions of amazement.
Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the occurrencesof the night before, he had very little to add to what he had already toldthe police. Personally, he was convinced that the murderer had escaped bythe window. The bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that point.
Besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way ofescaping. He could not explain what had become of the assassin or whyhe had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his. He could not possiblyhave been drowned in the moat, which was at no place more than threefeet deep.
In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder.
Douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in his life ofwhich he never spoke. He had emigrated to America when he was a veryyoung man. He had prospered well, and Barker had first met him inCalifornia, where they had become partners in a successful mining claimat a place called Benito Ca.on. They had done very well; but Douglas hadsuddenly sold out and started for England. He was a widower at that time.
Barker had afterwards realized his money and come to live in London.
Thus they had renewed their friendship.
Douglas had given him the impression that some danger was hangingover his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden departure fromCalifornia, and [793] also his renting a house in so quiet a place inEngland, as being connected with this peril. He imagined that some secretsociety, some implacable organization, was on Douglass track, whichwould never rest until it killed him. Some remarks of his had given himthis idea; though he had never told him what the society was, nor how hehad come to offend it. He could only suppose that the legend upon theplacard had some reference to this secret society.
How long were you with Douglas in California? asked InspectorMacDonald.
Five years altogether.
He was a bachelor, you say?
A widower.
Have you ever heard where his first wife came from?
No, I remember his saying that she was of German extraction, and Ihave seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. She died oftyphoid the year before I met him.
You dont associate his past with any particular part of America?
I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well and hadworked there. I have heard him talk of the coal and iron districts. He hadtravelled a good deal in his time.
Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do with politics?
No, he cared nothing about politics.
You have no reason to think it was criminal?
On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my life.
Was there anything curious about his life in California?
He liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains. Hewould never go where other men were if he could help it. Thats why Ifirst thought that someone was after him. Then when he left so suddenlyfor Europe I made sure that it was so. I believe that he had a warning ofsome sort. Within a week of his leaving half a dozen men were inquiringfor him.
What sort of men?
Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up to theclaim and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he was gone toEurope and that I did not know where to find him. They meant him nogoodCit was easy to see that.
Were these men AmericansCCalifornians?
Well, I dont know about Californians. They were Americans, allright. But they were not miners. I dont know what they were, and wasvery glad to see their backs.
That was six years ago?
Nearer seven.
And then you were together five years in California, so that thisbusiness dates back not less than eleven years at the least?
That is so.
It must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with suchearnestness for as long as that. It would be no light thing that would giverise to it.
I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never quite out of his mind.
But if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what it was,dont you think he would turn to the police for protection?
Maybe it was some danger that he could not be protected against.
Theres one thing you should know. He always went about armed. Hisrevolver was never out [794] of his pocket. But, by bad luck, he was in hisdressing gown and had left it in the bedroom last night. Once the bridgewas up, I guess he thought he was safe.
I should like these dates a little clearer, said MacDonald. It is quitesix years since Douglas left California. You followed him next year, didyou not?
That is so.
And he had been married five years. You must have returned about thetime of his marriage.
About a month before. I was his best man.
Did you know Mrs. Douglas before her marriage?
No, I did not. I had been away from England for ten years.
But you have seen a good deal of her since.
Barker looked sternly at the detective. I have seen a good deal of himsince, he answered. If I have seen her, it is because you cannot visit aman without knowing his wife. If you imagine there is any connectionC C
I imagine nothing, Mr. Barker. I am bound to make every inquirywhich can bear upon the case. But I mean no offense.
Some inquiries are offensive, Barker answered angrily.
Its only the facts that we want. It is in your interest and everyonesinterest that they should be cleared up. Did Mr. Douglas entirely approveyour friendship with his wife?
Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were claspedconvulsively together. You have no right to ask such questions! hecried. What has this to do with the matter you are investigating?
I must repeat the question.
Well, I refuse to answer.
You can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that your refusal isin itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you had not something toconceal.
Barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and his strong blackeyebrows drawn low in intense thought. Then he looked up with a smile.
Well, I guess you gentlemen are only doing your clear duty after all, andI have no right to stand in the way of it. Id only ask you not to worryMrs. Douglas over this matter; for she has enough upon her just now. Imay tell you that poor Douglas had just one fault in the world, and thatwas his jealousy. He was fond of meCno man could be fonder of a friend.
And he was devoted to his wife. He loved me to come here, and wasforever sending for me. And yet if his wife and I talked together or thereseemed any sympathy between us, a kind of wave of jealousy would passover him, and he would be off the handle and saying the wildest things ina moment. More than once Ive sworn off coming for that reason, andthen he would write me such penitent, imploring letters that I just had to.
But you can take it from me, gentlemen, if it was my last word, that noman ever had a more loving, faithful wifeCand I can say also no friendcould be more loyal than I!
It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet Inspector MacDonaldcould not dismiss the subject.
You are aware, said he, that the dead mans wedding ring has beentaken from his finger?
So it appears, said Barker.
What do you mean by appears? You know it as a fact.
The man seemed confused and undecided. When I said appears Imeant that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the ring.
[795] The mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may haveremoved it, would suggest to anyones mind, would it not, that themarriage and the tragedy were connected?
Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. I cant profess to say what itmeans, he answered. But if you mean to hint that it could reflect in anyway upon this ladys honourChis eyes blazed for an instant, and thenwith an evident effort he got a grip upon his own emotionsCwell, you areon the wrong track, thats all.
I dont know that Ive anything else to ask you at present, saidMacDonald, coldly.
There was one small point, remarked Sherlock Holmes. When youentered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, was therenot?
Yes, that was so.
By its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?
Exactly.
You at once rang for help?
Yes.
And it arrived very speedily?
Within a minute or so.
And yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and thatthe lamp had been lighted. That seems very remarkable.
Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. I dont see that it wasremarkable, Mr. Holmes, he answered after a pause. The candle threw avery bad light. My first thought was to get a better one. The lamp was onthe table; so I lit it.
And blew out the candle?
Exactly.
Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberate lookfrom one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me, something ofdefiance in it, turned and left the room.
Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that he wouldwait upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied that she wouldmeet us in the dining room. She entered now, a tall and beautiful womanof thirty, reserved and self-possessed to a remarkable degree, verydifferent from the tragic and distracted figure I had pictured. It is true thather face was pale and drawn, like that of one who has endured a greatshock; but her manner was composed, and the finely moulded hand whichshe rested upon the edge of the table was as steady as my own. Her sad,appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us with a curiouslyinquisitive expression. That questioning gaze transformed itself suddenlyinto abrupt speech.
Have you found anything out yet? she asked.
Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather thanof hope in the question?
We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas, said the inspector.
You may rest assured that nothing will be neglected.
Spare no money, she said in a dead, even tone. It is my desire thatevery possible effort should be made.
Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light uponthe matter.
I fear not; but all I know is at your service.
[796] We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actuallyseeCthat you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?
No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me to return to myroom.
Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at once come down.
I put on my dressing gown and then came down.
How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on thestair by Mr. Barker?
It may have been a couple of minutes. It is so hard to reckon time atsuch a moment. He implored me not to go on. He assured me that I coulddo nothing. Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, led me upstairs again. Itwas all like some dreadful dream.
Can you give us any idea how long your husband had been downstairsbefore you heard the shot?
No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room, and I did not hearhim go. He did the round of the house every night, for he was nervous offire. It is the only thing that I have ever known him nervous of.
That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs. Douglas. Youhave known your husband only in England, have you not?
Yes, we have been married five years.
Have you heard him speak of anything which occurred in America andmight bring some danger upon him?
Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered. Yes, she said atlast, I have always felt that there was a danger hanging over him. Herefused to discuss it with me. It was not from want of confidence inmeCthere was the most complete love and confidence between usCbut itwas out of his desire to keep all alarm away from me. He thought I shouldbrood over it if I knew all, and so he was silent.
How did you know it, then?
Mrs. Douglass face lit with a quick smile. Can a husband ever carryabout a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have no suspicionof it? I knew it by his refusal to talk about some episodes in his Americanlife. I knew it by certain precautions he took. I knew it by certain wordshe let fall. I knew it by the way he looked at unexpected strangers. I wasperfectly certain that he had some powerful enemies, that he believed theywere on his track, and that he was always on his guard against them. I wasso sure of it that for years I have been terrified if ever he came home laterthan was expected.
Might I ask, asked Holmes, what the words were which attractedyour attention?
The Valley of Fear, the lady answered. That was an expression hehas used when I questioned him. I have been in the Valley of Fear. I amnot out of it yet.CAre we never to get out of the Valley of Fear? I haveasked him when I have seen him more serious than usual. Sometimes Ithink that we never shall, he has answered.
Surely you asked him what he meant by the Valley of Fear?
I did; but his face would become very grave and he would shake hishead. It is bad enough that one of us should have been in its shadow, hesaid. Please God it shall never fall upon you! It was some real valley inwhich he had lived and in which something terrible had occurred to him,of that I am certain; but I can tell you no more.
[797] And he never mentioned any names?
Yes, he was delirious with fever once when he had his huntingaccident three years ago. Then I remember that there was a name thatcame continually to his lips. He spoke it with anger and a sort of horror.
McGinty was the nameC Bodymaster McGinty. I asked him when herecovered who Bodymaster McGinty was, and whose body he was masterof. Never of mine, thank God! he answered with a laugh, and that wasall I could get from him. But there is a connection between BodymasterMcGinty and the Valley of Fear.
There is one other point, said Inspector MacDonald. You met Mr.
Douglas in a boarding house in London, did you not, and became engagedto him there? Was there any romance, anything secret or mysterious,about the wedding?
There was romance. There is always romance. There was nothingmysterious.
He had no rival?
No, I was quite free.
You have heard, no doubt, that his wedding ring has been taken. Doesthat suggest anything to you? Suppose that some enemy of his old life hadtracked him down and committed this crime, what possible reason couldhe have for taking his wedding ring?
For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a smileflickered over the womans lips.
I really cannot tell, she answered. It is certainly a most extraordinarything.
Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry to have putyou to this trouble at such a time, said the inspector. There are someother points, no doubt; but we can refer to you as they arise.
She rose, and I was again conscious of that quick, questioning glancewith which she had just surveyed us. What impression has my evidencemade upon you? The question might as well have been spoken. Then,with a bow, she swept from the room.
Shes a beautiful womanCa very beautiful woman, said MacDonaldthoughtfully, after the door had closed behind her. This man Barker hascertainly been down here a good deal. He is a man who might beattractive to a woman. He admits that the dead man was jealous, andmaybe he knew best himself what cause he had for jealousy. Then theresthat wedding ring. You cant get past that. The man who tears a weddingring off a dead mansC C What do you say to it, Mr. Holmes?
My friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in the deepestthought. Now he rose and rang the bell. Ames, he said, when the butlerentered, where is Mr. Cecil Barker now?
Ill see, sir.
He came back in a moment to say that Barker was in the garden.
Can you remember, Ames, what Mr. Barker had on his feet last nightwhen you joined him in the study?
Yes, Mr. Holmes. He had a pair of bedroom slippers. I brought himhis boots when he went for the police.
Where are the slippers now?
They are still under the chair in the hall.
Very good, Ames. It is, of course, important for us to know whichtracks may be Mr. Barkers and which from outside.
Yes, sir. I may say that I noticed that the slippers were stained withbloodCso indeed were my own.
[798] That is natural enough, considering the condition of the room.
Very good, Ames. We will ring if we want you.
A few minutes later we were in the study. Holmes had brought withhim the carpet slippers from the hall. As Ames had observed, the soles ofboth were dark with blood.
Strange! murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of the windowand examined them minutely. Very strange indeed!
Stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed the slipperupon the blood mark on the sill. It exactly corresponded. He smiled insilence at his colleagues.
The inspector was transfigured with excitement. His native accentrattled like a stick upon railings.
Man, he cried, theres not a doubt of it! Barker has just marked thewindow himself. Its a good deal broader than any bootmark. I mind thatyou said it was a splay-foot, and heres the explanation. But whats thegame, Mr. HolmesCwhats the game?
Ay, whats the game? my friend repeated thoughtfully.
White Mason chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together in hisprofessional satisfaction. I said it was a snorter! he cried. And a realsnorter it is!
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 6The Valley of FearChapter 6A DAWNING LIGHTTHE three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire; so Ireturned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. But before doingso I took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which flanked the house.
Rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strange designs girded it round.
Inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle,the whole effect so soothing and restful that it was welcome to mysomewhat jangled nerves.
In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember onlyas some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling,bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it and tried tosteep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred, whichbrought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression in my mind.
I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At the endfarthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge. On theother side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone approachingfrom the direction of the house, there was a stone seat. As I approachedthe spot I was aware of voices, some remark in the deep tones of a man,answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter.
An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes litupon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of mypresence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the dining room she hadbeen demure and discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed awayfrom her. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face still quiveredwith amusement at some remark of her companion. He sat forward, hishands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smileupon his bold, handsome face. In an instant Cbut it was just one instanttoo lateCthey resumed their solemn masks as my figure came into view. A[799] hurried word or two passed between them, and then Barker rose andcame towards me.
Excuse me, sir, said he, but am I addressing Dr. Watson?
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly theimpression which had been produced upon my mind.
We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr.
Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over andspeaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?
I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mindseye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of thetragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind abush in the garden which had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve. Ihad grieved with her grief in the dining room. Now I met her appealinggaze with an unresponsive eye.
I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted, said she.
I shrugged my shoulders. It is no business of mine, said I.
Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realizedC C
There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize, said Barker quickly.
As he has himself said, it is no possible business of his.
Exactly, said I, and so I will beg leave to resume my walk.
One moment, Dr. Watson, cried the woman in a pleading voice.
There is one question which you can answer with more authority thananyone else in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me.
You know Mr. Holmes and his relations with the police better thananyone else can. Supposing that a matter were brought confidentially tohis knowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to thedetectives?
Yes, thats it, said Barker eagerly. Is he on his own or is he entirelyin with them?
I really dont know that I should be justified in discussing such apoint.
I begCI implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you willbe helping usChelping me greatly if you will guide us on that point.
There was such a ring of sincerity in the womans voice that for theinstant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will.
Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator, I said. He is his ownmaster, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time, hewould naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working onthe same case, and he would not conceal from them anything whichwould help them in bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can saynothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted fullerinformation.
So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them stillseated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the farend of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestly together, and,as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it was our interview thatwas the subject of their debate.
I wish none of their confidences, said Holmes, when I reported tohim what had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the ManorHouse in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about fivewith a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. Noconfidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrestfor conspiracy and murder.
You think it will come to that?
He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. My dear Watson,when [800] I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put youin touch with the whole situation. I dont say that we have fathomed itCfarfrom itCbut when we have traced the missing dumb-bellC C
The dumb-bell!
Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the factthat the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you need notbe downcast; for between ourselves I dont think that either InspectorMac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped the overwhelmingimportance of this incident. One dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athletewith one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself the unilateral development, theimminent danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!
He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with mischief,watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of his excellentappetite was an assurance of success; for I had very clear recollections ofdays and nights without a thought of food, when his baffled mind hadchafed before some problem while his thin, eager features became moreattenuated with the asceticism of complete mental concentration. Finallyhe lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook of the old village inn he talkedslowly and at random about his case, rather as one who thinks aloud thanas one who makes a considered statement.
A lie, WatsonCa great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lieCthats what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting point. Thewhole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barkers story is corroborated byMrs. Douglas. Therefore she is lying also. They are both lying, and in aconspiracy. So now we have the clear problem. Why are they lying, andwhat is the truth which they are trying so hard to conceal? Let us try,Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the lie and reconstruct the truth.
How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabricationwhich simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story given tous, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had beencommitted to take that ring, which was under another ring, from the deadmans finger, to replace the other ringCa thing which he would surelynever have doneCand to put that singular card beside his victim. I say thatthis was obviously impossible.
You may argueCbut I have too much respect for your judgment,Watson, to think that you will do soCthat the ring may have been takenbefore the man was killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only ashort time shows that there had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas,from what we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely togive up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of hisgiving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with the deadman for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubt at all.
But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shotmust have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But there couldbe no mistake about such a matter as that. We are in the presence,therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of the two people whoheard the gunshotC of the man Barker and of the woman Douglas. Whenon the top of this I am able to show that the blood mark on the windowsillwas deliberately placed there by Barker, in order to give a false clue to thepolice, you will admit that the case grows dark against him.
Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually didoccur. Up [801] to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house;so it was certainly not before that time. At a quarter to eleven they had allgone to their rooms with the exception of Ames, who was in the pantry. Ihave been trying some experiments after you left us this afternoon, and Ifind that no noise which MacDonald can make in the study can penetrateto me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.
It is otherwise, however, from the housekeepers room. It is not so fardown the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a voice when it wasvery loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun is to some extent muffledwhen the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedly was in thisinstance. It would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night itshould have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allens room. She is, as she has toldus, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her evidence thatshe did hear something like a door slamming half an hour before thealarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm was given would be aquarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what she heard was the report ofthe gun, and that this was the real instant of the murder.
If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs. Douglas,presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doingfrom quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down,until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned theservants. What were they doing, and why did they not instantly give thealarm? That is the question which faces us, and when it has beenanswered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem.
I am convinced myself, said I, that there is an understandingbetween those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sit laughingat some jest within a few hours of her husbands murder.
Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own account of whatoccurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you areaware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there are fewwives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let any mansspoken word stand between them and that husbands dead body. Should Iever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feelingwhich would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper whenmy corpse was lying within a few yards of her. It was badly stagemanaged;for even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absenceof the usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothing else, thisincident alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to mymind.
You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are guilty ofthe murder?
There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson, saidHolmes, shaking his pipe at me. They come at me like bullets. If you putit that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about the murder, and areconspiring to conceal it, then I can give you a whole-souled answer. I amsure they do. But your more deadly proposition is not so clear. Let us fora moment consider the difficulties which stand in the way.
We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guiltylove, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who standsbetween them. It is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry amongservants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. On thecontrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the Douglases were veryattached to each other.
[802] That, I am sure, cannot be true, said I, thinking of the beautifulsmiling face in the garden.
Well, at least they gave that impression. However, we will supposethat they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone uponthis point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a manover whose head some danger hangsC C
We have only their word for that.
Holmes looked thoughtful. I see, Watson. You are sketching out atheory by which everything they say from the beginning is false.
According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secretsociety, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else. Well,that is a good sweeping generalization. Let us see what that brings us to.
They invent this theory to account for the crime. They then play up to theidea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of someoutsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. So does thecard on the body, which might have been prepared in the house. That allfits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the nasty,angular, uncompromising bits which wont slip into their places. Why acut-off shotgun of all weaponsCand an American one at that? How couldthey be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to them?
Its a mere chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to inquire forthe slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this, Watson?
I confess that I cant explain it.
Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband,are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing hiswedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very probable,Watson?
No, it does not.
And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outsidehad occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when thedullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as thebicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to make hisescape.
I can conceive of no explanation.
And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit ofman cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise,without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line ofthought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination themother of truth?
We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful secretin the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by someone whois, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside. This avenger, forsome reason which I confess I am still at a loss to explain, took the deadmans wedding ring. The vendetta might conceivably date back to themans first marriage, and the ring be taken for some such reason.
Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached theroom. The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him wouldlead to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted tothis idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probablylowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised itagain. He made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could doso more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He therefore left his machinewhere it would not be discovered until he had got safely away. So far weare within the bounds of possibility, are we not?
[803] Well, it is possible, no doubt, said I, with some reserve.
We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainlysomething very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititiouscase, the couple Cnot necessarily a guilty coupleCrealize after themurderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position in whichit may be difficult for them to prove that they did not themselves either dothe deed or connive at it. They rapidly and rather clumsily met thesituation. The mark was put by Barkers bloodstained slipper upon thewindowsill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously werethe two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the alarmexactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after the event.
And how do you propose to prove all this?
Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. Thatwould be the most effective of all proofs. But if notCwell, the resources ofscience are far from being exhausted. I think that an evening alone in thatstudy would help me much.
An evening alone!
I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with theestimable Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about Barker. I shallsit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. Im abeliever in the genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall see.
By the way, you have that big unbrella of yours, have you not?
It is here.
Well, Ill borrow that if I may.
CertainlyCbut what a wretched weapon! If there is dangerC C
Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for yourassistance. But Ill take the umbrella. At present I am only awaiting thereturn of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are at presentengaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle.
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason cameback from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a greatadvance in our investigation.
Man, Ill admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an outsider,
said MacDonald; but thats all past now. Weve had the bicycleidentified, and we have a description of our man; so thats a long step onour journey.
It sounds to me like the beginning of the end, said Holmes. Im sureI congratulate you both with all my heart.
Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbedsince the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was atTunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. Itwas clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it wasfrom Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We tookthe bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified atonce by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a mannamed Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. Thisbicycle and a small valise were his whole belongings. He had registeredhis name as coming from London, but had given no address. The valisewas London made, and the contents were British; but the man himselfwas undoubtedly an American.
Well, well, said Holmes gleefully, you have indeed done some solidwork [804] while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! Itsa lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac.
Ay, its just that, Mr. Holmes, said the inspector with satisfaction.
But this may all fit in with your theories, I remarked.
That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was therenothing to identify this man?
So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himselfagainst identification. There were no papers or letters, and no markingupon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table. Hehad left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and nomore was heard of him until our inquiries.
Thats what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes, said White Mason. If thefellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imaginethat he would have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensivetourist. As it is, he must know that he will be reported to the police by thehotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected with themurder.
So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up todate, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his descriptionCwhat ofthat?
MacDonald referred to his notebook. Here we have it so far as theycould give it. They dont seem to have taken any very particular stock ofhim; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all agreed thatthis about covers the points. He was a man about five foot nine in height,fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, acurved nose, and a face which all of them described as fierce andforbidding.
Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description ofDouglas himself, said Holmes. He is just over fifty, with grizzled hairand moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anything else?
He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore ashort yellow overcoat and a soft cap.
What about the shotgun?
It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into hisvalise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat without difficulty.
And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?
Well, Mr. Holmes, said MacDonald, when we have got ourmanCand you may be sure that I had his description on the wires withinfive minutes of hearing itCwe shall be better able to judge. But, even as itstands, we have surely gone a long way. We know that an Americancalling himself Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago withbicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came withthe deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off for thisplace on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. No one sawhim arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the villageto reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road.
Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it wasfound, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house,waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon touse inside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there it hasvery obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it, andthe sound of shots is so common in an English sporting neighbourhoodthat no particular notice would be taken.
That is all very clear, said Holmes.
[805] Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? Heleft his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found thebridge down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt,to make some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped intothe first room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain.
Thence he could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his onlyescape was through the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, whenMr. Douglas upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shothim and escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would bedescribed by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it thereand made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hidingplace which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?
Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That isyour end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half anhour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in aconspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderersescapeCor at least that they reached the room before he escapedCand thatthey fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas in allprobability they had themselves let him go by lowering the bridge. Thatsmy reading of the first half.
The two detectives shook their heads.
Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mysteryinto another, said the London inspector.
And in some ways a worse one, added White Mason. The lady hasnever been in America in all her life. What possible connection could shehave with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?
I freely admit the difficulties, said Holmes. I propose to make a littleinvestigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it maycontribute something to the common cause.
Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?
No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watsons umbrellaCmy wants are simple.
And Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. Allmy lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basicquestionCwhy should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnaturalan instrument as a single dumb-bell?
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion.
We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the littlecountry inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partlyawakened by his entrance.
Well, Holmes, I murmured, have you found anything out?
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall, leanfigure inclined towards me. I say, Watson, he whispered, would yoube afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening ofthe brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?
Not in the least, I answered in astonishment.
Ah, thats lucky, he said, and not another word would he utter thatnight.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 7The Valley of FearChapter 7THE SOLUTIONNEXT morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald andWhite Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the localpolice sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number ofletters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing.
Three had been placed on one side.
Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist? Holmes asked cheerfully.
What is the latest news of the ruffian?
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Southampton,Derby, East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places. In three ofthemCEast Ham, Leicester, and LiverpoolCthere is a clear case againsthim, and he has actually been arrested. The country seems to be full of thefugitives with yellow coats.
Dear me! said Holmes sympathetically. Now, Mr. Mac, and you,Mr. White Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice.
When I went into this case with you I bargained, as you will no doubtremember, that I should not present you with half-proved theories, butthat I should retain and work out my own ideas until I had satisfiedmyself that they were correct. For this reason I am not at the presentmoment telling you all that is in my mind. On the other hand, I said that Iwould play the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a fair game toallow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies upon aprofitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this morning, and myadvice to you is summed up in three wordsCabandon the case.
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their celebratedcolleague.
You consider it hopeless! cried the inspector.
I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it is hopelessto arrive at the truth.
But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have his description, hisvalise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere. Why should we notget him?
Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him;but I would not have you waste your energies in East Ham or Liverpool. Iam sure that we can find some shorter cut to a result.
You are holding something back. Its hardly fair of you, Mr. Holmes.
The inspector was annoyed.
You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it back forthe shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details in one way,which can very readily be done, and then I make my bow and return toLondon, leaving my results entirely at your service. I owe you too muchto act otherwise; for in all my experience I cannot recall any moresingular and interesting study.
This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when we returnedfrom Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in general agreement withour results. What has happened since then to give you a completely newidea of the case?
Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would, some hourslast night at the Manor House.
[807] Well, what happened?
Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment.
By the way, I have been reading a short but clear and interesting accountof the old building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny from thelocal tobacconist.
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving ofthe ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear Mr. Mac,when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere ofones surroundings. Dont look so impatient; for I assure you that even sobald an account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in onesmind. Permit me to give you a sample. Erected in the fifth year of thereign of James I, and standing upon the site of a much older building, theManor House of Birlstone presents one of the finest surviving examplesof the moated Jacobean residenceC C
You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!
Tut, tut, Mr. Mac!Cthe first sign of temper I have detected in you.
Well, I wont read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly upon the subject.
But when I tell you that there is some account of the taking of the placeby a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of Charles forseveral days in the course of the Civil War, and finally of a visit there bythe second George, you will admit that there are various associations ofinterest connected with this ancient house.
I dont doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of ours.
Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear Mr. Mac, is one of theessentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and the oblique uses ofknowledge are often of extraordinary interest. You will excuse theseremarks from one who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is still ratherolder and perhaps more experienced than yourself.
Im the first to admit that, said the detective heartily. You get toyour point, I admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-corner way ofdoing it.
Well, well, Ill drop past history and get down to present-day facts. Icalled last night, as I have already said, at the Manor House. I did not seeeither Barker or Mrs. Douglas. I saw no necessity to disturb them; but Iwas pleased to hear that the lady was not visibly pining and that she hadpartaken of an excellent dinner. My visit was specially made to the goodMr. Ames, with whom I exchanged some amiabilities, which culminatedin his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to sit alone for atime in the study.
What! With that? I ejaculated.
No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission for that, Mr.
Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal state, and in it Ipassed an instructive quarter of an hour.
What were you doing?
Well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, I was looking forthe missing dumb-bell. It has always bulked rather large in my estimate ofthe case. I ended by finding it.
Where?
Ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. Let me go a littlefurther, a very little further, and I will promise that you shall shareeverything that I know.
Well, were bound to take you on your own terms, said the inspector;but when it comes to telling us to abandon the caseCwhy in the name ofgoodness should we abandon the case?
[808] For the simple reason, my dear Mr. Mac, that you have not gotthe first idea what it is that you are investigating.
We are investigating the murder of Mr. John Douglas of BirlstoneManor.
Yes, yes, so you are. But dont trouble to trace the mysteriousgentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that it wont help you.
Then what do you suggest that we do?
I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it.
Well, Im bound to say Ive always found you had reason behind allyour queer ways. Ill do what you advise.
And you, Mr. White Mason?
The country detective looked helplessly from one to the other. Holmesand his methods were new to him. Well, if it is good enough for theinspector, it is good enough for me, he said at last.
Capital! said Holmes. Well, then, I should recommend a nice,cheery country walk for both of you. They tell me that the views fromBirlstone Ridge over the Weald are very remarkable. No doubt lunchcould be got at some suitable hostelry; though my ignorance of thecountry prevents me from recommending one. In the evening, tired buthappyC C
Man, this is getting past a joke! cried MacDonald, rising angrily fromhis chair.
Well, well, spend the day as you like, said Holmes, patting himcheerfully upon the shoulder. Do what you like and go where you will,but meet me here before dusk without failCwithout fail, Mr. Mac.
That sounds more like sanity.
All of it was excellent advice; but I dont insist, so long as you arehere when I need you. But now, before we part, I want you to write a noteto Mr. Barker.
Well?
Ill dictate it, if you like. Ready?
DEAR SIR:
It has struck me that it is our duty to drain the moat, in the hopethat we may find someC C
Its impossible, said the inspector. Ive made inquiry.
Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask you.
Well, go on.
Cin the hope that we may find something which may bear uponour investigation. I have made arrangements, and the workmenwill be at work early to-morrow morning diverting the streamC C
Impossible!
Cdiverting the stream; so I thought it best to explain mattersbeforehand.
Now sign that, and send it by hand about four oclock. At that hour weshall meet again in this room. Until then we may each do what we like;for I can assure you that this inquiry has come to a definite pause.
Evening was drawing in when we reassembled. Holmes was veryserious in his manner, myself curious, and the detectives obviouslycritical and annoyed.
Well, gentlemen, said my friend gravely, I am asking you now toput [809] everything to the test with me, and you will judge for yourselveswhether the observations I have made justify the conclusions to which Ihave come. It is a chill evening, and I do not know how long ourexpedition may last; so I beg that you will wear your warmest coats. It isof the first importance that we should be in our places before it growsdark; so with your permission we shall get started at once. We passedalong the outer bounds of the Manor House park until we came to a placewhere there was a gap in the rails which fenced it. Through this weslipped, and then in the gathering gloom we followed Holmes until wehad reached a shrubbery which lies nearly opposite to the main door andthe drawbridge. The latter had not been raised. Holmes crouched downbehind the screen of laurels, and we all three followed his example.
Well, what are we to do now? asked MacDonald with some gruffness.
Possess our souls in patience and make as little noise as possible,
Holmes answered.
What are we here for at all? I really think that you might treat us withmore frankness.
Holmes laughed. Watson insists that I am the dramatist in real life,
said he. Some touch of the artist wells up within me, and calls insistentlyfor a well staged performance. Surely our profession, Mr. Mac, would bea drab and sordid one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as toglorify our results. The blunt accusation, the brutal tap upon theshoulderCwhat can one make of such a dnouement? But the quickinference, the subtle trap, the clever forecast of coming events, thetriumphant vindication of bold theoriesCare these not the pride and thejustification of our lifes work? At the present moment you thrill with theglamour of the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. Where would bethat thrill if I had been as definite as a timetable? I only ask a littlepatience, Mr. Mac, and all will be clear to you.
Well, I hope the pride and justification and the rest of it will comebefore we all get our death of cold, said the London detective with comicresignation.
We all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigil was along and bitter one. Slowly the shadows darkened over the long, sombreface of the old house. A cold, damp reek from the moat chilled us to thebones and set our teeth chattering. There was a single lamp over thegateway and a steady globe of light in the fatal study. Everything else wasdark and still.
How long is this to last? asked the inspector finally. And what is itwe are watching for?
I have no more notion than you how long it is to last, Holmesanswered with some asperity. If criminals would always schedule theirmovements like railway trains, it would certainly be more convenient forall of us. As to what it is weC C Well, thats what we are watching for!
As he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscured bysomebody passing to and fro before it. The laurels among which we laywere immediately opposite the window and not more than a hundred feetfrom it. Presently it was thrown open with a whining of hinges, and wecould dimly see the dark outline of a mans head and shoulders lookingout into the gloom. For some minutes he peered forth in furtive, stealthyfashion, as one who wishes to be assured that he is unobserved. Then heleaned forward, and in the intense silence we were aware of the softlapping of agitated water. He seemed to be stirring up the moat withsomething which he held in his hand. Then suddenly he hauled somethingin as a [810] fisherman lands a fishCsome large, round object whichobscured the light as it was dragged through the open casement.
Now! cried Holmes. Now!
We were all upon our feet, staggering after him with our stiffenedlimbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rang violently at the bell.
There was the rasping of bolts from the other side, and the amazed Amesstood in the entrance. Holmes brushed him aside without a word and,followed by all of us, rushed into the room which had been occupied bythe man whom we had been watching.
The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seen fromoutside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who held it towards us aswe entered. Its light shone upon his strong, resolute, clean-shaved faceand his menacing eyes.
What the devil is the meaning of all this? he cried. What are youafter, anyhow?
Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a soddenbundle tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrust underthe writing table.
This is what we are after, Mr. BarkerCthis bundle, weighted with adumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of the moat.
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. How in thundercame you to know anything about it? he asked.
Simply that I put it there.
You put it there! You!
Perhaps I should have said replaced it there, said Holmes. Youwill remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat struck by theabsence of a dumb-bell. I drew your attention to it; but with the pressureof other events you had hardly the time to give it the consideration whichwould have enabled you to draw deductions from it. When water is nearand a weight is missing it is not a very far-fetched supposition thatsomething has been sunk in the water. The idea was at least worth testing;so with the help of Ames, who admitted me to the room, and the crook ofDr. Watsons umbrella, I was able last night to fish up and inspect thisbundle.
It was of the first importance, however, that we should be able toprove who placed it there. This we accomplished by the very obviousdevice of announcing that the moat would be dried to-morrow, which had,of course, the effect that whoever had hidden the bundle would mostcertainly withdraw it the moment that darkness enabled him to do so. Wehave no less than four witnesses as to who it was who took advantage ofthe opportunity, and so, Mr. Barker, I think the word lies now with you.
Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside the lampand undid the cord which bound it. From within he extracted a dumb-bell,which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. Next he drew forth apair of boots. American, as you perceive, he remarked, pointing to thetoes. Then he laid upon the table a long, deadly, sheathed knife. Finally heunravelled a bundle of clothing, comprising a complete set ofunderclothes, socks, a gray tweed suit, and a short yellow overcoat.
The clothes are commonplace, remarked Holmes, save only theovercoat, which is full of suggestive touches. He held it tenderly towardsthe light. Here, as you perceive, is the inner pocket prolonged into thelining in such fashion as to give ample space for the truncated fowlingpiece. The tailors tab is on the [811] neckCNeal, Outfitter, Vermissa, U.
S. A. I have spent an instructive afternoon in the rectors library, andhave enlarged my knowledge by adding the fact that Vermissa is aflourishing little town at the head of one of the best known coal and ironvalleys in the United States. I have some recollection, Mr. Barker, thatyou associated the coal districts with Mr. Douglass first wife, and itwould surely not be too far-fetched an inference that the V. V. upon thecard by the dead body might stand for Vermissa Valley, or that this veryvalley which sends forth emissaries of murder may be that Valley of Fearof which we have heard. So much is fairly clear. And now, Mr. Barker, Iseem to be standing rather in the way of your explanation.
It was a sight to see Cecil Barkers expressive face during thisexposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation, andindecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in a somewhatacrid irony.
You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better tell us somemore, he sneered.
I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr. Barker; butit would come with a better grace from you.
Oh, you think so, do you? Well, all I can say is that if theres anysecret here it is not my secret, and I am not the man to give it away.
Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker, said the inspector quietly, wemust just keep you in sight until we have the warrant and can hold you.
You can do what you damn please about that, said Barker defiantly.
The proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far as he wasconcerned; for one had only to look at that granite face to realize that nopeine forte et dure would ever force him to plead against his will. Thedeadlock was broken, however, by a womans voice. Mrs. Douglas hadbeen standing listening at the half opened door, and now she entered theroom.
You have done enough for now, Cecil, said she. Whatever comes ofit in the future, you have done enough.
Enough and more than enough, remarked Sherlock Holmes gravely.
I have every sympathy with you, madam, and I should strongly urge youto have some confidence in the common sense of our jurisdiction and totake the police voluntarily into your complete confidence. It may be that Iam myself at fault for not following up the hint which you conveyed tome through my friend, Dr. Watson; but, at that time I had every reason tobelieve that you were directly concerned in the crime. Now I am assuredthat this is not so. At the same time, there is much that is unexplained, andI should strongly recommend that you ask Mr. Douglas to tell us his ownstory.
Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmess words. Thedetectives and I must have echoed it, when we were aware of a man whoseemed to have emerged from the wall, who advanced now from thegloom of the corner in which he had appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned, andin an instant her arms were round him. Barker had seized his outstretchedhand.
Its best this way, Jack, his wife repeated; I am sure that it is best.
Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas, said Sherlock Holmes, I am sure that youwill find it best.
The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who comesfrom the dark into the light. It was a remarkable face, bold gray eyes, astrong, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a square, projecting chin, and ahumorous mouth. He [812] took a good look at us all, and then to myamazement he advanced to me and handed me a bundle of paper.
Ive heard of you, said he in a voice which was not quite English andnot quite American, but was altogether mellow and pleasing. You are thehistorian of this bunch. Well, Dr. Watson, youve never had such a storyas that pass through your hands before, and Ill lay my last dollar on that.
Tell it your own way; but there are the facts, and you cant miss thepublic so long as you have those. Ive been cooped up two days, and Ivespent the daylight hoursC as much daylight as I could get in that rattrapCin putting the thing into words. Youre welcome to themCyou andyour public. Theres the story of the Valley of Fear.
Thats the past, Mr. Douglas, said Sherlock Holmes quietly. Whatwe desire now is to hear your story of the present.
Youll have it, sir, said Douglas. May I smoke as I talk? Well, thankyou, Mr. Holmes. Youre a smoker yourself, if I remember right, andyoull guess what it is to be sitting for two days with tobacco in yourpocket and afraid that the smell will give you away. He leaned againstthe mantelpiece and sucked at the cigar which Holmes had handed him.
Ive heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I never guessed that I should meet you.
But before you are through with that, he nodded at my papers, you willsay Ive brought you something fresh.
Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with thegreatest amazement. Well, this fairly beats me! he cried at last. If youare Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor, then whose death have we beeninvestigating for these two days, and where in the world have you sprungfrom now? You seemed to me to come out of the floor like a jack-in-abox.
Ah, Mr. Mac, said Holmes, shaking a reproving forefinger, youwould not read that excellent local compilation which described theconcealment of King Charles. People did not hide in those days withoutexcellent hiding places, and the hiding place that has once been used maybe again. I had persuaded myself that we should find Mr. Douglas underthis roof.
And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr.
Holmes? said the inspector angrily. How long have you allowed us towaste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be an absurd one?
Not one instant, my dear Mr. Mac. Only last night did I form myviews of the case. As they could not be put to the proof until this evening,I invited you and your colleague to take a holiday for the day. Pray whatmore could I do? When I found the suit of clothes in the moat, it at oncebecame apparent to me that the body we had found could not have beenthe body of Mr. John Douglas at all, but must be that of the bicyclist fromTunbridge Wells. No other conclusion was possible. Therefore I had todetermine where Mr. John Douglas himself could be, and the balance ofprobability was that with the connivance of his wife and his friend he wasconcealed in a house which had such conveniences for a fugitive, andawaiting quieter times when he could make his final escape.
Well, you figured it out about right, said Douglas approvingly. Ithought Id dodge your British law; for I was not sure how I stood underit, and also I saw my chance to throw these hounds once for all off mytrack. Mind you, from first to last I have done nothing to be ashamed of,and nothing that I would not do again; but youll judge that for yourselveswhen I tell you my story. Never mind warning me, Inspector: Im ready tostand pat upon the truth.
Im not going to begin at the beginning. Thats all there, he indicatedmy [813] bundle of papers, and a mighty queer yarn youll find it. It allcomes down to this: That there are some men that have good cause to hateme and would give their last dollar to know that they had got me. So longas I am alive and they are alive, there is no safety in this world for me.
They hunted me from Chicago to California, then they chased me out ofAmerica; but when I married and settled down in this quiet spot I thoughtmy last years were going to be peaceable.
I never explained to my wife how things were. Why should I pull herinto it? She would never have a quiet moment again; but would always beimagining trouble. I fancy she knew something, for I may have dropped aword here or a word there; but until yesterday, after you gentlemen hadseen her, she never knew the rights of the matter. She told you all sheknew, and so did Barker here; for on the night when this thing happenedthere was mighty little time for explanations. She knows everything now,and I would have been a wiser man if I had told her sooner. But it was ahard question, dear, he took her hand for an instant in his own, and Iacted for the best.
Well, gentlemen, the day before these happenings I was over inTunbridge Wells, and I got a glimpse of a man in the street. It was only aglimpse; but I have a quick eye for these things, and I never doubted whoit was. It was the worst enemy I had among them allCone who has beenafter me like a hungry wolf after a caribou all these years. I knew therewas trouble coming, and I came home and made ready for it. I guessed Idfight through it all right on my own, my luck was a proverb in the Statesabout 76. I never doubted that it would be with me still.
I was on my guard all that next day, and never went out into the park.
Its as well, or hed have had the drop on me with that buckshot gun of hisbefore ever I could draw on him. After the bridge was upCmy mind wasalways more restful when that bridge was up in the eveningsCI put thething clear out of my head. I never dreamed of his getting into the houseand waiting for me. But when I made my round in my dressing gown, aswas my habit, I had no sooner entered the study than I scented danger. Iguess when a man has had dangers in his lifeCand Ive had more thanmost in my timeCthere is a kind of sixth sense that waves the red flag. Isaw the signal clear enough, and yet I couldnt tell you why. Next instantI spotted a boot under the window curtain, and then I saw why plainenough.
Id just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was a good lightfrom the hall lamp through the open door. I put down the candle andjumped for a hammer that Id left on the mantel. At the same moment hesprang at me. I saw the glint of a knife, and I lashed at him with thehammer. I got him somewhere; for the knife tinkled down on the floor.
He dodged round the table as quick as an eel, and a moment later hed gothis gun from under his coat. I heard him cock it; but I had got hold of itbefore he could fire. I had it by the barrel, and we wrestled for it all endsup for a minute or more. It was death to the man that lost his grip.
He never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for a moment toolong. Maybe it was I that pulled the trigger. Maybe we just jolted it offbetween us. Anyhow, he got both barrels in the face, and there I was,staring down at all that was left of Ted Baldwin. Id recognized him in thetownship, and again when he sprang for me; but his own mother wouldntrecognize him as I saw him then. Im used to rough work; but I fairlyturned sick at the sight of him.
I was hanging on the side of the table when Barker came hurryingdown. I heard my wife coming, and I ran to the door and stopped her. Itwas no sight for a [814] woman. I promised Id come to her soon. I said aword or two to Barker Che took it all in at a glanceCand we waited for therest to come along. But there was no sign of them. Then we understoodthat they could hear nothing, and that all that had happened was knownonly to ourselves.
It was at that instant that the idea came to me. I was fairly dazzled bythe brilliance of it. The mans sleeve had slipped up and there was thebranded mark of the lodge upon his forearm. See here!
The man whom we had known as Douglas turned up his own coat andcuff to show a brown triangle within a circle exactly like that which wehad seen upon the dead man.
It was the sight of that which started me on it. I seemed to see it allclear at a glance. There were his height and hair and figure, about thesame as my own. No one could swear to his face, poor devil! I broughtdown this suit of clothes, and in a quarter of an hour Barker and I had putmy dressing gown on him and he lay as you found him. We tied all histhings into a bundle, and I weighted them with the only weight I couldfind and put them through the window. The card he had meant to lay uponmy body was lying beside his own.
My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the weddingring, he held out his muscular hand, you can see for yourselves that Ihad struck the limit. I have not moved it since the day I was married, andit would have taken a file to get it off. I dont know, anyhow, that I shouldhave cared to part with it; but if I had wanted to I couldnt. So we just hadto leave that detail to take care of itself. On the other hand, I brought a bitof plaster down and put it where I am wearing one myself at this instant.
You slipped up there, Mr. Holmes, clever as you are; for if you hadchanced to take off that plaster you would have found no cut underneath it.
Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a while and then getaway where I could be joined by my widow we should have a chance atlast of living in peace for the rest of our lives. These devils would give meno rest so long as I was above ground; but if they saw in the papers thatBaldwin had got his man, there would be an end of all my troubles. Ihadnt much time to make it all clear to Barker and to my wife; but theyunderstood enough to be able to help me. I knew all about this hidingplace, so did Ames; but it never entered his head to connect it with thematter. I retired into it, and it was up to Barker to do the rest.
I guess you can fill in for yourselves what he did. He opened thewindow and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how themurderer escaped. It was a tall order, that; but as the bridge was up therewas no other way. Then, when everything was fixed, he rang the bell forall he was worth. What happened afterward you know. And so,gentlemen, you can do what you please; but Ive told you the truth and thewhole truth, so help me God! What I ask you now is how do I stand bythe English law?
There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes.
The English law is in the main a just law. You will get no worse thanyour deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask you how did thisman know that you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where tohide to get you?
I know nothing of this.
Holmess face was very white and grave. The story is not over yet, Ifear, said he. You may find worse dangers than the English law, or eventhan your [815] enemies from America. I see trouble before you, Mr.
Douglas. Youll take my advice and still be on your guard.
And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come away withme for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone, and far alsofrom the year of grace in which we made our eventful journey whichended with the strange story of the man who had been known as JohnDouglas. I wish you to journey back some twenty years in time, andwestward some thousands of miles in space, that I may lay before you asingular and terrible narrativeCso singular and so terrible that you mayfind it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so did it occur.
Do not think that I intrude one story before another is finished. As youread on you will find that this is not so. And when I have detailed thosedistant events and you have solved this mystery of the past, we shall meetonce more in those rooms on Baker Street, where this, like so many otherwonderful happenings, will find its end.
David Soucek, 1998 Part 2, Chapter 1The Valley of FearPART 2THE SCOWRERSChapter 1THE MANIT WAS the fourth of February in the year 1875. It had been a severewinter, and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the Gilmerton Mountains.
The steam ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open, and the eveningtrain which connects the long line of coal-mining and iron-workingsettlements was slowly groaning its way up the steep gradients which leadfrom Stagville on the plain to Vermissa, the central township which lies atthe head of Vermissa Valley. From this point the track sweeps downwardto Bartons Crossing, Helmdale, and the purely agricultural county ofMerton. It was a single track railroad; but at every sidingCand they werenumerousClong lines of trucks piled with coal and iron ore told of thehidden wealth which had brought a rude population and a bustling life tothis most desolate corner of the United States of America.
For desolate it was! Little could the first pioneer who had traversed ithave ever imagined that the fairest prairies and the most lush waterpastures were valueless compared to this gloomy land of black crag andtangled forest. Above the dark and often scarcely penetrable woods upontheir flanks, the high, bare crowns of the mountains, white snow, andjagged rock towered upon each flank, leaving a long, winding, tortuousvalley in the centre. Up this the little train was slowly crawling.
The oil lamps had just been lit in the leading passenger car, a long, barecarriage in which some twenty or thirty people were seated. The greaternumber of these were workmen returning from their days toil in thelower part of the valley. At least a dozen, by their grimed faces and thesafety lanterns which they carried, [816] proclaimed themselves miners.
These sat smoking in a group and conversed in low voices, glancingoccasionally at two men on the opposite side of the car, whose uniformsand badges showed them to be policemen.
Several women of the labouring class and one or two travellers whomight have been small local storekeepers made up the rest of thecompany, with the exception of one young man in a corner by himself. Itis with this man that we are concerned. Take a good look at him; for he isworth it.
He is a fresh-complexioned, middle-sized young man, not far, onewould guess, from his thirtieth year. He has large, shrewd, humorous grayeyes which twinkle inquiringly from time to time as he looks roundthrough his spectacles at the people about him. It is easy to see that he isof a sociable and possibly simple disposition, anxious to be friendly to allmen. Anyone could pick him at once as gregarious in his habits andcommunicative in his nature, with a quick wit and a ready smile. And yetthe man who studied him more closely might discern a certain firmness ofjaw and grim tightness about the lips which would warn him that therewere depths beyond, and that this pleasant, brown-haired young Irishmanmight conceivably leave his mark for good or evil upon any society towhich he was introduced.
Having made one or two tentative remarks to the nearest miner, andreceiving only short, gruff replies, the traveller resigned himself touncongenial silence, staring moodily out of the window at the fadinglandscape.
It was not a cheering prospect. Through the growing gloom therepulsed the red glow of the furnaces on the sides of the hills. Great heapsof slag and dumps of cinders loomed up on each side, with the high shaftsof the collieries towering above them. Huddled groups of mean, woodenhouses, the windows of which were beginning to outline themselves inlight, were scattered here and there along the line, and the frequent haltingplaces were crowded with their swarthy inhabitants.
The iron and coal valleys of the Vermissa district were no resorts forthe leisured or the cultured. Everywhere there were stern signs of thecrudest battle of life, the rude work to be done, and the rude, strongworkers who did it.
The young traveller gazed out into this dismal country with a face ofmingled repulsion and interest, which showed that the scene was new tohim. At intervals he drew from his pocket a bulky letter to which hereferred, and on the margins of which he scribbled some notes. Once fromthe back of his waist he produced something which one would hardlyhave expected to find in the possession of so mild-mannered a man. Itwas a navy revolver of the largest size. As he turned it slantwise to thelight, the glint upon the rims of the copper shells within the drum showedthat it was fully loaded. He quickly restored it to his secret pocket, but notbefore it had been observed by a working man who had seated himselfupon the adjoining bench.
Hullo, mate! said he. You seem heeled and ready.
The young man smiled with an air of embarrassment.
Yes, said he, we need them sometimes in the place I come from.
And where may that be?
Im last from Chicago.
A stranger in these parts?
Yes.
You may find you need it here, said the workman.
Ah! is that so? The young man seemed interested.
[817] Have you heard nothing of doings hereabouts?
Nothing out of the way.
Why, I thought the country was full of it. Youll hear quick enough.
What made you come here?
I heard there was always work for a willing man.
Are you a member of the union?
Sure.
Then youll get your job, I guess. Have you any friends?
Not yet; but I have the means of making them.
Hows that, then?
I am one of the Eminent Order of Freemen. Theres no town without alodge, and where there is a lodge Ill find my friends.
The remark had a singular effect upon his companion. He glancedround suspiciously at the others in the car. The miners were stillwhispering among themselves. The two police officers were dozing. Hecame across, seated himself close to the young traveller, and held out hishand.
Put it there, he said.
A hand-grip passed between the two.
I see you speak the truth, said the workman. But its well to makecertain. He raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. The traveller atonce raised his left hand to his left eyebrow.
Dark nights are unpleasant, said the workman.
Yes, for strangers to travel, the other answered.
Thats good enough. Im Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, VermissaValley. Glad to see you in these parts.
Thank you. Im Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago.
Bodymaster J. H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother so early.
Well, there are plenty of us about. You wont find the order moreflourishing anywhere in the States than right here in Vermissa Valley. Butwe could do with some lads like you. I cant understand a spry man of theunion finding no work to do in Chicago.
I found plenty of work to do, said McMurdo.
Then why did you leave?
McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. I guess thosechaps would be glad to know, he said.
Scanlan groaned sympathetically. In trouble? he asked in a whisper.
Deep.
A penitentiary job?
And the rest.
Not a killing!
Its early days to talk of such things, said McMurdo with the air of aman who had been surprised into saying more than he intended. Ive myown good reasons for leaving Chicago, and let that be enough for you.
Who are you that you should take it on yourself to ask such things? Hisgray eyes gleamed with sudden and dangerous anger from behind hisglasses.
All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will think none the worseof you, whatever you may have done. Where are you bound for now?
Vermissa.
Thats the third halt down the line. Where are you staying?
[818] McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oillamp. Here is the addressCJacob Shafter, Sheridan Street. Its a boardinghouse that was recommended by a man I knew in Chicago.
Well, I dont know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat. I live atHobsons Patch, and thats here where we are drawing up. But, say,theres one bit of advice Ill give you before we part: If youre in troublein Vermissa, go straight to the Union House and see Boss McGinty. He isthe Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, and nothing can happen in theseparts unless Black Jack McGinty wants it. So long, mate! Maybe wellmeet in lodge one of these evenings. But mind my words: If you are introuble, go to Boss McGinty.
Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to his thoughts.
Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent furnaces wereroaring and leaping in the darkness. Against their lurid background darkfigures were bending and straining, twisting and turning, with the motionof winch or of windlass, to the rhythm of an eternal clank and roar.
I guess hell must look something like that, said a voice.
McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in hisseat and was staring out into the fiery waste.
For that matter, said the other policeman, I allow that hell must besomething like that. If there are worse devils down yonder than some wecould name, its more than Id expect. I guess you are new to this part,young man?
Well, what if I am? McMurdo answered in a surly voice.
Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful in choosingyour friends. I dont think Id begin with Mike Scanlan or his gang if Iwere you.
What the hell is it to you who are my friends? roared McMurdo in avoice which brought every head in the carriage round to witness thealtercation. Did I ask you for your advice, or did you think me such asucker that I couldnt move without it? You speak when you are spokento, and by the Lord youd have to wait a long time if it was me! Hethrust out his face and grinned at the patrolmen like a snarling dog.
The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback by theextraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances had beenrejected.
No offense, stranger, said one. It was a warning for your own good,seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to the place.
Im new to the place; but Im not new to you and your kind! criedMcMurdo in cold fury. I guess youre the same in all places, shovingyour advice in when nobody asks for it.
Maybe well see more of you before very long, said one of thepatrolmen with a grin. Youre a real hand-picked one, if I am a judge.
I was thinking the same, remarked the other. I guess we may meetagain.
Im not afraid of you, and dont you think it! cried McMurdo. Mynames Jack McMurdoCsee? If you want me, youll find me at JacobShafters on Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so Im not hiding from you, am I?
Day or night I dare to look the like of you in the faceCdont make anymistake about that!
There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from the miners atthe dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, while the two policemenshrugged their shoulders and renewed a conversation between themselves.
A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, and there was ageneral clearing; for Vermissa was by far the largest town on the line.
McMurdo picked up [819] his leather gripsack and was about to start offinto the darkness, when one of the miners accosted him.
By Gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops, he said in a voiceof awe. It was grand to hear you. Let me carry your grip and show youthe road. Im passing Shafters on the way to my own shack.
There was a chorus of friendly Good-nights from the other miners asthey passed from the platform. Before ever he had set foot in it, McMurdothe turbulent had become a character in Vermissa.
The country had been a place of terror; but the town was in its wayeven more depressing. Down that long valley there was at least a certaingloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the clouds of drifting smoke, whilethe strength and industry of man found fitting monuments in the hillswhich he had spilled by the side of his monstrous excavations. But thetown showed a dead level of mean ugliness and squalor. The broad streetwas churned up by the traffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow.
The sidewalks were narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps servedonly to show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with itsveranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty.
As they approached the centre of the town the scene was brightened bya row of well-lit stores, and even more by a cluster of saloons and gaminghouses, in which the miners spent their hard-earned but generous wages.
Thats the Union House, said the guide, pointing to one saloon whichrose almost to the dignity of being a hotel. Jack McGinty is the bossthere.
What sort of a man is he? McMurdo asked.
What! have you never heard of the boss?
How could I have heard of him when you know that I am a stranger inthese parts?
Well, I thought his name was known clear across the country. Itsbeen in the papers often enough.
What for?
Well, the miner lowered his voiceCover the affairs.
What affairs?
Good Lord, mister! you are queer, if I must say it without offense.
Theres only one set of affairs that youll hear of in these parts, and thatsthe affairs of the Scowrers.
Why, I seem to have read of the Scowrers in Chicago. A gang ofmurderers, are they not?
Hush, on your life! cried the miner, standing still in alarm, andgazing in amazement at his companion. Man, you wont live long inthese parts if you speak in the open street like that. Many a man has hadthe life beaten out of him for less.
Well, I know nothing about them. Its only what I have read.
And Im not saying that you have not read the truth. The man lookednervously round him as he spoke, peering into the shadows as if he fearedto see some lurking danger. If killing is murder, then God knows there ismurder and to spare. But dont you dare to breathe the name of JackMcGinty in connection with it, stranger; for every whisper goes back tohim, and he is not one that is likely to let it pass. Now, thats the houseyoure after, that one standing back from the street. Youll find old JacobShafter that runs it as honest a man as lives in this township.
[820] I thank you, said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his newacquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which led to thedwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resounding knock.
It was opened at once by someone very different from what he hadexpected. It was a woman, young and singularly beautiful. She was of theGerman type, blonde and fair-haired, with the piquant contrast of a pair ofbeautiful dark eyes with which she surveyed the stranger with surpriseand a pleasing embarrassment which brought a wave of colour over herpale face. Framed in the bright light of the open doorway, it seemed toMcMurdo that he had never seen a more beautiful picture; the moreattractive for its contrast with the sordid and gloomy surroundings. Alovely violet growing upon one of those black slag-heaps of the mineswould not have seemed more surprising. So entranced was he that hestood staring without a word, and it was she who broke the silence.
I thought it was father, said she with a pleasing little touch of aGerman accent. Did you come to see him? He is down town. I expecthim back every minute.
McMurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until her eyesdropped in confusion before this masterful visitor.
No, miss, he said at last, Im in no hurry to see him. But your housewas recommended to me for board. I thought it might suit meCand now Iknow it will.
You are quick to make up your mind, said she with a smile.
Anyone but a blind man could do as much, the other answered.
She laughed at the compliment. Come right in, sir, she said. ImMiss Ettie Shafter, Mr. Shafters daughter. My mothers dead, and I runthe house. You can sit down by the stove in the front room until fathercomes alongC C Ah, here he is! So you can fix things with him rightaway.
A heavy, elderly man came plodding up the path. In a few wordsMcMurdo explained his business. A man of the name of Murphy hadgiven him the address in Chicago. He in turn had had it from someoneelse. Old Shafter was quite ready. The stranger made no bones aboutterms, agreed at once to every condition, and was apparently fairly flushof money. For seven dollars a week paid in advance he was to have boardand lodging.
So it was that McMurdo, the self-confessed fugitive from justice, tookup his abode under the roof of the Shafters, the first step which was tolead to so long and dark a train of events, ending in a far distant land.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 2The Valley of FearChapter 2THE BODYMASTERMCMURDO was a man who made his mark quickly. Wherever he was thefolk around soon knew it. Within a week he had become infinitely themost important person at Shafters. There were ten or a dozen boardersthere; but they were honest foremen or commonplace clerks from thestores, of a very different calibre from the young Irishman. Of an eveningwhen they gathered together his joke was always the readiest, hisconversation the brightest, and his song the best. He was a born booncompanion, with a magnetism which drew good humour from all aroundhim.
And yet he showed again and again, as he had shown in the railwaycarriage, [821] a capacity for sudden, fierce anger, which compelled therespect and even the fear of those who met him. For the law, too, and allwho were connected with it, he exhibited a bitter contempt whichdelighted some and alarmed others of his fellow boarders.
From the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, that thedaughter of the house had won his heart from the instant that he had seteyes upon her beauty and her grace. He was no backward suitor. On thesecond day he told her that he loved her, and from then onward herepeated the same story with an absolute disregard of what she might sayto discourage him.
Someone else? he would cry. Well, the worse luck for someoneelse! Let him look out for himself! Am I to lose my lifes chance and allmy hearts desire for someone else? You can keep on saying no, Ettie: theday will come when you will say yes, and Im young enough to wait.
He was a dangerous suitor, with his glib Irish tongue, and his pretty,coaxing ways. There was about him also that glamour of experience andof mystery which attracts a womans interest, and finally her love. Hecould talk of the sweet valleys of County Monaghan from which he came,of the lovely, distant island, the low hills and green meadows of whichseemed the more beautiful when imagination viewed them from this placeof grime and snow.
Then he was versed in the life of the cities of the North, of Detroit, andthe lumber camps of Michigan, and finally of Chicago, where he hadworked in a planing mill. And afterwards came the hint of romance, thefeeling that strange things had happened to him in that great city, sostrange and so intimate that they might not be spoken of. He spokewistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking of old ties, a flight into a strangeworld, ending in this dreary valley, and Ettie listened, her dark eyesgleaming with pity and with sympathyCthose two qualities which mayturn so rapidly and so naturally to love.
McMurdo had obtained a temporary job as bookkeeper; for he was awell educated man. This kept him out most of the day, and he had notfound occasion yet to report himself to the head of the lodge of theEminent Order of Freemen. He was reminded of his omission, however,by a visit one evening from Mike Scanlan, the fellow member whom hehad met in the train. Scanlan, the small, sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyedman, seemed glad to see him once more. After a glass or two of whiskyhe broached the object of his visit.
Say, McMurdo, said he, I remembered your address, so I made boldto call. Im surprised that youve not reported to the Bodymaster. Whyhavent you seen Boss McGinty yet?
Well, I had to find a job. I have been busy.
You must find time for him if you have none for anything else. GoodLord, man! youre a fool not to have been down to the Union House andregistered your name the first morning after you came here! If you runagainst himCwell, you mustnt, thats all!
McMurdo showed mild surprise. Ive been a member of the lodge forover two years, Scanlan, but I never heard that duties were so pressing asall that.
Maybe not in Chicago.
Well, its the same society here.
Is it?
Scanlan looked at him long and fixedly. There was something sinisterin his eyes.
[822] Isnt it?
Youll tell me that in a months time. I hear you had a talk with thepatrolmen after I left the train.
How did you know that?
Oh, it got aboutCthings do get about for good and for bad in thisdistrict.
Well, yes. I told the hounds what I thought of them.
By the Lord, youll be a man after McGintys heart!
What, does he hate the police too?
Scanlan burst out laughing. You go and see him, my lad, said he ashe took his leave. Its not the police but you that hell hate if you dont!
Now, take a friends advice and go at once!
It chanced that on the same evening McMurdo had another morepressing interview which urged him in the same direction. It may havebeen that his attentions to Ettie had been more evident than before, or thatthey had gradually obtruded themselves into the slow mind of his goodGerman host; but, whatever the cause, the boarding-house keeperbeckoned the young man into his private room and started on the subjectwithout any circumlocution.
It seems to me, mister, said he, that you are gettin set on my Ettie.
Aint that so, or am I wrong?
Yes, that is so, the young man answered.
Vell, I vant to tell you right now that it aint no manner of use. Theressomeone slipped in afore you.
She told me so.
Vell, you can lay that she told you truth. But did she tell you who itvas?
No, I asked her; but she wouldnt tell.
I dare say not, the leetle baggage! Perhaps she did not vish to frightenyou avay.
Frighten! McMurdo was on fire in a moment.
Ah, yes, my friend! You need not be ashamed to be frightened of him.
It is Teddy Baldwin.
And who the devil is he?
He is a boss of Scowrers.
Scowrers! Ive heard of them before. Its Scowrers here and Scowrersthere, and always in a whisper! What are you all afraid of? Who are theScowrers?
The boarding-house keeper instinctively sank his voice, as everyonedid who talked about that terrible society. The Scowrers, said he, arethe Eminent Order of Freemen!
The young man stared. Why, I am a member of that order myself.
You! I vould never have had you in my house if I had known itCnot ifyou vere to pay me a hundred dollar a veek.
Whats wrong with the order? Its for charity and good fellowship.
The rules say so.
Maybe in some places. Not here!
What is it here?
Its a murder society, thats vat it is.
McMurdo laughed incredulously. How can you prove that? he asked.
Prove it! Are there not fifty murders to prove it? Vat about Milmanand Van Shorst, and the Nicholson family, and old Mr. Hyam, and littleBilly James, and [823] the others? Prove it! Is there a man or a voman inthis valley vat does not know it?
See here! said McMurdo earnestly. I want you to take back whatyouve said, or else make it good. One or the other you must do before Iquit this room. Put yourself in my place. Here am I, a stranger in thetown. I belong to a society that I know only as an innocent one. Youllfind it through the length and breadth of the States; but always as aninnocent one. Now, when I am counting upon joining it here, you tell methat it is the same as a murder society called the Scowrers. I guess youowe me either an apology or else an explanation, Mr. Shafter.
I can but tell you vat the whole vorld knows, mister. The bosses of theone are the bosses of the other. If you offend the one, it is the other vatvill strike you. We have proved it too often.
Thats just gossipCI want proof! said McMurdo.
If you live here long you vill get your proof. But I forget that you areyourself one of them. You vill soon be as bad as the rest. But you vill findother lodgings, mister. I cannot have you here. Is it not bad enough thatone of these people come courting my Ettie, and that I dare not turn himdown, but that I should have another for my boarder? Yes, indeed, youshall not sleep here after to-night!
McMurdo found himself under sentence of banishment both from hiscomfortable quarters and from the girl whom he loved. He found heralone in the sitting-room that same evening, and he poured his troublesinto her ear.
Sure, your father is after giving me notice, he said. Its little I wouldcare if it was just my room, but indeed, Ettie, though its only a week thatIve known you, you are the very breath of life to me, and I cant livewithout you!
Oh, hush, Mr. McMurdo, dont speak so! said the girl. I have toldyou, have I not, that you are too late? There is another, and if I have notpromised to marry him at once, at least I can promise no one else.
Suppose I had been first, Ettie, would I have had a chance?
The girl sank her face into her hands. I wish to heaven that you hadbeen first! she sobbed.
McMurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant. For Godssake, Ettie, let it stand at that! he cried. Will you ruin your life and myown for the sake of this promise? Follow your heart, acushla! Tis a saferguide than any promise before you knew what it was that you weresaying.
He had seized Etties white hand between his own strong brown ones.
Say that you will be mine, and we will face it out together!
Not here?
Yes, here.
No, no, Jack! His arms were round her now. It could not be here.
Could you take me away?
A struggle passed for a moment over McMurdos face; but it ended bysetting like granite. No, here, he said. Ill hold you against the world,Ettie, right here where we are!
Why should we not leave together?
No, Ettie, I cant leave here.
But why?
Id never hold my head up again if I felt that I had been driven out.
Besides, what is there to be afraid of? Are we not free folks in a freecountry? If you love me, and I you, who will dare to come between?
[824] You dont know, Jack. Youve been here too short a time. Youdont know this Baldwin. You dont know McGinty and his Scowrers.
No, I dont know them, and I dont fear them, and I dont believe inthem! said McMurdo. Ive lived among rough men, my darling, andinstead of fearing them it has always ended that they have fearedmeCalways, Ettie. Its mad on the face of it! If these men, as your fathersays, have done crime after crime in the valley, and if everyone knowsthem by name, how comes it that none are brought to justice? You answerme that, Ettie!
Because no witness dares to appear against them. He would not live amonth if he did. Also because they have always their own men to swearthat the accused one was far from the scene of the crime. But surely, Jack,you must have read all this. I had understood that every paper in theUnited States was writing about it.
Well, I have read something, it is true; but I had thought it was a story.
Maybe these men have some reason in what they do. Maybe they arewronged and have no other way to help themselves.
Oh, Jack, dont let me hear you speak so! That is how he speaksCtheother one!
BaldwinChe speaks like that, does he?
And that is why I loathe him so. Oh, Jack, now I can tell you the truth.
I loathe him with all my heart; but I fear him also. I fear him for myself;but above all I fear him for father. I know that some great sorrow wouldcome upon us if I dared to say what I really felt. hat is why I have put himoff with half-promises. It was in real truth our only hope. But if youwould fly with me, Jack, we could take father with us and live forever farfrom the power of these wicked men.
Again there was the struggle upon McMurdos face, and again it setlike granite. No harm shall come to you, EttieCnor to your father either.
As to wicked men, I expect you may find that I am as bad as the worst ofthem before were through.
No, no, Jack! I would trust you anywhere.
McMurdo laughed bitterly. Good Lord! how little you know of me!
Your innocent soul, my darling, could not even guess what is passing inmine. But, hullo, whos the visitor?
The door had opened suddenly, and a young fellow came swaggering inwith the air of one who is the master. He was a handsome, dashing youngman of about the same age and build as McMurdo himself. Under hisbroad-brimmed black felt hat, which he had not troubled to remove, ahandsome face with fierce, domineering eyes and a curved hawk-bill of anose looked savagely at the pair who sat by the stove.
Ettie had jumped to her feet full of confusion and alarm. Im glad tosee you, Mr. Baldwin, said she. Youre earlier than I had thought.
Come and sit down.
Baldwin stood with his hands on his hips looking at McMurdo. Who isthis? he asked curtly.
Its a friend of mine, Mr. Baldwin, a new boarder here. Mr. McMurdo,may I introduce you to Mr. Baldwin?
The young men nodded in surly fashion to each other.
Maybe Miss Ettie has told you how it is with us? said Baldwin.
I didnt understand that there was any relation between you.
Didnt you? Well, you can understand it now. You can take it from methat this young lady is mine, and youll find it a very fine evening for awalk.
Thank you, I am in no humour for a walk.
[825] Arent you? The mans savage eyes were blazing with anger.
Maybe you are in a humour for a fight, Mr. Boarder!
That I am! cried McMurdo, springing to his feet. You never said amore welcome word.
For Gods sake, Jack! Oh, for Gods sake! cried poor, distractedEttie. Oh, Jack, Jack, he will hurt you!
Oh, its Jack, is it? said Baldwin with an oath. Youve come to thatalready, have you?
Oh, Ted, be reasonableCbe kind! For my sake, Ted, if ever you lovedme, be big-hearted and forgiving!
I think, Ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we could get this thingsettled, said McMurdo quietly. Or maybe, Mr. Baldwin, you will take aturn down the street with me. Its a fine evening, and theres some openground beyond the next block.
Ill get even with you without needing to dirty my hands, said hisenemy. Youll wish you had never set foot in this house before I amthrough with you!
No time like the present, cried McMurdo.
Ill choose my own time, mister. You can leave the time to me. Seehere! He suddenly rolled up his sleeve and showed upon his forearm apeculiar sign which appeared to have been branded there. It was a circlewith a triangle within it. Dyou know what that means?
I neither know nor care!
Well, you will know, Ill promise you that. You wont be much older,either. Perhaps Miss Ettie can tell you something about it. As to you,Ettie, youll come back to me on your kneesCdye hear, girl?Con yourkneesCand then Ill tell you what your punishment may be. YouvesowedCand by the Lord, Ill see that you reap! He glanced at them bothin fury. Then he turned upon his heel, and an instant later the outer doorhad banged behind him.
For a few moments McMurdo and the girl stood in silence. Then shethrew her arms around him.
Oh, Jack, how brave you were! But it is no use, you must fly! To-nightCJackCto-night! Its your only hope. He will have your life. I read it in hishorrible eyes. What chance have you against a dozen of them, with BossMcGinty and all the power of the lodge behind them?
McMurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed herback into a chair. There, acushla, there! Dont be disturbed or fear forme. Im a Freeman myself. Im after telling your father about it. Maybe Iam no better than the others; so dont make a saint of me. Perhaps youhate me too, now that Ive told you as much?
Hate you, Jack? While life lasts I could never do that! Ive heard thatthere is no harm in being a Freeman anywhere but here; so why should Ithink the worse of you for that? But if you are a Freeman, Jack, whyshould you not go down and make a friend of Boss McGinty? Oh, hurry,Jack, hurry! Get your word in first, or the hounds will be on your trail.
I was thinking the same thing, said McMurdo. Ill go right now andfix it. You can tell your father that Ill sleep here to-night and find someother quarters in the morning.
The bar of McGintys saloon was crowded as usual; for it was thefavourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town. The manwas popular; for he [826] had a rough, jovial disposition which formed amask, covering a great deal which lay behind it. But apart from thispopularity, the fear in which he was held throughout the township, andindeed down the whole thirty miles of the valley and past the mountainson each side of it, was enough in itself to fill his bar; for none couldafford to neglect his good will.
Besides those secret powers which it was universally believed that heexercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high public official, amunicipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads, elected to the officethrough the votes of the ruffians who in turn expected to receive favoursat his hands. Assessments and taxes were enormous; the public workswere notoriously neglected, the accounts were slurred over by bribedauditors, and the decent citizen was terrorized into paying publicblackmail, and holding his tongue lest some worse thing befall him.
Thus it was that, year by year, Boss McGintys diamond pins becamemore obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a more gorgeousvest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, until it threatened toabsorb one whole side of the Market Square.
McMurdo pushed open the swinging door of the saloon and made hisway amid the crowd of men within, through an atmosphere blurred withtobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. The place wasbrilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors upon every wallreflected and multiplied the garish illumination. There were severalbartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at work mixing drinks for theloungers who fringed the broad, brass-trimmed counter.
At the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigar stuck atan acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall, strong, heavilybuilt man who could be none other than the famous McGinty himself. Hewas a black-maned giant, bearded to the cheek-bones, and with a shock ofraven hair which fell to his collar. His complexion was as swarthy as thatof an Italian, and his eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combinedwith a slight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance.
All else in the manChis noble proportions, his fine features, and hisfrank bearingCfitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which heaffected. Here, one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heartwould be sound however rude his outspoken words might seem. It wasonly when those dead, dark eyes, deep and remorseless, were turned upona man that he shrank within himself, feeling that he was face to face withan infinite possibility of latent evil, with a strength and courage andcunning behind it which made it a thousand times more deadly.
Having had a good look at his man, McMurdo elbowed his wayforward with his usual careless audacity, and pushed himself through thelittle group of courtiers who were fawning upon the powerful boss,laughing uproariously at the smallest of his jokes. The young strangersbold gray eyes looked back fearlessly through their glasses at the deadlyblack ones which turned sharply upon him.
Well, young man, I cant call your face to mind.
Im new here, Mr. McGinty.
You are not so new that you cant give a gentleman his proper title.
Hes Councillor McGinty, young man, said a voice from the group.
Im sorry, Councillor. Im strange to the ways of the place. But I wasadvised to see you.
Well, you see me. This is all there is. What dyou think of me?
[827] Well, its early days. If your heart is as big as your body, andyour soul as fine as your face, then Id ask for nothing better, saidMcMurdo.
By Gar! youve got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow, cried thesaloonkeeper, not quite certain whether to humour this audacious visitoror to stand upon his dignity.
So you are good enough to pass my appearance?
Sure, said McMurdo.
And you were told to see me?
I was.
And who told you?
Brother Scanlan of Lodge 341, Vermissa. I drink your health,Councillor, and to our better acquaintance. He raised a glass with whichhe had been served to his lips and elevated his little finger as he drank it.
McGinty, who had been watching him narrowly, raised his thick blackeyebrows. Oh, its like that, is it? said he. Ill have to look a bit closerinto this, MisterC C
McMurdo.
A bit closer, Mr. McMurdo; for we dont take folk on trust in theseparts, nor believe all were told neither. Come in here for a moment,behind the bar.
There was a small room there, lined with barrels. McGinty carefullyclosed the door, and then seated himself on one of them, bitingthoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his companion with thosedisquieting eyes. For a couple of minutes he sat in complete silence.
McMurdo bore the inspection cheerfully, one hand in his coat pocket, theother twisting his brown moustache. Suddenly McGinty stooped andproduced a wicked-looking revolver.
See here, my joker, said he, if I thought you were playing any gameon us, it would be short work for you.
This is a strange welcome, McMurdo answered with some dignity,for the Bodymaster of a lodge of Freemen to give to a stranger brother.
Ay, but its just that same that you have to prove, said McGinty, andGod help you if you fail! Where were you made?
Lodge 29, Chicago.
When?
June 24, 1872.
What Bodymaster?
James H. Scott.
Who is your district ruler?
Bartholomew Wilson.
Hum! You seem glib enough in your tests. What are you doing here?
Working, the same as youCbut a poorer job.
You have your back answer quick enough.
Yes, I was always quick of speech.
Are you quick of action?
I have had that name among those that knew me best.
Well, we may try you sooner than you think. Have you heard anythingof the lodge in these parts?
Ive heard that it takes a man to be a brother.
True for you, Mr. McMurdo. Why did you leave Chicago?
Im damned if I tell you that!
[828] McGinty opened his eyes. He was not used to being answered insuch fashion, and it amused him. Why wont you tell me?
Because no brother may tell another a lie.
Then the truth is too bad to tell?
You can put it that way if you like.
See here, mister, you cant expect me, as Bodymaster, to pass into thelodge a man for whose past he cant answer.
McMurdo looked puzzled. Then he took a worn newspaper cuttingfrom an inner pocket.
You wouldnt squeal on a fellow? said he.
Ill wipe my hand across your face if you say such words to me!
cried McGinty hotly.
You are right, Councillor, said McMurdo meekly. I shouldapologize. I spoke without thought. Well, I know that I am safe in yourhands. Look at that clipping.
McGinty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting of one JonasPinto, in the Lake Saloon, Market Street, Chicago, in the New Year weekof 1874.
Your work? he asked, as he handed back the paper.
McMurdo nodded.
Why did you shoot him?
I was helping Uncle Sam to make dollars. Maybe mine were not asgood gold as his, but they looked as well and were cheaper to make. Thisman Pinto helped me to shove the queerC C
To do what?
Well, it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. Then he said hewould split. Maybe he did split. I didnt wait to see. I just killed him andlighted out for the coal country.
Why the coal country?
Cause Id read in the papers that they werent too particular in thoseparts.
McGinty laughed. You were first a coiner and then a murderer, andyou came to these parts because you thought youd be welcome.
Thats about the size of it, McMurdo answered.
Well, I guess youll go far. Say, can you make those dollars yet?
McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. Those never passed thePhiladelphia mint, said he.
You dont say! McGinty held them to the light in his enormous hand,which was hairy as a gorillas. I can see no difference. Gar! youll be amighty useful brother, Im thinking! We can do with a bad man or twoamong us, Friend McMurdo: for there are times when we have to take ourown part. Wed soon be against the wall if we didnt shove back at thosethat were pushing us.
Well, I guess Ill do my share of shoving with the rest of the boys.
You seem to have a good nerve. You didnt squirm when I shoved thisgun at you.
It was not me that was in danger.
Who then?
It was you, Councillor. McMurdo drew a cocked pistol from the sidepocket of his pea-jacket. I was covering you all the time. I guess my shotwould have been as quick as yours.
By Gar! McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into a roar oflaughter. Say, weve had no such holy terror come to hand this many ayear. I reckon [829] the lodge will learn to be proud of you. . . . Well, whatthe hell do you want? And cant I speak alone with a gentleman for fiveminutes but you must butt in on us?
The bartender stood abashed. Im sorry, Councillor, but its TedBaldwin. He says he must see you this very minute.
The message was unnecessary; for the set, cruel face of the manhimself was looking over the servants shoulder. He pushed the bartenderout and closed the door on him.
So, said he with a furious glance at McMurdo, you got here first, didyou? Ive a word to say to you, Councillor, about this man.
Then say it here and now before my face, cried McMurdo.
Ill say it at my own time, in my own way.
Tut! Tut! said McGinty, getting off his barrel. This will never do.
We have a new brother here, Baldwin, and its not for us to greet him insuch fashion. Hold out your hand, man, and make it up!
Never! cried Baldwin in a fury.
Ive offered to fight him if he thinks I have wronged him, saidMcMurdo. Ill fight him with fists, or, if that wont satisfy him, Ill fighthim any other way he chooses. Now, Ill leave it to you, Councillor, tojudge between us as a Bodymaster should.
What is it, then?
A young lady. Shes free to choose for herself.
Is she? cried Baldwin.
As between two brothers of the lodge I should say that she was, saidthe Boss.
Oh, thats your ruling, is it?
Yes, it is, Ted Baldwin, said McGinty, with a wicked stare. Is it youthat would dispute it?
You would throw over one that has stood by you this five years infavour of a man that you never saw before in your life? Youre notBodymaster for life, Jack McGinty, and by God! when next it comes to avoteC C
The Councillor sprang at him like a tiger. His hand closed round theothers neck, and he hurled him back across one of the barrels. In his madfury he would have squeezed the life out of him if McMurdo had notinterfered.
Easy, Councillor! For heavens sake, go easy! he cried, as he draggedhim back.
McGinty released his hold, and Baldwin, cowed and shaken, gaspingfor breath, and shivering in every limb, as one who has looked over thevery edge of death, sat up on the barrel over which he had been hurled.
Youve been asking for it this many a day, Ted BaldwinCnow youvegot it! cried McGinty, his huge chest rising and falling. Maybe youthink if I was voted down from Bodymaster you would find yourself inmy shoes. Its for the lodge to say that. But so long as I am the chief Illhave no man lift his voice against me or my rulings.
I have nothing against you, mumbled Baldwin, feeling his throat.
Well, then, cried the other, relapsing in a moment into a bluffjoviality, we are all good friends again and theres an end of the matter.
He took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twisted out thecork.
See now, he continued, as he filled three high glasses. Let us drinkthe quarrelling toast of the lodge. After that, as you know, there can be nobad blood between us. Now, then, the left hand on the apple of my throat.
I say to you, Ted Baldwin, what is the offense, sir?
[830] The clouds are heavy, answered Baldwin.
But they will forever brighten.
And this I swear!
The men drank their glasses, and the same ceremony was performedbetween Baldwin and McMurdo.
There! cried McGinty, rubbing his hands. Thats the end of theblack blood. You come under lodge discipline if it goes further, and thatsa heavy hand in these parts, as Brother Baldwin knowsCand as you willdamn soon find out, Brother McMurdo, if you ask for trouble!
Faith, Id be slow to do that, said McMurdo. He held out his hand toBaldwin. Im quick to quarrel and quick to forgive. Its my hot Irishblood, they tell me. But its over for me, and I bear no grudge.
Baldwin had to take the proffered hand; for the baleful eye of theterrible Boss was upon him. But his sullen face showed how little thewords of the other had moved him.
McGinty clapped them both on the shoulders. Tut! These girls! Thesegirls! he cried. To think that the same petticoats should come betweentwo of my boys! Its the devils own luck! Well, its the colleen inside ofthem that must settle the question; for its outside the jurisdiction of aBodymasterC and the Lord be praised for that! We have enough on us,without the women as well. Youll have to be affiliated to Lodge 341,Brother McMurdo. We have our own ways and methods, different fromChicago. Saturday night is our meeting, and if you come then, well makeyou free forever of the Vermissa Valley.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 3The Valley of FearChapter 3LODGE 341, VERMISSAON THE day following the evening which had contained so many excitingevents, McMurdo moved his lodgings from old Jacob Shafters and tookup his quarters at the Widow MacNamaras on the extreme outskirts ofthe town. Scanlan, his original acquaintance aboard the train, hadoccasion shortly afterwards to move into Vermissa, and the two lodgedtogether. There was no other boarder, and the hostess was an easy-goingold Irishwoman who left them to themselves; so that they had a freedomfor speech and action welcome to men who had secrets in common.
Shafter had relented to the extent of letting McMurdo come to hismeals there when he liked; so that his intercourse with Ettie was by nomeans broken. On the contrary, it drew closer and more intimate as theweeks went by.
In his bedroom at his new abode McMurdo felt it safe to take out thecoining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number of brothersfrom the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, each carrying awayin his pocket some examples of the false money, so cunningly struck thatthere was never the slightest difficulty or danger in passing it. Why, withsuch a wonderful art at his command, McMurdo should condescend towork at all was a perpetual mystery to his companions; though he made itclear to anyone who asked him that if he lived without any visible meansit would very quickly bring the police upon his track.
One policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident, as luckwould have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good than harm. Afterthe first [831] introduction there were few evenings when he did not findhis way to McGintys saloon, there to make closer acquaintance with theboys, which was the jovial title by which the dangerous gang whoinfested the place were known to one another. His dashing manner andfearlessness of speech made him a favourite with them all; while the rapidand scientific way in which he polished off his antagonist in an all in
bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community. Anotherincident, however, raised him even higher in their estimation.
Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man enteredwith the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine police. This was aspecial body raised by the railways and colliery owners to supplement theefforts of the ordinary civil police, who were perfectly helpless in the faceof the organized ruffianism which terrorized the district. There was a hushas he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at him; but the relationsbetween policemen and criminals are peculiar in some parts of the States,and McGinty himself, standing behind his counter, showed no surprisewhen the policeman enrolled himself among his customers.
A straight whisky; for the night is bitter, said the police officer. Idont think we have met before, Councillor?
Youll be the new captain? said McGinty.
Thats so. Were looking to you, Councillor, and to the other leadingcitizens, to help us in upholding law and order in this township. CaptainMarvin is my name.
Wed do better without you, Captain Marvin, said McGinty coldly;for we have our own police of the township, and no need for anyimported goods. What are you but the paid tool of the capitalists, hired bythem to club or shoot your poorer fellow citizen?
Well, well, we wont argue about that, said the police officer goodhumouredly.
I expect we all do our duty same as we see it; but we cantall see it the same. He had drunk off his glass and had turned to go, whenhis eyes fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo, who was scowling at hiselbow. Hullo! Hullo! he cried, looking him up and down. Heres anold acquaintance!
McMurdo shrank away from him. I was never a friend to you nor anyother cursed copper in my life, said he.
An acquaintance isnt always a friend, said the police captain,grinning. Youre Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough, and dontyou deny it!
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. Im not denying it, said he. Dyethink Im ashamed of my own name?
Youve got good cause to be, anyhow.
What the devil dyou mean by that? he roared with his fists clenched.
No, no, Jack, bluster wont do with me. I was an officer in Chicagobefore ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know a Chicagocrook when I see one.
McMurdos face fell. Dont tell me that youre Marvin of the ChicagoCentral! he cried.
Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We havent forgottenthe shooting of Jonas Pinto up there.
I never shot him.
Did you not? Thats good impartial evidence, aint it? Well, his deathcame in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you forshoving the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for, between you andmeCand perhaps Im [832] going further than my duty in saying itCtheycould get no clear case against you, and Chicagos open to you tomorrow.
Im very well where I am.
Well, Ive given you the pointer, and youre a sulky dog not to thankme for it.
Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you, said McMurdo inno very gracious manner.
Its mum with me so long as I see you living on the straight, said thecaptain. But, by the Lord! if you get off after this, its another story! Sogood-night to youCand good-night, Councillor.
He left the barroom; but not before he had created a local hero.
McMurdos deeds in far Chicago had been whispered before. He had putoff all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish to have greatnessthrust upon him. But now the thing was officially confirmed. The barloafers crowded round him and shook him heartily by the hand. He wasfree of the community from that time on. He could drink hard and showlittle trace of it; but that evening, had his mate Scanlan not been at hand tolead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent his night under thebar.
On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge. He hadthought to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate of Chicago; butthere were particular rites in Vermissa of which they were proud, andthese had to be undergone by every postulant. The assembly met in alarge room reserved for such purposes at the Union House. Some sixtymembers assembled at Vermissa; but that by no means represented thefull strength of the organization, for there were several other lodges in thevalley, and others across the mountains on each side, who exchangedmembers when any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might bedone by men who were strangers to the locality. Altogether there were notless than five hundred scattered over the coal district.
In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long table.
At the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses, on whichsome members of the company were already turning their eyes. McGintysat at the head with a flat black velvet cap upon his shock of tangled blackhair, and a coloured purple stole round his neck; so that he seemed to be apriest presiding over some diabolical ritual. To right and left of him werethe higher lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted Baldwinamong them. Each of these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem ofhis office.
They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest of thecompany consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twenty-five, theready and capable agents who carried out the commands of their seniors.
Among the older men were many whose features showed the tigerish,lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file it was difficult tobelieve that these eager and open-faced young fellows were in very trutha dangerous gang of murderers, whose minds had suffered such completemoral perversion that they took a horrible pride in their proficiency at thebusiness, and looked with deepest respect at the man who had thereputation of making what they called a clean job.
To their contorted natures it had become a spirited and chivalrous thingto volunteer for service against some man who had never injured them,and whom in many cases they had never seen in their lives. The crimecommitted, they quarrelled as to who had actually struck the fatal blow,and amused one another and the company by describing the cries andcontortions of the murdered man.
[833] At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but atthe time which this narrative describes their proceedings wereextraordinarily open, for the repeated failures of the law had proved tothem that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against them,and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch witnesses uponwhom they could call, and a well filled treasure chest from which theycould draw the funds to engage the best legal talent in the state. In tenlong years of outrage there had been no single conviction, and the onlydanger that ever threatened the Scowrers lay in the victim himself Cwho,however outnumbered and taken by surprise, might and occasionally didleave his mark upon his assailants.
McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no onewould tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into an outer room bytwo solemn brothers. Through the plank partition he could hear themurmur of many voices from the assembly within. Once or twice hecaught the sound of his own name, and he knew that they were discussinghis candidacy. Then there entered an inner guard with a green and goldsash across his chest.
The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, and entered,
said he.
The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his rightarm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made it fast.
They next placed a thick black cap right over his head and the upper partof his face, so that he could see nothing. He was then led into theassembly hall.
It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heard therustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voice ofMcGinty sounded dull and distant through the covering of his ears.
John McMurdo, said the voice, are you already a member of theAncient Order of Freemen?
He bowed in assent.
Is your lodge No. 29, Chicago?
He bowed again.
Dark nights are unpleasant, said the voice.
Yes, for strangers to travel, he answered.
The clouds are heavy.
Yes, a storm is approaching.
Are the brethren satisfied? asked the Bodymaster.
There was a general murmur of assent.
We know, Brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you areindeed one of us, said McGinty. We would have you know, however,that in this county and in other counties of these parts we have certainrites, and also certain duties of our own which call for good men. Are youready to be tested?
I am.
Are you of stout heart?
I am.
Take a stride forward to prove it.
As the words were said he felt two hard points in front of his eyes,pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forwardwithout a danger of losing them. None the less, he nerved himself to stepresolutely out, and as he did so the pressure melted away. There was alow murmur of applause.
He is of stout heart, said the voice. Can you bear pain?
As well as another, he answered.
[834] Test him!
It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for anagonizing pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted at the suddenshock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide his agony.
I can take more than that, said he.
This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance had neverbeen made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, and the hoodwas plucked from his head. He stood blinking and smiling amid thecongratulations of the brothers.
One last word, Brother McMurdo, said McGinty. You have alreadysworn the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are aware that thepunishment for any breach of it is instant and inevitable death?
I am, said McMurdo.
And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under allcircumstances?
I do.
Then in the name of Lodge 341, Vermissa, I welcome you to itsprivileges and debates. You will put the liquor on the table, BrotherScanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother.
McMurdos coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on heexamined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There on the flesh ofthe forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as thebranding iron had left it. One or two of his neighbours pulled up theirsleeves and showed their own lodge marks.
Weve all had it, said one; but not all as brave as you over it.
Tut! It was nothing, said he; but it burned and ached all the same.
When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had all beendisposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. McMurdo, accustomedonly to the prosaic performances of Chicago, listened with open ears andmore surprise than he ventured to show to what followed.
The first business on the agenda paper, said McGinty, is to read thefollowing letter from Division Master Windle of Merton County Lodge249. He says:
DEAR SIR:
There is a job to be done on Andrew Rae of Rae & Sturmash,coal owners near this place. You will remember that your lodgeowes us a return, having had the service of two brethren in thematter of the patrolman last fall. You will send two good men,they will be taken charge of by Treasurer Higgins of this lodge,whose address you know. He will show them when to act andwhere. Yours in freedom,J. W. WINDLE, D. M. A. O. F.
Windle has never refused us when we have had occasion to ask for theloan of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him. McGinty pausedand looked round the room with his dull, malevolent eyes. Who willvolunteer for the job?
Several young fellows held up their hands. The Bodymaster looked atthem with an approving smile.
Youll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well as you did the last,you wont be wrong. And you, Wilson.
Ive no pistol, said the volunteer, a mere boy in his teens.
[835] Its your first, is it not? Well, you have to be blooded some time.
It will be a great start for you. As to the pistol, youll find it waiting foryou, or Im mistaken. If you report yourselves on Monday, it will be timeenough. Youll get a great welcome when you return.
Any reward this time? asked Cormac, a thick-set, dark-faced, brutallookingyoung man, whose ferocity had earned him the nickname ofTiger.
Never mind the reward. You just do it for the honour of the thing.
Maybe when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at the bottom of thebox.
What has the man done? asked young Wilson.
Sure, its not for the likes of you to ask what the man has done. He hasbeen judged over there. Thats no business of ours. All we have to do is tocarry it out for them, same as they would for us. Speaking of that, twobrothers from the Merton lodge are coming over to us next week to dosome business in this quarter.
Who are they? asked someone.
Faith, it is wiser not to ask. If you know nothing, you can testifynothing, and no trouble can come of it. But they are men who will make aclean job when they are about it.
And time, too! cried Ted Baldwin. Folk are gettin out of hand inthese parts. It was only last week that three of our men were turned off byForeman Blaker. Its been owing him a long time, and hell get it full andproper.
Get what? McMurdo whispered to his neighbour.
The business end of a buckshot cartridge! cried the man with a loudlaugh. What think you of our ways, Brother?
McMurdos criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed the spirit ofthe vile association of which he was now a member. I like it well, saidhe. Tis a proper place for a lad of mettle.
Several of those who sat around heard his words and applauded them.
Whats that? cried the black-maned Bodymaster from the end of thetable.
Tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to his taste.
McMurdo rose to his feet for an instant. I would say, EminentBodymaster, that if a man should be wanted I should take it as an honourto be chosen to help the lodge.
There was great applause at this. It was felt that a new sun was pushingits rim above the horizon. To some of the elders it seemed that theprogress was a little too rapid.
I would move, said the secretary, Harraway, a vulture-faced oldgraybeard who sat near the chairman, that Brother McMurdo should waituntil it is the good pleasure of the lodge to employ him.
Sure, that was what I meant; Im in your hands, said McMurdo.
Your time will come, Brother, said the chairman. We have markedyou down as a willing man, and we believe that you will do good work inthese parts. There is a small matter to-night in which you may take a handif it so please you.
I will wait for something that is worth while.
You can come to-night, anyhow, and it will help you to know what westand for in this community. I will make the announcement later.
Meanwhile, he glanced at his agenda paper, I have one or two morepoints to bring before the meeting. First of all, I will ask the treasurer asto our bank balance. There is the pension to Jim Carnaways widow. Hewas struck down doing the work of the lodge, and it is for us to see thatshe is not the loser.
[836] Jim was shot last month when they tried to kill Chester Wilcox ofMarley Creek, McMurdos neighbour informed him.
The funds are good at the moment, said the treasurer, with thebankbook in front of him. The firms have been generous of late. MaxLinder & Co. paid five hundred to be left alone. Walker Brothers sent in ahundred; but I took it on myself to return it and ask for five. If I do nothear by Wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. We had toburn their breaker last year before they became reasonable. Then the WestSection Coaling Company has paid its annual contribution. We haveenough on hand to meet any obligations.
What about Archie Swindon? asked a brother.
He has sold out and left the district. The old devil left a note for us tosay that he had rather be a free crossing sweeper in New York than a largemine owner under the power of a ring of blackmailers. By Gar! it was aswell that he made a break for it before the note reached us! I guess hewont show his face in this valley again.
An elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good brow rosefrom the end of the table which faced the chairman. Mr. Treasurer, heasked, may I ask who has bought the property of this man that we havedriven out of the district?
Yes, Brother Morris. It has been bought by the State & Merton CountyRailroad Company.
And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came into themarket in the same way last year?
The same company, Brother Morris.
And who bought the ironworks of Manson and of Shuman, and of VanDeher and of Atwood, which have all been given up of late?
They were all bought by the West Gilmerton General MiningCompany.
I dont see, Brother Morris, said the chairman, that it matters to uswho buys them, since they cant carry them out of the district.
With all respect to you, Eminent Bodymaster, I think it may mattervery much to us. This process has been going on now for ten long years.
We are gradually driving all the small men out of trade. What is theresult? We find in their places great companies like the Railroad or theGeneral Iron, who have their directors in New York or Philadelphia, andcare nothing for our threats. We can take it out of their local bosses; but itonly means that others will be sent in their stead. And we are making itdangerous for ourselves. The small men could not harm us. They had notthe money nor the power. So long as we did not squeeze them too dry,they would stay on under our power. But if these big companies find thatwe stand between them and their profits, they will spare no pains and noexpense to hunt us down and bring us to court.
There was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkened asgloomy looks were exchanged. So omnipotent and unchallenged had theybeen that the very thought that there was possible retribution in thebackground had been banished from their minds. And yet the idea strucka chill to the most reckless of them.
It is my advice, the speaker continued, that we go easier upon thesmall men. On the day that they have all been driven out the power of thissociety will have been broken.
Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries as thespeaker resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon his brow.
[837] Brother Morris, said he, you were always a croaker. So long asthe members of this lodge stand together there is no power in the UnitedStates that can touch them. Sure, have we not tried it often enough in thelaw courts? I expect the big companies will find it easier to pay than tofight, same as the little companies do. And now, Brethren, McGinty tookoff his black velvet cap and his stole as he spoke, this lodge has finishedits business for the evening, save for one small matter which may bementioned when we are parting. The time has now come for fraternalrefreshment and for harmony.
Strange indeed is human nature. Here were these men, to whom murderwas familiar, who again and again had struck down the father of thefamily, some man against whom they had no personal feeling, withoutone thought of compunction or of compassion for his weeping wife orhelpless children, and yet the tender or pathetic in music could move themto tears. McMurdo had a fine tenor voice, and if he had failed to gain thegood will of the lodge before, it could no longer have been withheld afterhe had thrilled them with Im Sitting on the Stile, Mary, and On theBanks of Allan Water.
In his very first night the new recruit had made himself one of the mostpopular of the brethren, marked already for advancement and high office.
There were other qualities needed, however, besides those of goodfellowship, to make a worthy Freeman, and of these he was given anexample before the evening was over. The whisky bottle had passedround many times, and the men were flushed and ripe for mischief whentheir Bodymaster rose once more to address them.
Boys, said he, theres one man in this town that wants trimming up,and its for you to see that he gets it. Im speaking of James Stanger of theHerald. Youve seen how hes been opening his mouth against us again?
There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. McGintytook a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.
LAW AND ORDER!
Thats how he heads it.
REIGN OF TERROR IN THE COAL AND IRON DISTRICTTwelve years have now elapsed since the first assassinationswhich proved the existence of a criminal organization in our midst.
From that day these outrages have never ceased, until now theyhave reached a pitch which makes us the opprobrium of thecivilized world. Is it for such results as this that our great countrywelcomes to its bosom the alien who flies from the despotisms ofEurope? Is it that they shall themselves become tyrants over thevery men who have given them shelter, and that a state ofterrorism and lawlessness should be established under the veryshadow of the sacred folds of the starry Flag of Freedom whichwould raise horror in our minds if we read of it as existing underthe most effete monarchy of the East? The men are known. Theorganization is patent and public. How long are we to endure it?
Can we forever liveC CSure, Ive read enough of the slush! cried the chairman, tossing the paperdown upon the table. Thats what he says of us. The question Im askingyou is what shall we say to him?
Kill him! cried a dozen fierce voices.
I protest against that, said Brother Morris, the man of the good browand [838] shaved face. I tell you, Brethren, that our hand is too heavy inthis valley, and that there will come a point where in self-defense everyman will unite to crush us out. James Stanger is an old man. He isrespected in the township and the district. His paper stands for all that issolid in the valley. If that man is struck down, there will be a stir throughthis state that will only end with our destruction.
And how would they bring about our destruction, Mr. Standback?
cried McGinty. Is it by the police? Sure, half of them are in our pay andhalf of them afraid of us. Or is it by the law courts and the judge? Haventwe tried that before now, and what ever came of it?
There is a Judge Lynch that might try the case, said Brother Morris.
A general shout of anger greeted the suggestion.
I have but to raise my finger, cried McGinty, and I could put twohundred men into this town that would clear it out from end to end. Thensuddenly raising his voice and bending his huge black brows into aterrible frown, See here, Brother Morris, I have my eye on you, and havehad for some time! Youve no heart yourself, and you try to take the heartout of others. It will be an ill day for you, Brother Morris, when your ownname comes on our agenda paper, and Im thinking that its just there thatI ought to place it.
Morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give way underhim as he fell back into his chair. He raised his glass in his tremblinghand and drank before he could answer. I apologize, EminentBodymaster, to you and to every brother in this lodge if I have said morethan I should. I am a faithful memberCyou all know thatCand it is my fearlest evil come to the lodge which makes me speak in anxious words. But Ihave greater trust in your judgment than in my own, EminentBodymaster, and I promise you that I will not offend again.
The Bodymasters scowl relaxed as he listened to the humble words.
Very good, Brother Morris. Its myself that would be sorry if it wereneedful to give you a lesson. But so long as I am in this chair we shall bea united lodge in word and in deed. And now, boys, he continued,looking round at the company, Ill say this much, that if Stanger got hisfull deserts there would be more trouble than we need ask for. Theseeditors hang together, and every journal in the state would be crying outfor police and troops. But I guess you can give him a pretty severewarning. Will you fix it, Brother Baldwin?
Sure! said the young man eagerly.
How many will you take?
Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. Youll come, Gower, andyou, Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two Willabys.
I promised the new brother he should go, said the chairman.
Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he hadnot forgotten nor forgiven. Well, he can come if he wants, he said in asurly voice. Thats enough. The sooner we get to work the better.
The company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches of drunkensong. The bar was still crowded with revellers, and many of the brethrenremained there. The little band who had been told off for duty passed outinto the street, proceeding in twos and threes along the sidewalk so as notto provoke attention. It was a bitterly cold night, with a half-moon shiningbrilliantly in a frosty, star-spangled sky. The men stopped and gathered ina yard which faced a high building. The [839] words Vermissa Herald
were printed in gold lettering between the brightly lit windows. Fromwithin came the clanking of the printing press.
Here, you, said Baldwin to McMurdo, you can stand below at thedoor and see that the road is kept open for us. Arthur Willaby can staywith you. You others come with me. Have no fears, boys; for we have adozen witnesses that we are in the Union Bar at this very moment.
It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or tworevellers upon their way home. The party crossed the road, and, pushingopen the door of the newspaper office, Baldwin and his men rushed inand up the stair which faced them. McMurdo and another remainedbelow. From the room above came a shout, a cry for help, and then thesound of trampling feet and of falling chairs. An instant later a grayhairedman rushed out on the landing.
He was seized before he could get farther, and his spectacles cametinkling down to McMurdos feet. There was a thud and a groan. He wason his face, and half a dozen sticks were clattering together as they fellupon him. He writhed, and his long, thin limbs quivered under the blows.
The others ceased at last; but Baldwin, his cruel face set in an infernalsmile, was hacking at the mans head, which he vainly endeavoured todefend with his arms. His white hair was dabbled with patches of blood.
Baldwin was still stooping over his victim, putting in a short, viciousblow whenever he could see a part exposed, when McMurdo dashed upthe stair and pushed him back.
Youll kill the man, said he. Drop it!
Baldwin looked at him in amazement. Curse you! he cried. Who areyou to interfereCyou that are new to the lodge? Stand back! He raised hisstick; but McMurdo had whipped his pistol out of his hip pocket.
Stand back yourself! he cried. Ill blow your face in if you lay ahand on me. As to the lodge, wasnt it the order of the Bodymaster thatthe man was not to be killedCand what are you doing but killing him?
Its truth he says, remarked one of the men.
By Gar! youd best hurry yourselves! cried the man below. Thewindows are all lighting up, and youll have the whole town here insideof five minutes.
There was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and a little groupof compositors and pressmen was forming in the hall below and nervingitself to action. Leaving the limp and motionless body of the editor at thehead of the stair, the criminals rushed down and made their way swiftlyalong the street. Having reached the Union House, some of them mixedwith the crowd in McGintys saloon, whispering across the bar to theBoss that the job had been well carried through. Others, and among themMcMurdo, broke away into side streets, and so by devious paths to theirown homes.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 4The Valley of FearChapter 4THE VALLEY OF FEARWHEN MCMURDO awoke next morning he had good reason to rememberhis initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect of the drink,and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and swollen. Having hisown peculiar source of income, he was irregular in his attendance at hiswork; so he had a late breakfast, [840] and remained at home for themorning writing a long letter to a friend. Afterwards he read the DailyHerald. In a special column put in at the last moment he read:
OUTRAGE AT THE HERALD OFFICECEDITOR SERIOUSLY INJURED.
It was a short account of the facts with which he was himself morefamiliar than the writer could have been. It ended with the statement:
The matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardlybe hoped that their exertions will be attended by any better resultsthan in the past. Some of the men were recognized, and there ishope that a conviction may be obtained. The source of the outragewas, it need hardly be said, that infamous society which has heldthis community in bondage for so long a period, and against whichthe Herald has taken so uncompromising a stand. Mr. Stangersmany friends will rejoice to hear that, though he has been cruellyand brutally beaten, and though he has sustained severe injuriesabout the head, there is no immediate danger to his life.
Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester rifles,had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.
McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with ahand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, whenthere was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note whichhad just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned, and ran thus:
I should wish to speak to you; but would rather not do so in yourhouse. You will find me beside the flagstaff upon Miller Hill. Ifyou will come there now, I have something which it is importantfor you to hear and for me to say.
McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could notimagine what it meant or who was the author of it. Had it been in afeminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of oneof those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life. But itwas the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too. Finally, aftersome hesitation, he determined to see the matter through.
Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town. Insummer it is a favourite resort of the people; but in winter it is desolateenough. From the top of it one has a view not only of the wholestraggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with itsscattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of it, andof the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it.
McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens untilhe reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summergaiety. Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his hatdrawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up. When he turned hisface McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, he who had incurred theanger of the Bodymaster the night before. The lodge sign was given andexchanged as they met.
I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo, said the older man,speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground.
It was kind of you to come.
[841] Why did you not put your name to the note?
One has to be cautious, mister. One never knows in times like thesehow a thing may come back to one. One never knows either who to trustor who not to trust.
Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge.
No, no, not always, cried Morris with vehemence. Whatever we say,even what we think, seems to go back to that man McGinty.
Look here! said McMurdo sternly. It was only last night, as youknow well, that I swore good faith to our Bodymaster. Would you beasking me to break my oath?
If that is the view you take, said Morris sadly, I can only say that Iam sorry I gave you the trouble to come and meet me. Things have cometo a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speak their thoughts to eachother.
McMurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly,relaxed somewhat in his bearing. Sure I spoke for myself only, said he.
I am a newcomer, as you know, and I am strange to it all. It is not for meto open my mouth, Mr. Morris, and if you think well to say anything tome I am here to hear it.
And to take it back to Boss McGinty! said Morris bitterly.
Indeed, then, you do me injustice there, cried McMurdo. For myselfI am loyal to the lodge, and so I tell you straight; but I would be a poorcreature if I were to repeat to any other what you might say to me inconfidence. It will go no further than me; though I warn you that you mayget neither help nor sympathy.
I have given up looking for either the one or the other, said Morris. Imay be putting my very life in your hands by what I say; but, bad as youareC and it seemed to me last night that you were shaping to be as bad asthe worst Cstill you are new to it, and your conscience cannot yet be ashardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with you.
Well, what have you to say?
If you give me away, may a curse be on you!
Sure, I said I would not.
I would ask you, then, when you joined the Freemans society inChicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross yourmind that you might find it would lead you to crime?
If you call it crime, McMurdo answered.
Call it crime! cried Morris, his voice vibrating with passion. Youhave seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Was it crime last nightwhen a man old enough to be your father was beaten till the blooddripped from his white hairs? Was that crimeCor what else would you callit?
There are some would say it was war, said McMurdo, a war of twoclasses with all in, so that each struck as best it could.
Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the Freemanssociety at Chicago?
No, Im bound to say I did not.
Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia. It was just a benefit cluband a meeting place for ones fellows. Then I heard of this placeCcursethe hour that the name first fell upon my ears!Cand I came to bettermyself! My God! to better myself! My wife and three children came withme. I started a drygoods store on Market Square, and I prospered well.
The word had gone round that I was a Freeman, and I was forced to jointhe local lodge, same as you did last night. Ive [842] the badge of shameon my forearm and something worse branded on my heart. I found that Iwas under the orders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork ofcrime. What could I do? Every word I said to make things better wastaken as treason, same as it was last night. I cant get away; for all I havein the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I know well that itmeans murder to me, and God knows what to my wife and children. Oh,man, it is awfulCawful! He put his hands to his face, and his body shookwith convulsive sobs.
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. You were too soft for the job, saidhe. You are the wrong sort for such work.
I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal amongthem. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down, I knew well what wouldcome to me. Maybe Im a coward. Maybe its the thought of my poorlittle woman and the children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guessit will haunt me forever.
It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder. Iwas told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could nottrust me with the job. The others went in. When they came out their handswere crimson to the wrists. As we turned away a child was screaming outof the house behind us. It was a boy of five who had seen his fathermurdered. I nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet I had to keep abold and smiling face; for well I knew that if I did not it would be out ofmy house that they would come next with their bloody hands, and itwould be my little Fred that would be screaming for his father.
But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in thisworld, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the priest wouldhave no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I amexcommunicated from my faith. Thats how it stands with me. And I seeyou going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be. Areyou ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything tostop it?
What would you do? asked McMurdo abruptly. You would notinform?
God forbid! cried Morris. Sure, the very thought would cost me mylife.
Thats well, said McMurdo. Im thinking that you are a weak manand that you make too much of the matter.
Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down thevalley! See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tellyou that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over theheads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. Theterror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait,young man, and you will learn for yourself.
Well, Ill let you know what I think when I have seen more, saidMcMurdo carelessly. What is very clear is that you are not the man forthe place, and that the sooner you sell outCif you only get a dime a dollarfor what the business is worthCthe better it will be for you. What you havesaid is safe with me; but, by Gar! if I thought you were an informerC C
No, no! cried Morris piteously.
Well, let it rest at that. Ill bear what you have said in mind, andmaybe some day Ill come back to it. I expect you meant kindly byspeaking to me like this. Now Ill be getting home.
One word before you go, said Morris. We may have been seentogether. They may want to know what we have spoken about.
Ah! thats well thought of.
I offer you a clerkship in my store.
[843] And I refuse it. Thats our business. Well, so long, BrotherMorris, and may you find things go better with you in the future.
That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought, besidethe stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework wasfilled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and thenseating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him steadily forsome time, a look which was as steadily returned.
Im not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo, he said at last. I guessI am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought Id stretch a pointand drop down to see you in your own house.
Im proud to see you here, Councillor, McMurdo answered heartily,bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. Its an honour that I hadnot expected.
Hows the arm? asked the Boss.
McMurdo made a wry face. Well, Im not forgetting it, he said; butits worth it.
Yes, its worth it, the other answered, to those that are loyal and gothrough with it and are a help to the lodge. What were you speaking toBrother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning?
The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answerprepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. Morris didnt know I could earn aliving here at home. He shant know either; for he has got too muchconscience for the likes of me. But hes a good-hearted old chap. It washis idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a good turn byoffering me a clerkship in a drygoods store.
Oh, that was it?
Yes, that was it.
And you refused it?
Sure. Couldnt I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with fourhours work?
Thats so. But I wouldnt get about too much with Morris.
Why not?
Well, I guess because I tell you not. Thats enough for most folk inthese parts.
It may be enough for most folk; but it aint enough for me, Councillor, said McMurdo boldly. If you are a judge of men, youll know that.
The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an instantround the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his companion.
Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion.
Youre a queer card, for sure, said he. Well, if you want reasons, Illgive them. Did Morris say nothing to you against the lodge?
No.
Nor against me?
No.
Well, thats because he darent trust you. But in his heart he is not aloyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for thetime to admonish him. Im thinking that the time is drawing near. Theresno room for scabby sheep in our pen. But if you keep company with adisloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. See?
[844] Theres no chance of my keeping company with him; for Idislike the man, McMurdo answered. As to being disloyal, if it was anyman but you he would not use the word to me twice.
Well, thats enough, said McGinty, draining off his glass. I camedown to give you a word in season, and youve had it.
Id like to know, said McMurdo, how you ever came to learn that Ihad spoken with Morris at all?
McGinty laughed. Its my business to know what goes on in thistownship, said he. I guess youd best reckon on my hearing all thatpasses. Well, times up, and Ill just sayC C
But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. With asudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces glaredin at them from under the peaks of police caps. McMurdo sprang to hisfeet and half drew his revolver; but his arm stopped midway as he becameconscious that two Winchester rifles were levelled at his head. A man inuniform advanced into the room, a six-shooter in his hand. It was CaptainMarvin, once of Chicago, and now of the Mine Constabulary. He shookhis head with a half-smile at McMurdo.
I thought youd be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo ofChicago, said he. Cant keep out of it, can you? Take your hat andcome along with us.
I guess youll pay for this, Captain Marvin, said McGinty. Who areyou, Id like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molesthonest, law-abiding men?
Youre standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty, said the policecaptain. We are not out after you, but after this man McMurdo. It is foryou to help, not to hinder us in our duty.
He is a friend of mine, and Ill answer for his conduct, said the Boss.
By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for your ownconduct some of these days, the captain answered. This man McMurdowas a crook before ever he came here, and hes a crook still. Cover him,Patrolman, while I disarm him.
Theres my pistol, said McMurdo coolly. Maybe, Captain Marvin, ifyou and I were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily.
Wheres your warrant? asked McGinty. By Gar! a man might aswell live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are running thepolice. Its a capitalist outrage, and youll hear more of it, I reckon.
You do what you think is your duty the best way you can, Councillor.
Well look after ours.
What am I accused of? asked McMurdo.
Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at the Heraldoffice. It wasnt your fault that it isnt a murder charge.
Well, if thats all you have against him, cried McGinty with a laugh,you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. Thisman was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and I canbring a dozen to prove it.
Thats your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court to-morrow.
Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if you dont want agun across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty; for I warn you I willstand no resistance when I am on duty!
[845] So determined was the appearance of the captain that bothMcMurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. The lattermanaged to have a few whispered words with the prisoner before theyparted.
What aboutC C he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coiningplant.
All right, whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hiding placeunder the floor.
Ill bid you good-bye, said the Boss, shaking hands. Ill see Reillythe lawyer and take the defense upon myself. Take my word for it thatthey wont be able to hold you.
I wouldnt bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him ifhe tries any games. Ill search the house before I leave.
He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. Whenhe had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo to headquarters.
Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the streetswere nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group, andemboldened by invisibility shouted imprecations at the prisoner.
Lynch the cursed Scowrer! they cried. Lynch him! They laughedand jeered as he was pushed into the police station. After a short, formalexamination from the inspector in charge he was put into the commoncell. Here he found Baldwin and three other criminals of the night before,all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next morning.
But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of theFreemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a strawbundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of whisky,some glasses, and a pack of cards. They spent a hilarious night, withoutan anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning.
Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could notpossibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. On the onehand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the lightwas uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that it wasdifficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants; although theybelieved that the accused were among them. Cross examined by theclever attorney who had been engaged by McGinty, they were even morenebulous in their evidence.
The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surpriseby the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the factthat the first man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that heknew them to be Scowrers, since no one else in the community couldpossibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened onaccount of his outspoken editorials. On the other hand, it was clearlyshown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, includingthat high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the men had beenat a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later than thecommission of the outrage.
Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near toan apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had beenput, together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the policefor their officious zeal.
The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in whichMcMurdo saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the lodge smiled andwaved. But there were others who sat with compressed lips and broodingeyes as the men filed out of the [846] dock. One of them, a little, darkbearded,resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades intowords as the ex-prisoners passed him.
You damned murderers! he said. Well fix you yet!
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 5The Valley of FearChapter 5THE DARKEST HOURIF ANYTHING had been needed to give an impetus to Jack McMurdospopularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest and acquittal.
That a man on the very night of joining the lodge should have donesomething which brought him before the magistrate was a new record inthe annals of the society. Already he had earned the reputation of a goodboon companion, a cheery reveller, and withal a man of high temper, whowould not take an insult even from the all powerful Boss himself. But inaddition to this he impressed his comrades with the idea that among themall there was not one whose brain was so ready to devise a bloodthirstyscheme, or whose hand would be more capable of carrying it out. Hellbe the boy for the clean job, said the oldsters to one another, and waitedtheir time until they could set him to his work.
McGinty had instruments enough already; but he recognized that thiswas a supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a fierce bloodhoundin leash. There were curs to do the smaller work; but some day he wouldslip this creature upon its prey. A few members of the lodge, Ted Baldwinamong them, resented the rapid rise of the stranger and hated him for it;but they kept clear of him, for he was as ready to fight as to laugh.
But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another quarter, onewhich had become even more vital to him, in which he lost it. EttieShafters father would have nothing more to do with him, nor would heallow him to enter the house. Ettie herself was too deeply in love to givehim up altogether, and yet her own good sense warned her of what wouldcome from a marriage with a man who was regarded as a criminal.
One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possiblyfor the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from thoseevil influences which were sucking him down. She went to his house, ashe had often begged her to do, and made her way into the room which heused as his sitting-room. He was seated at a table, with his back turnedand a letter in front of him. A sudden spirit of girlish mischief came overherCshe was still only nineteen. He had not heard her when she pushedopen the door. Now she tiptoed forward and laid her hand lightly upon hisbended shoulders.
If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but only inturn to be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turned on her, and hisright hand was feeling for her throat. At the same instant with the otherhand he crumpled up the paper that lay before him. For an instant hestood glaring. Then astonishment and joy took the place of the ferocitywhich had convulsed his featuresCa ferocity which had sent her shrinkingback in horror as from something which had never before intruded intoher gentle life.
Its you! said he, mopping his brow. And to think that you shouldcome to me, heart of my heart, and I should find nothing better to do thanto want to [847] strangle you! Come then, darling, and he held out hisarms, let me make it up to you.
But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fearwhich she had read in the mans face. All her womans instinct told herthat it was not the mere fright of a man who is startled. GuiltCthat wasitCguilt and fear!
Whats come over you, Jack? she cried. Why were you so scared ofme? Oh, Jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not have lookedat me like that!
Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you came tripping solightly on those fairy feet of yoursC C
No, no, it was more than that, Jack. Then a sudden suspicion seizedher. Let me see that letter you were writing.
Ah, Ettie, I couldnt do that.
Her suspicions became certainties. Its to another woman, she cried.
I know it! Why else should you hold it from me? Was it to your wife thatyou were writing? How am I to know that you are not a marriedmanCyou, a stranger, that nobody knows?
I am not married, Ettie. See now, I swear it! Youre the only onewoman on earth to me. By the cross of Christ I swear it!
He was so white with passionate earnestness that she could not butbelieve him.
Well, then, she cried, why will you not show me the letter?
Ill tell you, acushla, said he. Im under oath not to show it, and justas I wouldnt break my word to you so I would keep it to those who holdmy promise. Its the business of the lodge, and even to you its secret.
And if I was scared when a hand fell on me, cant you understand it whenit might have been the hand of a detective?
She felt that he was telling the truth. He gathered her into his arms andkissed away her fears and doubts.
Sit here by me, then. Its a queer throne for such a queen; but its thebest your poor lover can find. Hell do better for you some of these days,Im thinking. Now your mind is easy once again, is it not?
How can it ever be at ease, Jack, when I know that you are a criminalamong criminals, when I never know the day that I may hear you are incourt for murder? McMurdo the Scowrer, thats what one of ourboarders called you yesterday. It went through my heart like a knife.
Sure, hard words break no bones.
But they were true.
Well, dear, its not so bad as you think. We are but poor men that aretrying in our own way to get our rights.
Ettie threw her arms round her lovers neck. Give it up, Jack! For mysake, for Gods sake, give it up! It was to ask you that I came here to-day.
Oh, Jack, seeCI beg it of you on my bended knees! Kneeling here beforeyou I implore you to give it up!
He raised her and soothed her with her head against his breast.
Sure, my darlin, you dont know what it is you are asking. How couldI give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desert mycomrades? If you could see how things stand with me you could never askit of me. Besides, if I wanted to, how could I do it? You dont supposethat the lodge would let a man go free with all its secrets?
Ive thought of that, Jack. Ive planned it all. Father has saved somemoney. [848] He is weary of this place where the fear of these peopledarkens our lives. He is ready to go. We would fly together toPhiladelphia or New York, where we would be safe from them.
McMurdo laughed. The lodge has a long arm. Do you think it couldnot stretch from here to Philadelphia or New York?
Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany, where fathercame fromCanywhere to get away from this Valley of Fear!
McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. Sure it is the second time Ihave heard the valley so named, said he. The shadow does indeed seemto lie heavy on some of you.
It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you suppose that TedBaldwin has ever forgiven us? If it were not that he fears you, what doyou suppose our chances would be? If you saw the look in those dark,hungry eyes of his when they fall on me!
By Gar! Id teach him better manners if I caught him at it! But seehere, little girl. I cant leave here. I cantCtake that from me once and forall. But if you will leave me to find my own way, I will try to prepare away of getting honourably out of it.
There is no honour in such a matter.
Well, well, its just how you look at it. But if youll give me sixmonths, Ill work it so that I can leave without being ashamed to lookothers in the face.
The girl laughed with joy. Six months! she cried. Is it a promise?
Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year at the furthest wewill leave the valley behind us.
It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it was something. Therewas this distant light to illuminate the gloom of the immediate future. Shereturned to her fathers house more light-hearted than she had ever beensince Jack McMurdo had come into her life.
It might be thought that as a member, all the doings of the societywould be told to him; but he was soon to discover that the organizationwas wider and more complex than the simple lodge. Even Boss McGintywas ignorant as to many things; for there was an official named theCounty Delegate, living at Hobsons Patch farther down the line, who hadpower over several different lodges which he wielded in a sudden andarbitrary way. Only once did McMurdo see him, a sly, little gray-hairedrat of a man, with a slinking gait and a sidelong glance which wascharged with malice. Evans Pott was his name, and even the great Boss ofVermissa felt towards him something of the repulsion and fear which thehuge Danton may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre.
One day Scanlan, who was McMurdos fellow boarder, received a notefrom McGinty inclosing one from Evans Pott, which informed him thathe was sending over two good men, Lawler and Andrews, who hadinstructions to act in the neighbourhood; though it was best for the causethat no particulars as to their objects should be given. Would theBodymaster see to it that suitable arrangements be made for their lodgingsand comfort until the time for action should arrive? McGinty added that itwas impossible for anyone to remain secret at the Union House, and that,therefore, he would be obliged if McMurdo and Scanlan would put thestrangers up for a few days in their boarding house.
The same evening the two men arrived, each carrying his gripsack.
Lawler was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad in anold black frock coat, [849] which with his soft felt hat and ragged, grizzledbeard gave him a general resemblance to an itinerant preacher. Hiscompanion Andrews was little more than a boy, frank-faced and cheerful,with the breezy manner of one who is out for a holiday and means toenjoy every minute of it. Both men were total abstainers, and behaved inall ways as exemplary members of the society, with the one simpleexception that they were assassins who had often proved themselves to bemost capable instruments for this association of murder. Lawler hadalready carried out fourteen commissions of the kind, and Andrews three.
They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to converse about theirdeeds in the past, which they recounted with the half-bashful pride of menwho had done good and unselfish service for the community. They werereticent, however, as to the immediate job in hand.
They chose us because neither I nor the boy here drink, Lawlerexplained. They can count on us saying no more than we should. Youmust not take it amiss, but it is the orders of the County Delegate that weobey.
Sure, we are all in it together, said Scanlan, McMurdos mate, as thefour sat together at supper.
Thats true enough, and well talk till the cows come home of thekilling of Charlie Williams or of Simon Bird, or any other job in the past.
But till the work is done we say nothing.
There are half a dozen about here that I have a word to say to, saidMcMurdo, with an oath. I suppose it isnt Jack Knox of Ironhill that youare after. Id go some way to see him get his deserts.
No, its not him yet.
Or Herman Strauss?
No, nor him either.
Well, if you wont tell us we cant make you; but Id be glad to know.
Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not to be drawn.
In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan and McMurdo werequite determined to be present at what they called the fun. When,therefore, at an early hour one morning McMurdo heard them creepingdown the stairs he awakened Scanlan, and the two hurried on theirclothes. When they were dressed they found that the others had stolen out,leaving the door open behind them. It was not yet dawn, and by the lightof the lamps they could see the two men some distance down the street.
They followed them warily, treading noiselessly in the deep snow.
The boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon they wereat the crossroads which is beyond its boundary. Here three men werewaiting, with whom Lawler and Andrews held a short, eagerconversation. Then they all moved on together. It was clearly somenotable job which needed numbers. At this point there are several trailswhich lead to various mines. The strangers took that which led to theCrow Hill, a huge business which was in strong hands which had beenable, thanks to their energetic and fearless New England manager, JosiahH. Dunn, to keep some order and discipline during the long reign of terror.
Day was breaking now, and a line of workmen were slowly makingtheir way, singly and in groups, along the blackened path.
McMurdo and Scanlan strolled on with the others, keeping in sight ofthe men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them, and from theheart of it there [850] came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. It wasthe ten-minute signal before the cages descended and the days labourbegan.
When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were ahundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers;for it was bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a little group under theshadow of the engine house. Scanlan and McMurdo climbed a heap ofslag from which the whole scene lay before them. They saw the mineengineer, a great bearded Scotchman named Menzies, come out of theengine house and blow his whistle for the cages to be lowered.
At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a cleanshaved,earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. As he cameforward his eyes fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under theengine house. The men had drawn down their hats and turned up theircollars to screen their faces. For a moment the presentiment of Death laidits cold hand upon the managers heart. At the next he had shaken it offand saw only his duty towards intrusive strangers.
Who are you? he asked as he advanced. What are you loitering therefor?
There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward and shothim in the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood as motionless andhelpless as if they were paralyzed. The manager clapped his two hands tothe wound and doubled himself up. Then he staggered away; but anotherof the assassins fired, and he went down sidewise, kicking and clawingamong a heap of clinkers. Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roar of rage atthe sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers; but was metby two balls in the face which dropped him dead at their very feet.
There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an inarticulatecry of pity and of anger; but a couple of the strangers emptied their sixshootersover the heads of the crowd, and they broke and scattered, someof them rushing wildly back to their homes in Vermissa.
When a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return to themine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning, withouta single witness being able to swear to the identity of these men who infront of a hundred spectators had wrought this double crime.
Scanlan and McMurdo made their way back; Scanlan somewhatsubdued, for it was the first murder job that he had seen with his owneyes, and it appeared less funny than he had been led to believe. Thehorrible screams of the dead managers wife pursued them as they hurriedto the town. McMurdo was absorbed and silent; but he showed nosympathy for the weakening of his companion.
Sure, it is like a war, he repeated. What is it but a war between usand them, and we hit back where we best can.
There was high revel in the lodge room at the Union House that night,not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of the Crow Hillmine, which would bring this organization into line with the otherblackmailed and terror-stricken companies of the district, but also over adistant triumph which had been wrought by the hands of the lodge itself.
It would appear that when the County Delegate had sent over five goodmen to strike a blow in Vermissa, he had demanded that in return threeVermissa men should be secretly selected and sent across to kill WilliamHales of Stake Royal, one of the best known and most popular mineowners in the Gilmerton district, a man who was believed not to have anenemy in the world; for he was in all ways a [851] model employer. Hehad insisted, however, upon efficiency in the work, and had, therefore,paid off certain drunken and idle employees who were members of the allpowerfulsociety. Coffin notices hung outside his door had not weakenedhis resolution, and so in a free, civilized country he found himselfcondemned to death.
The execution had now been duly carried out. Ted Baldwin, whosprawled now in the seat of honour beside the Bodymaster, had been chiefof the party. His flushed face and glazed, bloodshot eyes told ofsleeplessness and drink. He and his two comrades had spent the nightbefore among the mountains. They were unkempt and weather-stained.
But no heroes, returning from a forlorn hope, could have had a warmerwelcome from their comrades.
The story was told and retold amid cries of delight and shouts oflaughter. They had waited for their man as he drove home at nightfall,taking their station at the top of a steep hill, where his horse must be at awalk. He was so furred to keep out the cold that he could not lay his handon his pistol. They had pulled him out and shot him again and again. Hehad screamed for mercy. The screams were repeated for the amusementof the lodge.
Lets hear again how he squealed, they cried.
None of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in a killing, andthey had shown the Scowrers of Gilmerton that the Vermissa men were tobe relied upon.
There had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife had driven upwhile they were still emptying their revolvers into the silent body. It hadbeen suggested that they should shoot them both; but they were harmlessfolk who were not connected with the mines, so they were sternly biddento drive on and keep silent, lest a worse thing befall them. And so theblood-mottled figure had been left as a warning to all such hard-heartedemployers, and the three noble avengers had hurried off into themountains where unbroken nature comes down to the very edge of thefurnaces and the slag heaps. Here they were, safe and sound, their workwell done, and the plaudits of their companions in their ears.
It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had fallen evendarker over the valley. But as the wise general chooses the moment ofvictory in which to redouble his efforts, so that his foes may have no timeto steady themselves after disaster, so Boss McGinty, looking out uponthe scene of his operations with his brooding and malicious eyes, haddevised a new attack upon those who opposed him. That very night, as thehalf-drunken company broke up, he touched McMurdo on the arm and ledhim aside into that inner room where they had their first interview.
See here, my lad, said he, Ive got a job thats worthy of you at last.
Youll have the doing of it in your own hands.
Proud I am to hear it, McMurdo answered.
You can take two men with youCManders and Reilly. They have beenwarned for service. Well never be right in this district until ChesterWilcox has been settled, and youll have the thanks of every lodge in thecoal fields if you can down him.
Ill do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall I find him?
McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from thecorner of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a pagetorn from his notebook.
Hes the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. Hes a hard citizen,an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. Weve had twotries at him; but had [852] no luck, and Jim Carnaway lost his life over it.
Now its for you to take it over. Thats the houseCall alone at the IronDike crossroad, same as you see here on the mapCwithout another withinearshot. Its no good by day. Hes armed and shoots quick and straight,with no questions asked. But at nightCwell, there he is with his wife, threechildren, and a hired help. You cant pick or choose. Its all or none. Ifyou could get a bag of blasting powder at the front door with a slowmatch to itC C
Whats the man done?
Didnt I tell you he shot Jim Carnaway?
Why did he shoot him?
What in thunder has that to do with you? Carnaway was about hishouse at night, and he shot him. Thats enough for me and you. Youvegot to settle the thing right.
Theres these two women and the children. Do they go up too?
They have toCelse how can we get him?
It seems hard on them; for theyve done nothing.
What sort of fools talk is this? Do you back out?
Easy, Councillor, easy! What have I ever said or done that you shouldthink I would be after standing back from an order of the Bodymaster ofmy own lodge? If its right or if its wrong, its for you to decide.
Youll do it, then?
Of course I will do it.
When?
Well, you had best give me a night or two that I may see the house andmake my plans. ThenC C
Very good, said McGinty, shaking him by the hand. I leave it withyou. It will be a great day when you bring us the news. Its just the laststroke that will bring them all to their knees.
McMurdo thought long and deeply over the commission which hadbeen so suddenly placed in his hands. The isolated house in whichChester Wilcox lived was about five miles off in an adjacent valley. Thatvery night he started off all alone to prepare for the attempt. It wasdaylight before he returned from his reconnaissance. Next day heinterviewed his two subordinates, Manders and Reilly, recklessyoungsters who were as elated as if it were a deer-hunt.
Two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed, and one ofthem carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was used in thequarries. It was two in the morning before they came to the lonely house.
The night was a windy one, with broken clouds drifting swiftly across theface of a three-quarter moon. They had been warned to be on their guardagainst bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, with their pistolscocked in their hands. But there was no sound save the howling of thewind, and no movement but the swaying branches above them.
McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was stillwithin. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped a hole in it withhis knife, and attached the fuse. When it was well alight he and his twocompanions took to their heels, and were some distance off, safe and snugin a sheltering ditch, before the shattering roar of the explosion, with thelow, deep rumble of the collapsing building, told them that their work wasdone. No cleaner job had ever been carried out in the bloodstained annalsof the society.
But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out should allhave gone [853] for nothing! Warned by the fate of the various victims,and knowing that he was marked down for destruction, Chester Wilcoxhad moved himself and his family only the day before to some safer andless known quarters, where a guard of police should watch over them. Itwas an empty house which had been torn down by the gunpowder, andthe grim old colour sergeant of the war was still teaching discipline to theminers of Iron Dike.
Leave him to me, said McMurdo. Hes my man, and Ill get himsure if I have to wait a year for him.
A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and so for thetime the matter ended. When a few weeks later it was reported in thepapers that Wilcox had been shot at from an ambuscade, it was an opensecret that McMurdo was still at work upon his unfinished job.
Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such were thedeeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear over thegreat and rich district which was for so long a period haunted by theirterrible presence. Why should these pages be stained by further crimes?
Have I not said enough to show the men and their methods?
These deeds are written in history, and there are records wherein onemay read the details of them. There one may learn of the shooting ofPolicemen Hunt and Evans because they had ventured to arrest twomembers of the societyCa double outrage planned at the Vermissa lodgeand carried out in cold blood upon two helpless and disarmed men. Therealso one may read of the shooting of Mrs. Larbey when she was nursingher husband, who had been beaten almost to death by orders of BossMcGinty. The killing of the elder Jenkins, shortly followed by that of hisbrother, the mutilation of James Murdoch, the blowing up of theStaphouse family, and the murder of the Stendals all followed hard uponone another in the same terrible winter.
Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The spring had comewith running brooks and blossoming trees. There was hope for all Naturebound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for themen and women who lived under the yoke of the terror. Never had thecloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in the early summer of theyear 1875.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 6The Valley of FearChapter 6DANGERIT WAS the height of the reign of terror. McMurdo, who had already beenappointed Inner Deacon, with every prospect of some day succeedingMcGinty as Bodymaster, was now so necessary to the councils of hiscomrades that nothing was done without his help and advice. The morepopular he became, however, with the Freemen, the blacker were thescowls which greeted him as he passed along the streets of Vermissa. Inspite of their terror the citizens were taking heart to band themselvestogether against their oppressors. Rumours had reached the lodge ofsecret gatherings in the Herald office and of distribution of firearmsamong the law-abiding people. But McGinty and his men wereundisturbed by such reports. They were numerous, resolute, and wellarmed. Their opponents [854] were scattered and powerless. It would allend, as it had done in the past, in aimless talk and possibly in impotentarrests. So said McGinty, McMurdo, and all the bolder spirits.
It was a Saturday evening in May. Saturday was always the lodgenight, and McMurdo was leaving his house to attend it when Morris, theweaker brother of the order, came to see him. His brow was creased withcare, and his kindly face was drawn and haggard.
Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?
Sure.
I cant forget that I spoke my heart to you once, and that you kept it toyourself, even though the Boss himself came to ask you about it.
What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasnt that I agreed withwhat you said.
I know that well. But you are the one that I can speak to and be safe.
Ive a secret here, he put his hand to his breast, and it is just burning thelife out of me. I wish it had come to any one of you but me. If I tell it, itwill mean murder, for sure. If I dont, it may bring the end of us all. Godhelp me, but I am near out of my wits over it!
McMurdo looked at the man earnestly. He was trembling in every limb.
He poured some whisky into a glass and handed it to him. Thats thephysic for the likes of you, said he. Now let me hear of it.
Morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour. I can tell it toyou all in one sentence, said he. Theres a detective on our trail.
McMurdo stared at him in astonishment. Why, man, youre crazy, hesaid. Isnt the place full of police and detectives, and what harm did theyever do us?
No, no, its no man of the district. As you say, we know them, and it islittle that they can do. But youve heard of Pinkertons?
Ive read of some folk of that name.
Well, you can take it from me youve no show when they are on yourtrail. Its not a take-it-or-miss-it government concern. Its a dead earnestbusiness proposition thats out for results and keeps out till by hook orcrook it gets them. If a Pinkerton man is deep in this business, we are alldestroyed.
We must kill him.
Ah, its the first thought that came to you! So it will be up at thelodge. Didnt I say to you that it would end in murder?
Sure, what is murder? Isnt it common enough in these parts?
It is, indeed; but its not for me to point out the man that is to bemurdered. Id never rest easy again. And yet its our own necks that maybe at stake. In Gods name what shall I do? He rocked to and fro in hisagony of indecision.
But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to see that heshared the others opinion as to the danger, and the need for meeting it.
He gripped Morriss shoulder and shook him in his earnestness.
See here, man, he cried, and he almost screeched the words in hisexcitement, you wont gain anything by sitting keening like an old wifeat a wake. Lets have the facts. Who is the fellow? Where is he? How didyou hear of him? Why did you come to me?
I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. I toldyou that I had a store in the East before I came here. I left good friendsbehind me, and one [855] of them is in the telegraph service. Heres aletter that I had from him yesterday. Its this part from the top of the page.
You can read it yourself.
This was what McMurdo read:
How are the Scowrers getting on in your parts? We read plentyof them in the papers. Between you and me I expect to hear newsfrom you before long. Five big corporations and the two railroadshave taken the thing up in dead earnest. They mean it, and you canbet theyll get there! They are right deep down into it. Pinkertonhas taken hold under their orders, and his best man, BirdyEdwards, is operating. The thing has got to be stopped right now.
Now read the postscript.
Of course, what I give you is what I learned in business; so itgoes no further. Its a queer cipher that you handle by the yardevery day and can get no meaning from.
McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his listlesshands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there was the abyss beforehim.
Does anyone else know of this? he asked.
I have told no one else.
But this manCyour friendChas he any other person that he would belikely to write to?
Well, I dare say he knows one or two more.
Of the lodge?
Its likely enough.
I was asking because it is likely that he may have given somedescription of this fellow Birdy EdwardsCthen we could get on his trail.
Well, its possible. But I should not think he knew him. He is justtelling me the news that came to him by way of business. How would heknow this Pinkerton man?
McMurdo gave a violent start.
By Gar! he cried, Ive got him. What a fool I was not to know it.
Lord! but were in luck! We will fix him before he can do any harm. Seehere, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?
Sure, if you will only take it off mine.
Ill do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even yourname need not be mentioned. Ill take it all on myself, as if it were to methat this letter has come. Will that content you?
Its just what I would ask.
Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now Ill get down to thelodge, and well soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself.
You wouldnt kill this man?
The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be,and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things settlethemselves. I have hold of it now.
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. I feel that his blood is on myhands, he groaned.
Self-protection is no murder, anyhow, said McMurdo, smilinggrimly. Its him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we lefthim long in the valley. [856] Why, Brother Morris, well have to elect youBodymaster yet; for youve surely saved the lodge.
And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously ofthis new intrusion than his words would show. It may have been his guiltyconscience, it may have been the reputation of the Pinkerton organization,it may have been the knowledge that great, rich corporations had setthemselves the task of clearing out the Scowrers; but, whatever hisreason, his actions were those of a man who is preparing for the worst.
Every paper which would incriminate him was destroyed before he leftthe house. After that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed tohim that he was safe. And yet the danger must still have pressedsomewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old manShafters. The house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at thewindow Ettie came out to him. The dancing Irish deviltry had gone fromher lovers eyes. She read his danger in his earnest face.
Something has happened! she cried. Oh, Jack, you are in danger!
Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it may be wise that wemake a move before it is worse.
Make a move?
I promised you once that I would go some day. I think the time iscoming. I had news to-night, bad news, and I see trouble coming.
The police?
Well, a Pinkerton. But, sure, you wouldnt know what that is, acushla,nor what it may mean to the likes of me. Im too deep in this thing, and Imay have to get out of it quick. You said you would come with me if Iwent.
Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!
Im an honest man in some things, Ettie. I wouldnt hurt a hair of yourbonny head for all that the world can give, nor ever pull you down oneinch from the golden throne above the clouds where I always see you.
Would you trust me?
She put her hand in his without a word. Well, then, listen to what Isay, and do as I order you; for indeed its the only way for us. Things aregoing to happen in this valley. I feel it in my bones. There may be manyof us that will have to look out for ourselves. Im one, anyhow. If I go, byday or night, its you that must come with me!
Id come after you, Jack.
No, no, you shall come with me. If this valley is closed to me and Ican never come back, how can I leave you behind, and me perhaps inhiding from the police with never a chance of a message? Its with meyou must come. I know a good woman in the place I come from, and itsthere Id leave you till we can get married. Will you come?
Yes, Jack, I will come.
God bless you for your trust in me! Its a fiend out of hell that I shouldbe if I abused it. Now, mark you, Ettie, it will be just a word to you, andwhen it reaches you, you will drop everything and come right down to thewaiting room at the depot and stay there till I come for you.
Day or night, Ill come at the word, Jack.
Somewhat eased in mind, now that his own preparations for escape hadbeen begun, McMurdo went on to the lodge. It had already assembled,and only by complicated signs and countersigns could he pass through theouter guard and inner guard who close-tiled it. A buzz of pleasure andwelcome greeted him as he [857] entered. The long room was crowded,and through the haze of tobacco smoke he saw the tangled black mane ofthe Bodymaster, the cruel, unfriendly features of Baldwin, the vultureface of Harraway, the secretary, and a dozen more who were among theleaders of the lodge. He rejoiced that they should all be there to takecounsel over his news.
Indeed, its glad we are to see you, Brother! cried the chairman.
Theres business here that wants a Solomon in judgment to set it right.
Its Lander and Egan, explained his neighbour as he took his seat.
They both claim the head money given by the lodge for the shooting ofold man Crabbe over at Stylestown, and whos to say which fired thebullet?
McMurdo rose in his place and raised his hand. The expression of hisface froze the attention of the audience. There was a dead hush ofexpectation.
Eminent Bodymaster, he said, in a solemn voice, I claim urgency!
Brother McMurdo claims urgency, said McGinty. Its a claim thatby the rules of this lodge takes precedence. Now, Brother, we attend you.
McMurdo took the letter from his pocket.
Eminent Bodymaster and Brethren, he said, I am the bearer of illnews this day; but it is better that it should be known and discussed, thanthat a blow should fall upon us without warning which would destroy usall. I have information that the most powerful and richest organizations inthis state have bound themselves together for our destruction, and that atthis very moment there is a Pinkerton detective, one Birdy Edwards, atwork in the valley collecting the evidence which may put a rope round thenecks of many of us, and send every man in this room into a felons cell.
That is the situation for the discussion of which I have made a claim ofurgency.
There was a dead silence in the room. It was broken by the chairman.
What is your evidence for this, Brother McMurdo? he asked.
It is in this letter which has come into my hands, said McMurdo. Heread the passage aloud. It is a matter of honour with me that I can giveno further particulars about the letter, nor put it into your hands; but Iassure you that there is nothing else in it which can affect the interests ofthe lodge. I put the case before you as it has reached me.
Let me say, Mr. Chairman, said one of the older brethren, that Ihave heard of Birdy Edwards, and that he has the name of being the bestman in the Pinkerton service.
Does anyone know him by sight? asked McGinty.
Yes, said McMurdo, I do.
There was a murmur of astonishment through the hall.
I believe we hold him in the hollow of our hands, he continued withan exulting smile upon his face. If we act quickly and wisely, we can cutthis thing short. If I have your confidence and your help, it is little that wehave to fear.
What have we to fear, anyhow? What can he know of our affairs?
You might say so if all were as stanch as you, Councillor. But thisman has all the millions of the capitalists at his back. Do you think thereis no weaker brother among all our lodges that could not be bought? Hewill get at our secretsCmaybe has got them already. Theres only one surecure.
That he never leaves the valley, said Baldwin.
McMurdo nodded. Good for you, Brother Baldwin, he said. Youand I have had our differences, but you have said the true word to-night.
[858] Where is he, then? Where shall we know him?
Eminent Bodymaster, said McMurdo, earnestly, I would put it toyou that this is too vital a thing for us to discuss in open lodge. God forbidthat I should throw a doubt on anyone here; but if so much as a word ofgossip got to the ears of this man, there would be an end of any chance ofour getting him. I would ask the lodge to choose a trusty committee, Mr.
ChairmanCyourself, if I might suggest it, and Brother Baldwin here, andfive more. Then I can talk freely of what I know and of what I adviseshould be done.
The proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen.
Besides the chairman and Baldwin there were the vulture-faced secretary,Harraway, Tiger Cormac, the brutal young assassin, Carter, the treasurer,and the brothers Willaby, fearless and desperate men who would stick atnothing.
The usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for there was acloud upon the mens spirits, and many there for the first time began tosee the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in that serene sky under whichthey had dwelt so long. The horrors they had dealt out to others had beenso much a part of their settled lives that the thought of retribution hadbecome a remote one, and so seemed the more startling now that it cameso closely upon them. They broke up early and left their leaders to theircouncil.
Now, McMurdo! said McGinty when they were alone. The sevenmen sat frozen in their seats.
I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards, McMurdo explained. Ineed not tell you that he is not here under that name. Hes a brave man,but not a crazy one. He passes under the name of Steve Wilson, and he islodging at Hobsons Patch.
How do you know this?
Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little of it at the time, norwould have given it a second thought but for this letter; but now Im sureits the man. I met him on the cars when I went down the line onWednesdayCa hard case if ever there was one. He said he was a reporter. Ibelieved it for the moment. Wanted to know all he could about theScowrers and what he called the outrages for a New York paper. Askedme every kind of question so as to get something. You bet I was givingnothing away. Id pay for it and pay well, said he, if I could get somestuff that would suit my editor. I said what I thought would please himbest, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information. Theresten times that for you, said he, if you can find me all that I want.
What did you tell him, then?
Any stuff I could make up.
How do you know he wasnt a newspaper man?
Ill tell you. He got out at Hobsons Patch, and so did I. I chanced intothe telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it.
See here, said the operator after hed gone out, I guess we shouldcharge double rates for this.CI guess you should, said I. He had filledthe form with stuff that might have been Chinese, for all we could makeof it. He fires a sheet of this off every day, said the clerk. Yes, said I;its special news for his paper, and hes scared that the others should tapit. That was what the operator thought and what I thought at the time; butI think differently now.
By Gar! I believe you are right, said McGinty. But what do youallow that we should do about it?
[859] Why not go right down now and fix him? someone suggested.
Ay, the sooner the better.
Id start this next minute if I knew where we could find him, saidMcMurdo. Hes in Hobsons Patch; but I dont know the house. Ive gota plan, though, if youll only take my advice.
Well, what is it?
Ill go to the Patch to-morrow morning. Ill find him through theoperator. He can locate him, I guess. Well, then Ill tell him that Im aFreeman myself. Ill offer him all the secrets of the lodge for a price. Youbet hell tumble to it. Ill tell him the papers are at my house, and that itsas much as my life would be worth to let him come while folk wereabout. Hell see that thats horse sense. Let him come at ten oclock atnight, and he shall see everything. That will fetch him sure.
Well?
You can plan the rest for yourselves. Widow MacNamaras is a lonelyhouse. Shes as true as steel and as deaf as a post. Theres only Scanlanand me in the house. If I get his promiseCand Ill let you know if I doCIdhave the whole seven of you come to me by nine oclock. Well get himin. If ever he gets out aliveCwell, he can talk of Birdy Edwards luck forthe rest of his days!
Theres going to be a vacancy at Pinkertons or Im mistaken. Leave itat that, McMurdo. At nine to-morrow well be with you. You once get thedoor shut behind him, and you can leave the rest with us.
David Soucek, 1998 Chapter 7The Valley of FearChapter 7THE TRAPPING OF BIRDY EDWARDSAS MCMURDO had said, the house in which he lived was a lonely oneand very well suited for such a crime as they had planned. It was on theextreme fringe of the town and stood well back from the road. In anyother case the conspirators would have simply called out their man, asthey had many a time before, and emptied their pistols into his body; butin this instance it was very necessary to find out how much he knew, howhe knew it, and what had been passed on to his employers.
It was possible that they were already too late and that the work hadbeen done. If that was indeed so, they could at least have their revengeupon the man who had done it. But they were hopeful that nothing ofgreat importance had yet come to the detectives knowledge, asotherwise, they argued, he would not have troubled to write down andforward such trivial information as McMurdo claimed to have given him.
However, all this they would learn from his own lips. Once in theirpower, they would find a way to make him speak. It was not the first timethat they had handled an unwilling witness.
McMurdo went to Hobsons Patch as agreed. The police seemed to takeparticular interest in him that morning, and Captain MarvinChe who hadclaimed the old acquaintance with him at ChicagoCactually addressed himas he waited at the station. McMurdo turned away and refused to speakwith him. He was back from his mission in the afternoon, and sawMcGinty at the Union House.
He is coming, he said.
[860] Good! said McGinty. The giant was in his shirt sleeves, withchains and seals gleaming athwart his ample waistcoat and a diamondtwinkling through the fringe of his bristling beard. Drink and politics hadmade the Boss a very rich as well as powerful man. The more terrible,therefore, seemed that glimpse of the prison or the gallows which hadrisen before him the night before.
Do you reckon he knows much? he asked anxiously.
McMurdo shook his head gloomily. Hes been here some timeCsixweeks at the least. I guess he didnt come into these parts to look at theprospect. If he has been working among us all that time with the railroadmoney at his back, I should expect that he has got results, and that he haspassed them on.
Theres not a weak man in the lodge, cried McGinty. True as steel,every man of them. And yet, by the Lord! there is that skunk Morris.
What about him? If any man gives us away, it would be he. Ive a mind tosend a couple of the boys round before evening to give him a beating upand see what they can get from him.
Well, there would be no harm in that, McMurdo answered. I wontdeny that I have a liking for Morris and would be sorry to see him cometo harm. He has spoken to me once or twice over lodge matters, andthough he may not see them the same as you or I, he never seemed thesort that squeals. But still it is not for me to stand between him and you.
Ill fix the old devil! said McGinty with an oath. Ive had my eye onhim this year past.
Well, you know best about that, McMurdo answered. But whateveryou do must be to-morrow; for we must lie low until the Pinkerton affairis settled up. We cant afford to set the police buzzing, to-day of all days.
True for you, said McGinty. And well learn from Birdy Edwardshimself where he got his news if we have to cut his heart out first. Did heseem to scent a trap?
McMurdo laughed. I guess I took him on his weak point, he said. Ifhe could get on a good trail of the Scowrers, hes ready to follow it intohell. I took his money, McMurdo grinned as he produced a wad of dollarnotes, and as much more when he has seen all my papers.
What papers?
Well, there are no papers. But I filled him up about constitutions andbooks of rules and forms of membership. He expects to get right down tothe end of everything before he leaves.
Faith, hes right there, said McGinty grimly. Didnt he ask you whyyou didnt bring him the papers?
As if I would carry such things, and me a suspected man, and CaptainMarvin after speaking to me this very day at the depot!
Ay, I heard of that, said McGinty. I guess the heavy end of thisbusiness is coming on to you. We could put him down an old shaft whenweve done with him; but however we work it we cant get past the manliving at Hobsons Patch and you being there to-day.
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. If we handle it right, they can neverprove the killing, said he. No one can see him come to the house afterdark, and Ill lay to it that no one will see him go. Now see here,Councillor, Ill show you my plan and Ill ask you to fit the others into it.
You will all come in good time. Very well. [861] He comes at ten. He is totap three times, and me to open the door for him. Then Ill get behind himand shut it. Hes our man then.
Thats all easy and plain.
Yes; but the next step wants considering. Hes a hard proposition.
Hes heavily armed. Ive fooled him proper, and yet he is likely to be onhis guard. Suppose I show him right into a room with seven men in itwhere he expected to find me alone. There is going to be shooting, andsomebody is going to be hurt.
Thats so.
And the noise is going to bring every damned copper in the townshipon top of it.
I guess you are right.
This is how I should work it. You will all be in the big roomCsame asyou saw when you had a chat with me. Ill open the door for him, showhim into the parlour beside the door, and leave him there while I get thepapers. That will give me the chance of telling you how things areshaping. Then I will go back to him with some faked papers. As he isreading them I will jump for him and get my grip on his pistol arm.
Youll hear me call and in you will rush. The quicker the better; for he isas strong a man as I, and I may have more than I can manage. But I allowthat I can hold him till you come.
Its a good plan, said McGinty. The lodge will owe you a debt forthis. I guess when I move out of the chair I can put a name to the manthats coming after me.
Sure, Councillor, I am little more than a recruit, said McMurdo; buthis face showed what he thought of the great mans compliment.
When he had returned home he made his own preparations for the grimevening in front of him. First he cleaned, oiled, and loaded his Smith &Wesson revolver. Then he surveyed the room in which the detective wasto be trapped. It was a large apartment, with a long deal table in thecentre, and the big stove at one side. At each of the other sides werewindows. There were no shutters on these: only light curtains which drewacross. McMurdo examined these attentively. No doubt it must havestruck him that the apartment was very exposed for so secret a meeting.
Yet its distance from the road made it of less consequence. Finally hediscussed the matter with his fellow lodger. Scanlan, though a Scowrer,was an inoffensive little man who was too weak to stand against theopinion of his comrades, but was secretly horrified by the deeds of bloodat which he had sometimes been forced to assist. McMurdo told himshortly what was intended.
And if I were you, Mike Scanlan, I would take a night off and keepclear of it. There will be bloody work here before morning.
Well, indeed then, Mac, Scanlan answered. Its not the will but thenerve that is wanting in me. When I saw Manager Dunn go down at thecolliery yonder it was just more than I could stand. Im not made for it,same as you or McGinty. If the lodge will think none the worse of me, Illjust do as you advise and leave you to yourselves for the evening.
The men came in good time as arranged. They were outwardlyrespectable citizens, well clad and cleanly; but a judge of faces wouldhave read little hope for Birdy Edwards in those hard mouths andremorseless eyes. There was not a man in the room whose hands had notbeen reddened a dozen times before. They were as hardened to humanmurder as a butcher to sheep.
Foremost, of course, both in appearance and in guilt, was theformidable Boss. [862] Harraway, the secretary, was a lean, bitter manwith a long, scraggy neck and nervous, jerky limbs, a man ofincorruptible fidelity where the finances of the order were concerned, andwith no notion of justice or honesty to anyone beyond. The treasurer,Carter, was a middle-aged man, with an impassive, rather sulkyexpression, and a yellow parchment skin. He was a capable organizer, andthe actual details of nearly every outrage had sprung from his plottingbrain. The two Willabys were men of action, tall, lithe young fellows withdetermined faces, while their companion, Tiger Cormac, a heavy, darkyouth, was feared even by his own comrades for the ferocity of hisdisposition. These were the men who assembled that night under the roofof McMurdo for the killing of the Pinkerton detective.
Their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they had hastened toprime themselves for the work before them. Baldwin and Cormac werealready half-drunk, and the liquor had brought out all their ferocity.
Cormac placed his hands on the stove for an instantCit had been lighted,for the nights were still cold.
That will do, said he, with an oath.
Ay, said Baldwin, catching his meaning. If he is strapped to that, wewill have the truth out of him.
Well have the truth out of him, never fear, said McMurdo. He hadnerves of steel, this man; for though the whole weight of the affair was onhim his manner was as cool and unconcerned as ever. The others markedit and applauded.
You are the one to handle him, said the Boss approvingly. Not awarning will he get till your hand is on his throat. Its a pity there are noshutters to your windows.
McMurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtains tighter.
Sure no one can spy upon us now. Its close upon the hour.
Maybe he wont come. Maybe hell get a sniff of danger, said thesecretary.
Hell come, never fear, McMurdo answered. He is as eager to comeas you can be to see him. Hark to that!
They all sat like wax figures, some with their glasses arrested halfwayto their lips. Three loud knocks had sounded at the door.
Hush! McMurdo raised his hand in caution. An exulting glance wentround the circle, and hands were laid upon hidden weapons.
Not a sound, for your lives! McMurdo whispered, as he went fromthe room, closing the door carefully behind him.
With strained ears the murderers waited. They counted the steps oftheir comrade down the passage. Then they heard him open the outerdoor. There were a few words as of greeting. Then they were aware of astrange step inside and of an unfamiliar voice. An instant later came theslam of the door and the turning of the key in the lock. Their prey wassafe within the trap. Tiger Cormac laughed horribly, and Boss McGintyclapped his great hand across his mouth.
Be quiet, you fool! he whispered. Youll be the undoing of us yet!
There was a mutter of conversation from the next room. It seemedinterminable. Then the door opened, and McMurdo appeared, his fingerupon his lip.
He came to the end of the table and looked round at them. A subtlechange had come over him. His manner was as of one who has great workto do. His face had set into granite firmness. His eyes shone with a fierceexcitement behind his spectacles. He had become a visible leader of men.
They stared at him with eager interest; but he said nothing. Still with thesame singular gaze he looked from man to man.
[863] Well! cried Boss McGinty at last. Is he here? Is Birdy Edwardshere?
Yes, McMurdo answered slowly. Birdy Edwards is here. I am BirdyEdwards!
There were ten seconds after that brief speech during which the roommight have been empty, so profound was the silence. The hissing of akettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to the ear. Seven white faces,all turned upward to this man who dominated them, were set motionlesswith utter terror. Then, with a sudden shivering of glass, a bristle ofglistening rifle barrels broke through each window, while the curtainswere torn from their hangings.
At the sight Boss McGinty gave the roar of a wounded bear andplunged for the half-opened door. A levelled revolver met him there withthe stern blue eyes of Captain Marvin of the Mine Police gleaming behindthe sights. The Boss recoiled and fell back into his chair.
Youre safer there, Councillor, said the man whom they had knownas McMurdo. And you, Baldwin, if you dont take your hand off yourpistol, youll cheat the hangman yet. Pull it out, or by the Lord that mademeC C There, that will do. There are forty armed men round this house,and you can figure it out for yourself what chance you have. Take theirpistols, Marvin!
There was no possible resistance under the menace of those rifles. Themen were disarmed. Sulky, sheepish, and amazed, they still sat round thetable.
Id like to say a word to you before we separate, said the man whohad trapped them. I guess we may not meet again until you see me onthe stand in the courthouse. Ill give you something to think over betweennow and then. You know me now for what I am. At last I can put mycards on the table. I am Birdy Edwards of Pinkertons. I was chosen tobreak up your gang. I had a hard and dangerous game to play. Not a soul,not one soul, not my nearest and dearest, knew that I was playing it. OnlyCaptain Marvin here and my employers knew that. But its over to-night,thank God, and I am the winner!
The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There was unappeasablehatred in their eyes. He read the relentless threat.
Maybe you think that the game is not over yet. Well, I take my chanceof that. Anyhow, some of you will take no further hand, and there aresixty more besides yourselves that will see a jail this night. Ill tell youthis, that when I was put upon this job I never believed there was such asociety as yours. I thought it was paper talk, and that I would prove it so.
They told me it was to do with the Freemen; so I went to Chicago andwas made one. Then I was surer than ever that it was just paper talk; for Ifound no harm in the society, but a deal of good.
Still, I had to carry out my job, and I came to the coal valleys. When Ireached this place I learned that I was wrong and that it wasnt a dimenovel after all. So I stayed to look after it. I never killed a man inChicago. I never minted a dollar in my life. Those I gave you were asgood as any others; but I never spent money better. But I knew the wayinto your good wishes, and so I pretended to you that the law was afterme. It all worked just as I thought.
So I joined your infernal lodge, and I took my share in your councils.
Maybe they will say that I was as bad as you. They can say what theylike, so long as I get you. But what is the truth? The night I joined youbeat up old man Stanger. I could not warn him, for there was no time; butI held your hand, Baldwin, when you would have killed him. If ever Ihave suggested things, so as to keep my place among you, they werethings which I knew I could prevent. I could not save Dunn [864] andMenzies, for I did not know enough; but I will see that their murderers arehanged. I gave Chester Wilcox warning, so that when I blew his house inhe and his folk were in hiding. There was many a crime that I could notstop; but if you look back and think how often your man came home theother road, or was down in town when you went for him, or stayedindoors when you thought he would come out, youll see my work.
You blasted traitor! hissed McGinty through his closed teeth.
Ay, John McGinty, you may call me that if it eases your smart. Youand your like have been the enemy of God and man in these parts. It tooka man to get between you and the poor devils of men and women that youheld under your grip. There was just one way of doing it, and I did it. Youcall me a traitor; but I guess theres many a thousand will call me adeliverer that went down into hell to save them. Ive had three months ofit. I wouldnt have three such months again if they let me loose in thetreasury at Washington for it. I had to stay till I had it all, every man andevery secret right here in this hand. Id have waited a little longer if ithadnt come to my knowledge that my secret was coming out. A letterhad come into the town that would have set you wise to it all. Then I hadto act and act quickly.
Ive nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comes Illdie the easier when I think of the work I have done in this valley. Now,Marvin, Ill keep you no more. Take them in and get it over.
There is little more to tell. Scanlan had been given a sealed note to beleft at the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a mission which he had acceptedwith a wink and a knowing smile. In the early hours of the morning abeautiful woman and a much muffled man boarded a special train whichhad been sent by the railroad company, and made a swift, unbrokenjourney out of the land of danger. It was the last time that ever either Ettieor her lover set foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten days later they weremarried in Chicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness of the wedding.
The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place where theiradherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. In vain theystruggled. In vain the money of the lodgeCmoney squeezed by blackmailout of the whole countrysideCwas spent like water in the attempt to savethem. That cold, clear, unimpassioned statement from one who knewevery detail of their lives, their organization, and their crimes wasunshaken by all the wiles of their defenders. At last after so many yearsthey were broken and scattered. The cloud was lifted forever from thevalley.
McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whining when thelast hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared his fate. Fifty-odd hadvarious degrees of imprisonment. The work of Birdy Edwards wascomplete.
And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. There wasanother hand to be played, and yet another and another. Ted Baldwin, forone, had escaped the scaffold; so had the Willabys; so had several othersof the fiercest spirits of the gang. For ten years they were out of the world,and then came a day when they were free once moreCa day whichEdwards, who knew his men, was very sure would be an end of his life ofpeace. They had sworn an oath on all that they thought holy to have hisblood as a vengeance for their comrades. And well they strove to keeptheir vow!
From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near success that itwas sure [865] that the third would get him. From Chicago he went undera changed name to California, and it was there that the light went for atime out of his life when Ettie Edwards died. Once again he was nearlykilled, and once again under the name of Douglas he worked in a lonelyca.on, where with an English partner named Barker he amassed a fortune.
At last there came a warning to him that the bloodhounds were on histrack once more, and he clearedConly just in timeCfor England. Andthence came the John Douglas who for a second time married a worthymate, and lived for five years as a Sussex county gentleman, a life whichended with the strange happenings of which we have heard.
EpilogueTHE POLICE trial had passed, in which the case of John Douglas wasreferred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions, at which he wasacquitted as having acted in self-defense.
Get him out of England at any cost, wrote Holmes to the wife. Thereare forces here which may be more dangerous than those he has escaped.
There is no safety for your husband in England.
Two months had gone by, and the case had to some extent passed fromour minds. Then one morning there came an enigmatic note slipped intoour letterbox. Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Dear me! said this singular epistle.
There was neither superscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaintmessage; but Holmes showed unwonted seriousness.
Deviltry, Watson! he remarked, and sat long with a clouded brow.
Late last night Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought up a message that agentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter was of the utmostimportance. Close at the heels of his messenger came Cecil Barker, ourfriend of the moated Manor House. His face was drawn and haggard.
Ive had bad newsCterrible news, Mr. Holmes, said he.
I feared as much, said Holmes.
You have not had a cable, have you?
I have had a note from someone who has.
Its poor Douglas. They tell me his name is Edwards; but he willalways be Jack Douglas of Benito Ca.on to me. I told you that theystarted together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeks ago.
Exactly.
The ship reached Cape Town last night. I received this cable fromMrs. Douglas this morning:
Jack has been lost overboard in gale off St. Helena. No oneknows how accident occurred.
IVY DOUGLAS.
Ha! It came like that, did it? said Holmes thoughtfully. Well, Ive nodoubt it was well stage-managed.
You mean that you think there was no accident?
None in the world.
He was murdered?
Surely!
[866] So I think also. These infernal Scowrers, this cursed vindictivenest of criminalsC C
No, no, my good sir, said Holmes. There is a master hand here. It isno case of sawed-off shotguns and clumsy six-shooters. You can tell anold master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I see one.
This crime is from London, not from America.
But for what motive?
Because it is done by a man who cannot afford to fail, one whosewhole unique position depends upon the fact that all he does mustsucceed. A great brain and a huge organization have been turned to theextinction of one man. It is crushing the nut with the triphammerCanabsurd extravagance of energyC but the nut is very effectually crushed allthe same.
How came this man to have anything to do with it?
I can only say that the first word that ever came to us of the businesswas from one of his lieutenants. These Americans were well advised.
Having an English job to do, they took into partnership, as any foreigncriminal could do, this great consultant in crime. From that moment theirman was doomed. At first he would content himself by using hismachinery in order to find their victim. Then he would indicate how thematter might be treated. Finally, when he read in the reports of the failureof this agent, he would step in himself with a master touch. You heard mewarn this man at Birlstone Manor House that the coming danger wasgreater than the past. Was I right?
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger. Donot tell me that we have to sit down under this? Do you say that no onecan ever get level with this king devil?
No, I dont say that, said Holmes, and his eyes seemed to be lookingfar into the future. I dont say that he cant be beat. But you must giveme time Cyou must give me time!
We all sat in silence for some minutes while those fateful eyes stillstrained to pierce the veil.
David Soucek, 1998 His Last BowThe Complete Sherlock HolmesHIS LAST BOWThe Strand Magazine from December 1911 withThe Disappearance of Lady Frances CarfaxThe Adventure of Wisteria LodgePart 1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott EcclesPart 2. The Tiger of San PedroFirst published in the Colliers Weekly Magazine, Aug. 1908, with 6illustrations by Frederic Dorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Sept.-Oct.
1908, with 10 illustrations by Arthur Twidle.
The Adventure of the Cardboard BoxFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1893, with 8 illustrations bySidney Paget. The story was not included in the first English edition of TheMemoirs of Sherlock Holmes, thought in the first American edition by Harperin 1894.
The Adventure of the Red CircleFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Mar. - Apr. 1911, with 3 illustrationsby H. M. Brock and 1 by Joseph Simpson, and in the American edition of theStrand Magazine, Apr. - May 1911, illustrated as above.
The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington PlansFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1908, with 6 illustrations byArthur Twidle, and in the Colliers Weekly Magazine, Dec. 1908, with 5illustrations by Frederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Dying DetectiveFirst published in Colliers Weekly Magazine, Nov. 1913, with 3 illustrationsby Frederic Dorr Steele, and in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1913, with 4illustrations by Sidney Paget's brother, Walter Paget.
The Disappearance of Lady Frances CarfaxFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1911, with 5 illustrations byAlec Ball, and in the American Magazine, Dec. 1911, with 5 illustrations byFrederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Devils FootFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1910, with 7 illustrations byGilbert Halliday, and in the American edition of Strand Magazine in Jan. -Feb. 1911 with 8 illustrations by Gilbert Halliday (one additional illustrationwas required due the two-part publication).
His Last BowFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Sept. 1917, with 3 illustrations by A.
Gilbert, and in the Colliers Weekly Magazine, Sept. 1917, with 5 illustrationsby Frederic Dorr Steele.
The whole collection was first published in Oct. 1917 by John Murray in an edition of10,684 copies. First American edition published by the G. H. Doran Co. in New Yorkalso in Oct. 1917.
PREFACETHE friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is stillalive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks ofrheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon thedowns five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided betweenphilosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused themost princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that hisretirement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war causedhim, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual andpractical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical resultswhich are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences whichhave lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as tocomplete the volume.
JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.
David Soucek, 1998His Last BowWISTERIA LODGEI.
THE SINGULAR EXPERIENCE OF MR. JOHN SCOTT ECCLESI FIND it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy daytowards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received atelegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He madeno remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in frontof the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, andcasting an occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he turned upon mewith a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters, saidhe. How do you define the word grotesque?
StrangeCremarkable, I suggested.
He shook his head at my definition.
There is surely something more than that, said he; some underlyingsuggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back tosome of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-sufferingpublic, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into thecriminal. Think of that little affair of the red-headed men. That wasgrotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt atrobbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orangepips, which led straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me onthe alert.
Have you it there? I asked.
He read the telegram aloud.
[870] Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience.
May I consult you?
SCOTT ECCLES,Post-Office, Charing Cross.
Man or woman? I asked.
Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paidtelegram. She would have come.
Will you see him?
My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we lockedup Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself topieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built.
Life is commonplace; the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seemto have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then,whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it mayprove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client.
A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout,tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into theroom. His life history was written in his heavy features and pompousmanner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was aConservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional tothe last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his nativecomposure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angrycheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into hisbusiness.
I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes,
said he. Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It ismost improperCmost outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation.
He swelled and puffed in his anger.
Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles, said Holmes in a soothing voice.
May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?
Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police,and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I could notleave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with whom I haveabsolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your nameC C
Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?
What do you mean?
Holmes glanced at his watch.
It is a quarter-past two, he said. Your telegram was dispatched aboutone. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing thatyour disturbance dates from the moment of your waking.
Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshavenchin.
You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I wasonly too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running roundmaking inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, youknow, and they said that Mr. Garcias rent was paid up all right and thateverything was in order at Wisteria Lodge.
Come, come, sir, said Holmes, laughing. You are like my friend, Dr.
Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost.
Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence,exactly what those events are [871] which have sent you out unbrushedand unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search ofadvice and assistance.
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventionalappearance.
Im sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware thatin my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But I will tell youthe whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I amsure, that there has been enough to excuse me.
But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, andMrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-lookingindividuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector Gregson ofScotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capableofficer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his comrade asInspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary.
We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in thisdirection. He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. Are you Mr.
John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?
I am.
We have been following you about all the morning.
You traced him through the telegram, no doubt, said Holmes.
Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here.
But why do you follow me? What do you want?
We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which led upto the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, nearEsher.
Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struckfrom his astonished face.
Dead? Did you say he was dead?
Yes, sir, he is dead.
But how? An accident?
Murder, if ever there was one upon earth.
Good God! This is awful! You dont meanCyou dont mean that I amsuspected?
A letter of yours was found in the dead mans pocket, and we know byit that you had planned to pass last night at his house.
So I did.
Oh, you did, did you?
Out came the official notebook.
Wait a bit, Gregson, said Sherlock Holmes. All you desire is a plainstatement, is it not?
And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used againsthim.
Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. Ithink, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, Isuggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and thatyou proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had younever been interrupted.
Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to hisface. With a dubious glance at the inspectors notebook, he plunged atonce into his extraordinary statement.
I am a bachelor, said he, and being of a sociable turn I cultivate alarge number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewercalled Melville, living at Albemarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at histable that I met some weeks [872] ago a young fellow named Garcia. Hewas, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way withthe embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, andas good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life.
In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I.
He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days ofour meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and itended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, WisteriaLodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher tofulfil this engagement.
He had described his household to me before I went there. He livedwith a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all hisneeds. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping for him.
Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he hadpicked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I rememberthat he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart ofSurrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good dealqueerer than I thought.
I drove to the placeCabout two miles on the south side of Esher. Thehouse was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curvingdrive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old,tumble-down building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulledup on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-staineddoor, I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew soslightly. He opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with agreat show of cordiality. I was handed over to the manservant, amelancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, tomy bedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our dinner was tte--tte,and though my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed tocontinually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I couldhardly understand him. He continually drummed his fingers on the table,gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of nervous impatience. The dinneritself was neither well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presenceof the taciturn servant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you thatmany times in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent someexcuse which would take me back to Lee.
One thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing uponthe business that you two gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothingof it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by theservant. I noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even moredistrait and strange than before. He gave up all pretence at conversationand sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own thoughts, but he madeno remark as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Sometime later Garcia looked in at my doorCthe room was dark at the timeCandasked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for havingdisturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one oclock. I dropped offafter this and slept soundly all night.
And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke it wasbroad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. I hadparticularly asked to be called at eight, so I was very much astonished atthis forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for the servant. There was noresponse. I rang again and again, with the same result. Then I came to theconclusion that the bell was out of order. I huddled on my clothes andhurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper to order some hot water.
You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there. Ishouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to [873]
room. All were deserted. My host had shown me which was his bedroomthe night before, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I turned the handleand walked in. The room was empty, and the bed had never been slept in.
He had gone with the rest. The foreign host, the foreign footman, theforeign cook, all had vanished in the night! That was the end of my visitto Wisteria Lodge.
Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added thisbizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes.
Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique, said he. MayI ask, sir, what you did then?
I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim of someabsurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the hall door behindme, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. I called at AllanBrothers, the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was fromthis firm that the villa had been rented. It struck me that the wholeproceeding could hardly be for the purpose of making a fool of me, andthat the main object must be to get out of the rent. It is late in March, soquarter-day is at hand. But this theory would not work. The agent wasobliged to me for my warning, but told me that the rent had been paid inadvance. Then I made my way to town and called at the Spanish embassy.
The man was unknown there. After this I went to see Melville, at whosehouse I had first met Garcia, but I found that he really knew rather lessabout him than I did. Finally when I got your reply to my wire I came outto you, since I gather that you are a person who gives advice in difficultcases. But now, Mr. Inspector, I understand, from what you said whenyou entered the room, that you can carry the story on, and that sometragedy has occurred. I can assure you that every word I have said is thetruth, and that, outside of what I have told you, I know absolutely nothingabout the fate of this man. My only desire is to help the law in everypossible way.
I am sure of it, Mr. Scott EcclesCI am sure of it, said InspectorGregson in a very amiable tone. I am bound to say that everything whichyou have said agrees very closely with the facts as they have come to ournotice. For example, there was that note which arrived during dinner. Didyou chance to observe what became of it?
Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into the fire.
What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?
The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was onlyredeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almosthidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a slow smile hedrew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket.
It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he overpitched it. I picked thisout unburned from the back of it.
Holmes smiled his appreciation.
You must have examined the house very carefully to find a singlepellet of paper.
I did, Mr. Holmes. Its my way. Shall I read it, Mr. Gregson?
The Londoner nodded.
The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper withoutwatermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two snips with ashort-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times and sealed withpurple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object.
It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says:
[874] Our own colours, green and white. Green open, whiteshut. Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize.
Godspeed. D.
It is a womans writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but the address iseither done with another pen or by someone else. It is thicker and bolder,as you see.
A very remarkable note, said Holmes, glancing it over. I mustcompliment you, Mr. Baynes, upon your attention to detail in yourexamination of it. A few trifling points might perhaps be added. The ovalseal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-linkCwhat else is of such a shape? Thescissors were bent nail scissors. Short as the two snips are, you candistinctly see the same slight curve in each.
The country detective chuckled.
I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it, but I see there was alittle over, he said. Im bound to say that I make nothing of the noteexcept that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual, wasat the bottom of it.
Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this conversation.
I am glad you found the note, since it corroborates my story, said he.
But I beg to point out that I have not yet heard what has happened to Mr.
Garcia, nor what has become of his household.
As to Garcia, said Gregson, that is easily answered. He was founddead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his home.
His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or somesuch instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded. It is a lonelycorner, and there is no house within a quarter of a mile of the spot. He hadapparently been struck down first from behind, but his assailant had goneon beating him long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault.
There are no footsteps nor any clue to the criminals.
Robbed?
No, there was no attempt at robbery.
This is very painfulCvery painful and terrible, said Mr. Scott Ecclesin a querulous voice, but it is really uncommonly hard upon me. I hadnothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion andmeeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?
Very simply, sir, Inspector Baynes answered. The only documentfound in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that youwould be with him on the night of his death. It was the envelope of thisletter which gave us the dead mans name and address. It was after ninethis morning when we reached his house and found neither you noranyone else inside it. I wired to Mr. Gregson to run you down in Londonwhile I examined Wisteria Lodge. Then I came into town, joined Mr.
Gregson, and here we are.
I think now, said Gregson, rising, we had best put this matter into anofficial shape. You will come round with us to the station, Mr. ScottEccles, and let us have your statement in writing.
Certainly, I will come at once. But I retain your services, Mr. Holmes.
I desire you to spare no expense and no pains to get at the truth.
My friend turned to the country inspector.
I suppose that you have no objection to my collaborating with you,Mr. Baynes?
Highly honoured, sir, I am sure.
You appear to have been very prompt and business-like in all that youhave done. Was there any clue, may I ask, as to the exact hour that theman met his death?
[875] He had been there since one oclock. There was rain about thattime, and his death had certainly been before the rain.
But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes, cried our client. Hisvoice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it was he who addressed mein my bedroom at that very hour.
Remarkable, but by no means impossible, said Holmes, smiling.
You have a clue? asked Gregson.
On the face of it the case is not a very complex one, though it certainlypresents some novel and interesting features. A further knowledge of factsis necessary before I would venture to give a final and definite opinion.
By the way, Mr. Baynes, did you find anything remarkable besides thisnote in your examination of the house?
The detective looked at my friend in a singular way.
There were, said he, one or two very remarkable things. Perhapswhen I have finished at the police-station you would care to come out andgive me your opinion of them.
I am entirely at your service, said Sherlock Holmes, ringing the bell.
You will show these gentlemen out, Mrs. Hudson, and kindly send theboy with this telegram. He is to pay a five-shilling reply.
We sat for some time in silence after our visitors had left. Holmessmoked hard, with his brows drawn down over his keen eyes, and hishead thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of the man.
Well, Watson, he asked, turning suddenly upon me, what do youmake of it?
I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles.
But the crime?
Well, taken with the disappearance of the mans companions, I shouldsay that they were in some way concerned in the murder and had fledfrom justice.
That is certainly a possible point of view. On the face of it you mustadmit, however, that it is very strange that his two servants should havebeen in a conspiracy against him and should have attacked him on the onenight when he had a guest. They had him alone at their mercy every othernight in the week.
Then why did they fly?
Quite so. Why did they fly? There is a big fact. Another big fact is theremarkable experience of our client, Scott Eccles. Now, my dear Watson,is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity to furnish an explanation whichwould cover both these big facts? If it were one which would also admitof the mysterious note with its very curious phraseology, why, then itwould be worth accepting as a temporary hypothesis. If the fresh factswhich come to our knowledge all fit themselves into the scheme, then ourhypothesis may gradually become a solution.
But what is our hypothesis?
Holmes leaned back in his chair with half-closed eyes.
You must admit, my dear Watson, that the idea of a joke isimpossible. There were grave events afoot, as the sequel showed, and thecoaxing of Scott Eccles to Wisteria Lodge had some connection withthem.
But what possible connection?
Let us take it link by link. There is, on the face of it, somethingunnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the youngSpaniard and Scott Eccles. It was the former who forced the pace. Hecalled upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after hefirst met him, and he kept in close touch [876] with him until he got himdown to Esher. Now, what did he want with Eccles? What could Ecclessupply? I see no charm in the man. He is not particularly intelligentCnot aman likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin. Why, then, was hepicked out from all the other people whom Garcia met as particularlysuited to his purpose? Has he any one outstanding quality? I say that hehas. He is the very type of conventional British respectability, and thevery man as a witness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself howneither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement,extraordinary as it was.
But what was he to witness?
Nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they gone anotherway. That is how I read the matter.
I see, he might have proved an alibi.
Exactly, my dear Watson; he might have proved an alibi. We willsuppose, for arguments sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodge areconfederates in some design. The attempt, whatever it may be, is to comeoff, we will say, before one oclock. By some juggling of the clocks it isquite possible that they may have got Scott Eccles to bed earlier than hethought, but in any case it is likely that when Garcia went out of his wayto tell him that it was one it was really not more than twelve. If Garciacould do whatever he had to do and be back by the hour mentioned he hadevidently a powerful reply to any accusation. Here was this irreproachableEnglishman ready to swear in any court of law that the accused was in hishouse all the time. It was an insurance against the worst.
Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disappearance of the others?
I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think there are any insuperabledifficulties. Still, it is an error to argue in front of your data. You findyourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your theories.
And the message?
How did it run? Our own colours, green and white. Sounds likeracing. Green open, white shut. That is clearly a signal. Main stair, firstcorridor, seventh right, green baize. This is an assignation. We may finda jealous husband at the bottom of it all. It was clearly a dangerous quest.
She would not have said Godspeed had it not been so. DCthat shouldbe a guide.
The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that D stands for Dolores, acommon female name in Spain.
Good, Watson, very goodCbut quite inadmissible. A Spaniard wouldwrite to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note is certainly English.
Well, we can only possess our souls in patience until this excellentinspector comes back for us. Meanwhile we can thank our lucky fatewhich has rescued us for a few short hours from the insufferable fatiguesof idleness.
An answer had arrived to Holmess telegram before our Surrey officerhad returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it in his notebookwhen he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. He tossed it across with alaugh.
We are moving in exalted circles, said he.
The telegram was a list of names and addresses:
Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George Ffolliott, OxshottTowers; Mr. Hynes Hynes, J. P., Purdey Place; Mr. James BakerWilliams, Forton Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev.
Joshua Stone, Nether Walsling.
[877] This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations,
said Holmes. No doubt Baynes, with his methodical mind, has alreadyadopted some similar plan.
I dont quite understand.
Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion thatthe message received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or anassignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, and in order tokeep this tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door ina corridor, it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one. It isequally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two fromOxshott, since Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped, accordingto my reading of the facts, to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time to availhimself of an alibi, which would only be valid up to one oclock. As thenumber of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted theobvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles andobtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram, and the other endof our tangled skein must lie among them.
It was nearly six oclock before we found ourselves in the pretty Surreyvillage of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion.
Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and found comfortablequarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the company of the detective onour visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March evening, with asharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a fit setting for the wildcommon over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us.
David Soucek, 1998 Wisteria Lodge, Part 2His Last BowWISTERIA LODGEII.
THE TIGER OF SAN PEDROA COLD and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a highwooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. Thecurved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-blackagainst a slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of thedoor there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light.
Theres a constable in possession, said Baynes. Ill knock at thewindow. He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand onthe pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from achair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. Aninstant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened thedoor, the candle wavering in his trembling hand.
Whats the matter, Walters? asked Baynes sharply.
The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and gave a longsigh of relief.
I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I dontthink my nerve is as good as it was.
Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve inyour body.
Well, sir, its this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in thekitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had comeagain.
That what had come again?
The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window.
What was at the window, and when?
It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was sittingreading in the chair. I dont know what made me look up, but there was aface looking in [878] at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir, what a faceit was! Ill see it in my dreams.
Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable.
I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and theres no use to deny it.
It wasnt black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know, but akind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then there wasthe size of itCit was twice yours, sir. And the look of itCthe great staringgoggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir,I couldnt move a finger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and wasgone. Out I ran and through the shrubbery, but thank God there was noone there.
If I didnt know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a blackmark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on dutyshould never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him. Isuppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?
That, at least, is very easily settled, said Holmes, lighting his littlepocket lantern. Yes, he reported, after a short examination of the grassbed, a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all on the same scaleas his foot he must certainly have been a giant.
What became of him?
He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for theroad.
Well, said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, whoeverhe may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, hes gone for thepresent, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.
Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house.
The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to acareful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing withthem, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been takenover with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx andCo., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had beenalready made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer savethat he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few novels, twoof them in Spanish, an old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar wereamong the personal property.
Nothing in all this, said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from roomto room. But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen.
It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with astraw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the cook.
The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the debris oflast nights dinner.
Look at this, said Baynes. What do you make of it?
He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at theback of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that itwas difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that it wasblack and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish,human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it was a mummifiednegro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey.
Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or human. Adouble band of white shells was strung round the centre of it.
Very interestingCvery interesting, indeed! said Holmes, peering atthis sinister relic. Anything more?
In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.
The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieceswith the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed to thewattles on the severed head.
[879] A white cock, said he. Most interesting! It is really a verycurious case.
But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. Fromunder the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.
Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of charredbone.
Something has been killed and something has been burned. We rakedall these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says thatthey are not human.
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive andinstructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seemsuperior to your opportunities.
Inspector Bayness small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
Youre right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of thissort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What do youmake of these bones?
A lamb, I should say, or a kid.
And the white cock?
Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique.
Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with somevery strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his companionsfollow him and kill him? If they did we should have them, for every portis watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my own views arevery different.
You have a theory then?
And Ill work it myself, Mr. Holmes. Its only due to my own credit todo so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should be gladto be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help.
Holmes laughed good-humouredly.
Well, well, Inspector, said he. Do you follow your path and I willfollow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you careto apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish in thishouse, and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere. Aurevoir and good luck!
I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost uponanyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as everto the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued eagerness andsuggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner whichassured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he said nothing, andafter mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me to share the sport andlend my humble help to the capture without distracting that intent brainwith needless interruption. All would come round to me in due time.
I waited, thereforeCbut to my ever-deepening disappointment I waitedin vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. Onemorning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that hehad visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent hisdays in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number ofvillage gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated.
Im sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you, heremarked. It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the hedgesand the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin box, and anelementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be spent. Heprowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor show ofplants which he would bring back of an evening.
[880] Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes.
His fat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered ashe greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that littlewe gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. Imust admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when, some fivedays after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in large letters:
THE OXSHOTT MYSTERYA SOLUTIONARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSINHolmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read theheadlines.
By Jove! he cried. You dont mean that Baynes has got him?
Apparently, said I as I read the following report:
Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouringdistrict when it was learned late last night that an arrest had beeneffected in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will beremembered that Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found deadon Oxshott Common, his body showing signs of extreme violence,and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled, whichappeared to show their participation in the crime. It was suggested,but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may have hadvaluables in the house, and that their abstraction was the motive ofthe crime. Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes, who hasthe case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives, andhe had good reason to believe that they had not gone far but werelurking in some retreat which had been already prepared. It wascertain from the first, however, that they would eventually bedetected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or twotradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through thewindow, was a man of most remarkable appearanceCbeing a hugeand hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronouncednegroid type. This man has been seen since the crime, for he wasdetected and pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening,when he had the audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. InspectorBaynes, considering that such a visit must have some purpose inview and was likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned thehouse but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man walkedinto the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in whichConstable Downing was badly bitten by the savage. Weunderstand that when the prisoner is brought before themagistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and thatgreat developments are hoped from his capture.
Really we must see Baynes at once, cried Holmes, picking up his hat.
We will just catch him before he starts. We hurried down the villagestreet and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just leavinghis lodgings.
Youve seen the paper, Mr. Holmes? he asked, holding one out to us.
Yes, Baynes, Ive seen it. Pray dont think it a liberty if I give you aword of friendly warning.
Of warning, Mr. Holmes?
I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convincedthat you are on the right lines. I dont want you to commit yourself too farunless you are sure.
[881] Youre very kind, Mr. Holmes.
I assure you I speak for your good.
It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant overone of Mr. Bayness tiny eyes.
We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. Thats what I amdoing.
Oh, very good, said Holmes. Dont blame me.
No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our ownsystems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine.
Let us say no more about it.
Youre welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage,as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downingsthumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly speaks a wordof English, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts.
And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?
I didnt say so, Mr. Holmes; I didnt say so. We all have our littleways. You try yours and I will try mine. Thats the agreement.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. I cantmake the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says, wemust each try our own way and see what comes of it. But theressomething in Inspector Baynes which I cant quite understand.
Just sit down in that chair, Watson, said Sherlock Holmes when wehad returned to our apartment at the Bull. I want to put you in touch withthe situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me show you theevolution of this case so far as I have been able to follow it. Simple as ithas been in its leading features, it has none the less presented surprisingdifficulties in the way of an arrest. There are gaps in that direction whichwe have still to fill.
We will go back to the note which was handed in to Garcia upon theevening of his death. We may put aside this idea of Bayness thatGarcias servants were concerned in the matter. The proof of this lies inthe fact that it was he who had arranged for the presence of Scott Eccles,which could only have been done for the purpose of an alibi. It wasGarcia, then, who had an enterprise, and apparently a criminal enterprise,in hand that night in the course of which he met his death. I say criminal
because only a man with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi.
Who, then, is most likely to have taken his life? Surely the person againstwhom the criminal enterprise was directed. So far it seems to me that weare on safe ground.
We can now see a reason for the disappearance of Garcias household.
They were all confederates in the same unknown crime. If it came offwhen Garcia returned, any possible suspicion would be warded off by theEnglishmans evidence, and all would be well. But the attempt was adangerous one, and if Garcia did not return by a certain hour it wasprobable that his own life had been sacrificed. It had been arranged,therefore, that in such a case his two subordinates were to make for someprearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in aposition afterwards to renew their attempt. That would fully explain thefacts, would it not?
The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out before me. Iwondered, as I always did, how it had not been obvious to me before.
But why should one servant return?
We can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious,something [882] which he could not bear to part with, had been leftbehind. That would explain his persistence, would it not?
Well, what is the next step?
The next step is the note received by Garcia at the dinner. It indicatesa confederate at the other end. Now, where was the other end? I havealready shown you that it could only lie in some large house, and that thenumber of large houses is limited. My first days in this village weredevoted to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanicalresearches I made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and anexamination of the family history of the occupants. One house, and onlyone, riveted my attention. It is the famous old Jacobean grange of HighGable, one mile on the farther side of Oxshott, and less than half a milefrom the scene of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to prosaicand respectable people who live far aloof from romance. But Mr.
Henderson, of High Gable, was by all accounts a curious man to whomcurious adventures might befall. I concentrated my attention, therefore,upon him and his household.
A singular set of people, WatsonCthe man himself the most singular ofthem all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext, but I seemed to readin his dark, deep-set, brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of mytrue business. He is a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair,great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer, and the air of anemperorCa fierce, masterful man, with a red-hot spirit behind hisparchment face. He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics,for he is yellow and sapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend andsecretary, Mr. Lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily,suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. You see,Watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreignersCone atWisteria Lodge and one at High GableCso our gaps are beginning to close.
These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centre of thehousehold; but there is one other person who for our immediate purposemay be even more important. Henderson has two childrenCgirls of elevenand thirteen. Their governess is a Miss Burnet, an Englishwoman of fortyor thereabouts. There is also one confidential manservant. This littlegroup forms the real family, for they travel about together, and Hendersonis a great traveller, always on the move. It is only within the last fewweeks that he has returned, after a years absence, to High Gable. I mayadd that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be he canvery easily satisfy them. For the rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen,maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of a large Englishcountry-house.
So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from my ownobservation. There are no better instruments than discharged servantswith a grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. I call it luck, but itwould not have come my way had I not been looking out for it. AsBaynes remarks, we all have our systems. It was my system whichenabled me to find John Warner, late gardener of High Gable, sacked in amoment of temper by his imperious employer. He in turn had friendsamong the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of theirmaster. So I had my key to the secrets of the establishment.
Curious people, Watson! I dont pretend to understand it all yet, butvery curious people anyway. Its a double-winged house, and the servantslive on one side, the family on the other. Theres no link between the twosave for Hendersons own servant, who serves the familys meals.
Everything is carried to a certain door, [883] which forms the oneconnection. Governess and children hardly go out at all, except into thegarden. Henderson never by any chance walks alone. His dark secretary islike his shadow. The gossip among the servants is that their master isterribly afraid of something. Sold his soul to the devil in exchange formoney, says Warner, and expects his creditor to come up and claim hisown. Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. Theyare very violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip,and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of thecourts.
Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this new information.
We may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and wasan invitation to Garcia to carry out some attempt which had already beenplanned. Who wrote the note? It was someone within the citadel, and itwas a woman. Who then but Miss Burnet, the governess? All ourreasoning seems to point that way. At any rate, we may take it as ahypothesis and see what consequences it would entail. I may add thatMiss Burnets age and character make it certain that my first idea thatthere might be a love interest in our story is out of the question.
If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate ofGarcia. What, then, might she be expected to do if she heard of his death?
If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed. Still, inher heart, she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who hadkilled him and would presumably help so far as she could to have revengeupon them. Could we see her, then, and try to use her? That was my firstthought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss Burnet has not beenseen by any human eye since the night of the murder. From that eveningshe has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps met her end on thesame night as the friend whom she had summoned? Or is she merely aprisoner? There is the point which we still have to decide.
You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson. There isnothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Our whole scheme mightseem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. The womans disappearancecounts for nothing, since in that extraordinary household any member ofit might be invisible for a week. And yet she may at the present momentbe in danger of her life. All I can do is to watch the house and leave myagent, Warner, on guard at the gates. We cant let such a situationcontinue. If the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves.
What do you suggest?
I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of an outhouse.
My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if we can strike at thevery heart of the mystery.
It was not, I must confess, a very alluring prospect. The old house withits atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants, theunknown dangers of the approach, and the fact that we were puttingourselves legally in a false position all combined to damp my ardour. Butthere was something in the ice-cold reasoning of Holmes which made itimpossible to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend.
One knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be found. I claspedhis hand in silence, and the die was cast.
But it was not destined that our investigation should have soadventurous an ending. It was about five oclock, and the shadows of theMarch evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rustic rushed intoour room.
Theyve gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the last train. The ladybroke away, and Ive got her in a cab downstairs.
[884] Excellent, Warner! cried Holmes, springing to his feet.
Watson, the gaps are closing rapidly.
In the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion. Shebore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recenttragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but as she raised it andturned her dull eyes upon us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in thecentre of the broad gray iris. She was drugged with opium.
I watched at the gate, same as you advised, Mr. Holmes, said ouremissary, the discharged gardener. When the carriage came out Ifollowed it to the station. She was like one walking in her sleep, but whenthey tried to get her into the train she came to life and struggled. Theypushed her into the carriage. She fought her way out again. I took herpart, got her into a cab, and here we are. I shant forget the face at thecarriage window as I led her away. Id have a short life if he had hiswayCthe black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil.
We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple of cups of thestrongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug. Bayneshad been summoned by Holmes, and the situation rapidly explained tohim.
Why, sir, youve got me the very evidence I want, said the inspectorwarmly, shaking my friend by the hand. I was on the same scent as youfrom the first.
What! You were after Henderson?
Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery at HighGable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you downbelow. It was just who would get his evidence first.
Then why did you arrest the mulatto?
Baynes chuckled.
I was sure Henderson, as he calls himself, felt that he was suspected,and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he wasin any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make him believe that our eyeswere off him. I knew he would be likely to clear off then and give us achance of getting at Miss Burnet.
Holmes laid his hand upon the inspectors shoulder.
You will rise high in your profession. You have instinct and intuition,
said he.
Baynes flushed with pleasure.
Ive had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week.
Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight. But he musthave been hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away. However, yourman picked her up, and it all ends well. We cant arrest without herevidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get a statement the better.
Every minute she gets stronger, said Holmes, glancing at thegoverness. But tell me, Baynes, who is this man Henderson?
Henderson, the inspector answered, is Don Murillo, once called theTiger of San Pedro.
The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history of the man came back to mein a flash. He had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrantthat had ever governed any country with a pretence to civilization. Strong,fearless, and energetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to imposehis odious vices upon a cowering people for ten or twelve years. Hisname was a terror through all Central America. At the end of that timethere was a universal rising against him. But he was as cunning as he wascruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyedhis treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted [885] adherents.
It was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day.
The dictator, his two children, his secretary, and his wealth had allescaped them. From that moment he had vanished from the world, and hisidentity had been a frequent subject for comment in the European press.
Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro, said Baynes. If youlook it up you will find that the San Pedro colours are green and white,same as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson he called himself, but Itraced him back, Paris and Rome and Madrid to Barcelona, where his shipcame in in 86. Theyve been looking for him all the time for theirrevenge, but it is only now that they have begun to find him out.
They discovered him a year ago, said Miss Burnet, who had sat upand was now intently following the conversation. Once already his lifehas been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him. Now, again, it isthe noble, chivalrous Garcia who has fallen, while the monster goes safe.
But another will come, and yet another, until some day justice will bedone; that is as certain as the rise of to-morrows sun. Her thin handsclenched, and her worn face blanched with the passion of her hatred.
But how come you into this matter, Miss Burnet? asked Holmes.
How can an English lady join in such a murderous affair?
I join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justicecan be gained. What does the law of England care for the rivers of bloodshed years ago in San Pedro, or for the shipload of treasure which thisman has stolen? To you they are like crimes committed in some otherplanet. But we know. We have learned the truth in sorrow and insuffering. To us there is no fiend in hell like Juan Murillo, and no peace inlife while his victims still cry for vengeance.
No doubt, said Holmes, he was as you say. I have heard that he wasatrocious. But how are you affected?
I will tell you it all. This villains policy was to murder, on one pretextor another, every man who showed such promise that he might in timecome to be a dangerous rival. My husbandCyes, my real name is SignoraVictor DurandoCwas the San Pedro minister in London. He met me andmarried me there. A nobler man never lived upon earth. Unhappily,Murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and hadhim shot. With a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me withhim. His estates were confiscated, and I was left with a pittance and abroken heart.
Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you have justdescribed. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest anddearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let thematter rest. They banded themselves into a society which should never bedissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we had discoveredin the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to hishousehold and keep the others in touch with his movements. This I wasable to do by securing the position of governess in his family. He littleknew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whosehusband he had hurried at an hours notice into eternity. I smiled on him,did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attempt was made inParis and failed. We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe tothrow off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he hadtaken upon his first arrival in England.
But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that hewould [886] return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highestdignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions ofhumble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. Hecould do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution and neverwent out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was known in thedays of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the avengermight find him. On a certain evening, which had been prearranged, I sentmy friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert andcontinually changed his room. I was to see that the doors were open andthe signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive wasto give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed.
But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited thesuspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me and sprang uponme just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged me to myroom and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and therethey would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen howto escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate, theyconcluded that my murder was too dangerous. But they determined to getrid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my armround until I gave him the address. I swear that he might have twisted itoff had I understood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed thenote which I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it by thehand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, savethat it was Murillos hand who struck him down, for Lopez had remainedto guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushesthrough which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. At firstthey were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as adetected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquirytheir own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would beopen to further attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease,since such a death might frighten others from the task.
All would now have been well for them had it not been for myknowledge of what they had done. I have no doubt that there were timeswhen my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorizedby the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spiritCsee thisstab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my armsCand agag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to callfrom the window. For five days this cruel imprisonment continued, withhardly enough food to hold body and soul together. This afternoon a goodlunch was brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew that I hadbeen drugged. In a sort of dream I remember being half-led, half-carriedto the carriage; in the same state I was conveyed to the train. Only then,when the wheels were almost moving, did I suddenly realize that myliberty lay in my own hands. I sprang out, they tried to drag me back, andhad it not been for the help of this good man, who led me to the cab, Ishould never have broken away. Now, thank God, I am beyond theirpower forever.
We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. It wasHolmes who broke the silence.
Our difficulties are not over, he remarked, shaking his head. Ourpolice work ends, but our legal work begins.
Exactly, said I. A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act ofself-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in the background, but it isonly on this one that they can be tried.
[887] Come, come, said Baynes cheerily, I think better of the lawthan that. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold blood withthe object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fearfrom him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants ofHigh Gable at the next Guildford Assizes.
It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still to elapsebefore the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with his deserts. Wily andbold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by enteringa lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by the back-gate intoCurzon Square. From that day they were seen no more in England. Somesix months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, hissecretary, were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial atMadrid. The crime was ascribed to Nihilism, and the murderers werenever arrested. Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a printeddescription of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterful features,the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. We could notdoubt that justice, if belated, had come at last.
A chaotic case, my dear Watson, said Holmes over an evening pipe.
It will not be possible for you to present it in that compact form which isdear to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns two groups ofmysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highly respectablepresence of our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion shows me that thedeceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct ofself-preservation. It is remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfectjungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector,have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along thecrooked and winding path. Is there any point which is not quite clear toyou?
The object of the mulatto cooks return?
I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it. Theman was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro, and thiswas his fetish. When his companion and he had fled to some prearrangedretreatC already occupied, no doubt by a confederateCthe companion hadpersuaded him to leave so compromising an article of furniture. But themulattos heart was with it, and he was driven back to it next day, when,on reconnoitring through the window, he found policeman Walters inpossession. He waited three days longer, and then his piety or hissuperstition drove him to try once more. Inspector Baynes, who, with hisusual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me, had reallyrecognized its importance and had left a trap into which the creaturewalked. Any other point, Watson?
The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mystery ofthat weird kitchen?
Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his notebook.
I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up that and otherpoints. Here is a quotation from Eckermanns Voodooism and the NegroidReligions:
The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importancewithout certain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate hisunclean gods. In extreme cases these rites take the form of humansacrifices followed by cannibalism. The more usual victims are awhite cock, which is plucked in pieces alive, or a black goat,whose throat is cut and body burned.
So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. It isgrotesque, [888] Watson, Holmes added, as he slowly fastened hisnotebook, but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one stepfrom the grotesque to the horrible.
David Soucek, 1998 The Cardboard BoxHis Last BowTHE CARDBOARD BOXIN CHOOSING a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mentalqualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far aspossible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism,while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunatelyimpossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and achronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details whichare essential to his statement and so give a false impression of theproblem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, hasprovided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes ofwhat proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, andthe glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house acrossthe road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were thesame walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Ourblinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading andre-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself,my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold,and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper wasuninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and Iyearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. Adepleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as tomy companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightestattraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions ofpeople, with his filaments stretching out and running through them,responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime.
Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his onlychange was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town totrack down his brother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossedaside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brownstudy. Suddenly my companions voice broke in upon my thoughts:
You are right, Watson, said he. It does seem a most preposterousway of settling a dispute.
Most preposterous! I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how hehad echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and staredat him in blank amazement.
What is this, Holmes? I cried. This is beyond anything which Icould have imagined.
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
You remember, said he, that some little time ago when I read youthe passage in one of Poes sketches in which a close reasoner follows theunspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matteras a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I wasconstantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.
[889] Oh, no!
Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly withyour eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enterupon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity ofreading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had beenin rapport with you.
But I was still far from satisfied. In the example which you read tome, said I, the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of theman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap ofstones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly inmy chair, and what clues can I have given you?
You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as themeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithfulservants.
Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?
Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourselfrecall how your reverie commenced?
No, I cannot.
Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was theaction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with avacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newlyframed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in yourface that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far.
Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecherwhich stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at thewall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that ifthe portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space andcorrespond with Gordons picture over there.
You have followed me wonderfully! I exclaimed.
So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts wentback to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying thecharacter in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but youcontinued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You wererecalling the incidents of Beechers career. I was well aware that youcould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook onbehalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember yourexpressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about itthat I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also.
When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when Iobserved that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched Iwas positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which wasshown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your facegrew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadnessand horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your ownold wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that theridiculous side of this method of settling international questions hadforced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it waspreposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had beencorrect.
Absolutely! said I. And now that you have explained it, I confessthat I am as amazed as before.
It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should nothave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulitythe other day. But I [890] have in my hands here a little problem whichmay prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay in thoughtreading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to theremarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, ofCross Street, Croydon?
No, I saw nothing.
Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here itis, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to readit aloud.
I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read theparagraph indicated. It was headed, A Gruesome Packet.
Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been madethe victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practicaljoke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached tothe incident. At two oclock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrappedin brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box wasinside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushingwas horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed.
The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morningbefore. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the moremysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a mostretired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is arare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago,however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house tothree young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of onaccount of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion thatthis outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by theseyouths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sendingher these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to thetheory by the fact that one of these students came from the north ofIreland, and, to the best of Miss Cushings belief, from Belfast. In themeantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one ofthe very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.
So much for the Daily Chronicle, said Holmes as I finished reading. Nowfor our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says:
I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope ofclearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything towork upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but alarge number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have nomeans of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender.
The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us inany way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the mostfeasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be veryhappy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the policestationall day.
What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down toCroydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?
I was longing for something to do.
You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. Ill beback in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigarcase.
A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less [891]
oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade,as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. Awalk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.
It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, withwhitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors.
Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by asmall servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which wewere ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, andgrizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A workedantimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stoolbeside her.
They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things, said she as Lestrade entered.
I wish that you would take them away altogether.
So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes,should have seen them in your presence.
Why in my presence, sir?
In case he wished to ask any questions.
What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothingwhatever about it?
Quite so, madam, said Holmes in his soothing way. I have no doubt thatyou have been annoyed more than enough already over this business.
Indeed, I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is somethingnew for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. Iwont have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you mustgo to the outhouse.
It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestradewent in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paperand some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat downwhile Holmes examined, one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed tohim.
The string is exceedingly interesting, he remarked, holding it up to the lightand sniffing at it. What do you make of this string, Lestrade?
It has been tarred.
Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked thatMiss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double frayon each side. This is of importance.
I cannot see the importance, said Lestrade.
The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot isof a peculiar character.
It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note to that effect, said Lestradecomplacently.
So much for the string, then, said Holmes, smiling, now for the boxwrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observeit? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather stragglingcharacters: Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon. Done with a broad-pointedpen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word Croydon has beenoriginally spelled with an i, which has been changed to y. The parcel wasdirected, then, by a manCthe printing is distinctly masculineC of limitededucation and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The boxis a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumbmarks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used forpreserving hides and other of the [892] coarser commercial purposes. Andembedded in it are these very singular enclosures.
He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee heexamined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side ofhim, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager faceof our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for awhile in deep meditation.
You have observed, of course, said he at last, that the ears are not a pair.
Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some studentsfrom the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as apair.
Precisely. But this is not a practical joke.
You are sure of it?
The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms areinjected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh,too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happenif a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be thepreservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly notrough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we areinvestigating a serious crime.
A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companions words and sawthe stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminaryseemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background.
Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced.
There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt, said he, but there aremuch stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led amost quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. Shehas hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth,then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unlessshe is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter aswe do?
That is the problem which we have to solve, Holmes answered, and for mypart I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that adouble murder has been committed. One of these ears is a womans, small,finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a mans, sun-burned,discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumablydead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. Thepacket was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred onWednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who buttheir murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We maytake it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must havesome strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? Itmust have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But inthat case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, whyshould she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one wouldhave been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished toshield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give hisname. There is a tangle here which needs straightening out. He had been talkingin a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now hesprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.
[893] I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing, said he.
In that case I may leave you here, said Lestrade, for I have another smallbusiness on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing.
You will find me at the police-station.
We shall look in on our way to the train, answered Holmes. A moment laterhe and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietlyworking away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered andlooked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes.
I am convinced, sir, she said, that this matter is a mistake, and that theparcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to thegentleman from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemyin the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?
I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing, said Holmes, taking aseat beside her. I think that it is more than probableC C he paused, and I wassurprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness atthe ladys profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be readupon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of hissilence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat,grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I couldsee nothing which could account for my companions evident excitement.
There were one or two questionsC C
Oh, I am weary of questions! cried Miss Cushing impatiently.
You have two sisters, I believe.
How could you know that?
I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portraitgroup of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedlyyourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be nodoubt of the relationship.
Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.
And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your youngersister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. Iobserve that she was unmarried at the time.
You are very quick at observing.
That is my trade.
Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few daysafterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he wasso fond of her that he couldnt abide to leave her for so long, and he got into theLiverpool and London boats.
Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?
No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once.
That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drinkwhen he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! itwas a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me,then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we dontknow how things are going with them.
It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she feltvery deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, butended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details abouther brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of herformer lodgers, [894] the medical students, she gave us a long account of theirdelinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listenedattentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time.
About your second sister, Sarah, said he. I wonder, since you are bothmaiden ladies, that you do not keep house together.
Ah! you dont know Sarahs temper or you would wonder no more. I tried itwhen I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when wehad to part. I dont want to say a word against my own sister, but she was alwaysmeddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah.
You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations.
Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there tolive in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for JimBrowner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing buthis drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given hera bit of his mind, and that was the start of it.
Thank you, Miss Cushing, said Holmes, rising and bowing. Your sisterSarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I amvery sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as yousay, you have nothing whatever to do.
There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it.
How far to Wallington? he asked.
Only about a mile, sir.
Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple asthe case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection withit. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby.
Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab,with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our driver pulledup at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. Mycompanion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when thedoor opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat,appeared on the step.
Is Miss Cushing at home? asked Holmes.
Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill, said he. She has been suffering sinceyesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, Icannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I shouldrecommend you to call again in ten days. He drew on his gloves, closed thedoor, and marched off down the street.
Well, if we cant we cant, said Holmes, cheerfully.
Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much.
I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However,I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby,where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friendLestrade at the police-station.
We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk aboutnothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased hisown Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jewbrokers in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him toPaganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdoteafter anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced andthe hot glare had [895] softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves atthe police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door.
A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes, said he.
Ha! It is the answer! He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpledit into his pocket. Thats all right, said he.
Have you found out anything?
I have found out everything!
What! Lestrade stared at him in amazement. You are joking.
I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed,and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it.
And the criminal?
Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards andthrew it over to Lestrade.
That is the name, he said. You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow nightat the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all inconnection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimeswhich present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson. We strodeoff together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face atthe card which Holmes had thrown him.
The case, said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our cigars that night inour rooms at Baker Street, is one where, as in the investigations which you havechronicled under the names of A Study in Scarlet and of The Sign of Four,
we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I havewritten to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are nowwanting, and which he will only get after he has secured his man. That he maybe safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is astenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and, indeed,it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard.
Your case is not complete, then? I asked.
It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revoltingbusiness is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you haveformed your own conclusions.
I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the manwhom you suspect?
Oh! it is more than a suspicion.
And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications.
On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run overthe principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutelyblank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We weresimply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What didwe see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent ofany secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. Itinstantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one ofthese. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at ourleisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the verysingular contents of the little yellow box.
The string was of the quality which is used by sailmakers aboard ship, and atonce a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed[896] that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had beenposted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is somuch more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all theactors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes.
When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was toMiss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, andalthough her initial was S it might belong to one of the others as well. In thatcase we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basisaltogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up thispoint. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistakehad been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The factwas that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the sametime narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely.
As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the bodywhich varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive anddiffers from all other ones. In last years Anthropological Journal you will findtwo short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examinedthe ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted theiranatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at MissCushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear whichI had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was thesame shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the sameconvolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear.
Of course I at once saw the enormous importance of the observation. It wasevident that the victim was a blood relation, and probably a very close one. Ibegan to talk to her about her family, and you remember that she at once gave ussome exceedingly valuable details.
In the first place, her sisters name was Sarah, and her address had untilrecently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake hadoccurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward,married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimatewith Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near theBrowners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stopto all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion toaddress a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her oldaddress.
And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We hadlearned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passionsCyou remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth inorder to be nearer to his wifeCsubject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking.
We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that amanCpresumably a seafaring manChad been murdered at the same time.
Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And whyshould these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probablybecause during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing aboutthe events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats callsat Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner hadcommitted the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day,Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet.
A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although Ithought [897] it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it beforegoing further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner,and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many graveobjections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram tomy friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs.
Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then wewent on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah.
I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had beenreproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very importantinformation, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of thebusiness the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alonecould have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willingto help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already.
However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the newsof the arrival of the packetCfor her illness dated from that timeChad such aneffect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that sheunderstood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to waitsome time for any assistance from her.
However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waitingfor us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothingcould be more conclusive. Mrs. Browners house had been closed for more thanthree days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see herrelatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had leftaboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames to-morrownight. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and Ihave no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.
Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later hereceived a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, anda typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap.
Lestrade has got him all right, said Holmes, glancing up at me. Perhaps itwould interest you to hear what he says.
MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:
In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to testour theories [the we is rather fine, Watson, is it not?] I went downto the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 P.M., and boarded the S. S. May Day,belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company.
On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name ofJames Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such anextraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve himof his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chestwith his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is abig, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthyCsomething likeAldridge, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up whenhe heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple ofriver police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heartin him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. Webrought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought theremight be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as mostsailors have, we got nothing [898] for our trouble. However, we find thatwe shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before theinspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, ofcourse, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We hadthree copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as Ialways thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obligedto you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,Yours very truly,G. LESTRADE.
Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one, remarked Holmes,but I dont think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However,let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as madebefore Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has theadvantage of being verbatim.
 Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a cleanbreast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I dont care a plugwhich you do. I tell you Ive not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I dontbelieve I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes its his face, butmost generally its hers. Im never without one or the other before me. He looksfrowning and black-like, but she has a kind o surprise upon her face. Ay, thewhite lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that hadseldom looked anything but love upon her before.
 But it was Sarahs fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight onher and set the blood rotting in her veins! Its not that I want to clear myself. Iknow that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would haveforgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if thatwoman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved meCthats theroot of the businessCshe loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hatewhen she knew that I thought more of my wifes footmark in the mud than I didof her whole body and soul.
 There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, thesecond was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Marywas twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was longwhen we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better womanthan my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew intoa month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves.
 I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and allwas as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that itcould have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it?
 I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the shipwere held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way Isaw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black andquick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eyelike a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought ofher, and that I swear as I hope for Gods mercy.
 It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or tocoax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. Butone evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found mywife out, but Sarah at home. Wheres Mary? I asked. Oh, she has gone to pay[899] some accounts. I was impatient and paced up and down the room. Cantyou be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim? says she. Its a badcompliment to me that you cant be contented with my society for so short atime. Thats all right, my lass, said I, putting out my hand towards her in akindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if theywere in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no needfor her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then shestood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me onthe shoulder. Steady old Jim! said she, and with a kind o mocking laugh, sheran out of the room.
 Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and sheis a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us Cabesotted foolCbut I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her.
Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was abit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent,but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had beenand what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had inmy pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and moreirritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all.
Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see nowhow she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wifes mind against me,but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then Ibroke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not havedone it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgustedwith me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And thenthis Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.
 It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us,for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. Hewas a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the worldand could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I wont deny it, andhe had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think theremust have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For amonth he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind thatharm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made mesuspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever.
 It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and asI walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wifes face. But as shesaw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look ofdisappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairnwhose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then Ishould have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my tempergets loose. Mary saw the devils light in my eyes, and she ran forward with herhands on my sleeve. Dont, Jim, dont! says she. Wheres Sarah? I asked.
In the kitchen, says she. Sarah, says I as I went in, this man Fairbairn isnever to darken my door again. Why not? says she. Because I order it.
Oh! says she, if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am notgood enough for it either. You can do what you like, says I, but if Fairbairnshows his face here again Ill send you one of his ears for a keepsake. She wasfrightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the sameevening she left my house.
 Well, I dont know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of thiswoman, [900] or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife byencouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off andlet lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round tohave tea with her sister and him. How often she went I dont know, but Ifollowed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over theback garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that Iwould kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me,sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace oflove between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, andwhen the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well.
 Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so shewent back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things joggedon much the same as ever at home. And then came this last week and all themisery and ruin.
 It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage ofseven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that wehad to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home,thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe shewould be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned intomy own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting bythe side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for meas I stood watching them from the footpath.
 I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was notmy own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had beendrinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. Theressomething throbbing in my head now, like a dockers hammer, but that morningI seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears.
 Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick inmy hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too,and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at therailway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quiteclose to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I,but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked alongthe Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I sawthem hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought,no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water.
 It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of ahaze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat formyself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they weregoing nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shorebefore I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there werewe three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when theysaw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. Heswore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen deathin my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head likean egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw herarms round him, crying out to him, and calling him Alec. I struck again, andshe lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. IfSarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out myknife, [901] andCwell, there! Ive said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joywhen I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of whather meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove aplank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner wouldthink that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. Icleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having asuspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for SarahCushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast.
 There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you likewith me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannotshut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at meCstaring at me as they staredwhen my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killingme slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead beforemorning. You wont put me alone into a cell, sir? For pitys sake dont, and mayyou be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.
What is the meaning of it, Watson? said Holmes solemnly as he laid downthe paper. What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear?
It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which isunthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem towhich human reason is as far from an answer as ever.
David Soucek, 1998 The Red CircleHis Last BowTHE RED CIRCLEWELL, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause foruneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value,should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me. Sospoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in whichhe was arranging and indexing some of his recent material.
But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex.
She held her ground firmly.
You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year, she saidCMr.
Fairdale Hobbs.
Ah, yesCa simple matter.
But he would never cease talking of itCyour kindness, sir, and the wayin which you brought light into the darkness. I remembered his wordswhen I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you could if you onlywould.
Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to do himjustice, upon the side of kindliness. The two forces made him lay downhis gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his chair.
Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, then. You dont object totobacco, I take it? Thank you, WatsonCthe matches! You are uneasy, as Iunderstand, because your new lodger remains in his rooms and youcannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger youoften would not see me for weeks on end.
No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I cantsleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving therefrom early morning [902] to late at night, and yet never to catch so muchas a glimpse of himCits more than I can stand. My husband is as nervousover it as I am, but he is out at his work all day, while I get no rest from it.
What is he hiding for? What has he done? Except for the girl, I am allalone in the house with him, and its more than my nerves can stand.
Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon thewomans shoulder. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when hewished. The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated featuressmoothed into their usual commonplace. She sat down in the chair whichhe had indicated.
If I take it up I must understand every detail, said he. Take time toconsider. The smallest point may be the most essential. You say that theman came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnights board and lodging?
He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a smallsitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house.
Well?
He said, Ill pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my ownterms. Im a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns little, and the moneymeant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to methen and there. You can have the same every fortnight for a long time tocome if you keep the terms, he said. If not, Ill have no more to do withyou. 
What were the terms?
Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house. That wasall right. Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was to be left entirely tohimself and never, upon any excuse, to be disturbed.
Nothing wonderful in that, surely?
Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. He has been there forten days, and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl has once set eyesupon him. We can hear that quick step of his pacing up and down, up anddown, night, morning, and noon; but except on that first night he hasnever once gone out of the house.
Oh, he went out the first night, did he?
Yes, sir, and returned very lateCafter we were all in bed. He told meafter he had taken the rooms that he would do so and asked me not to barthe door. I heard him come up the stair after midnight.
But his meals?
It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang,leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again whenhe has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wantsanything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it.
Prints it?
Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, nothing more. Heres one Ibrought to show youCSOAP. Heres anotherCMATCH. This is one he leftthe first morningCDAILY GAZETTE. I leave that paper with his breakfastevery morning.
Dear me, Watson, said Holmes, staring with great curiosity at theslips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, this is certainlya little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but why print? Printing is aclumsy process. Why not write? What would it suggest, Watson?
That he desired to conceal his handwriting.
But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady should have aword of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why suchlaconic messages?
[903] I cannot imagine.
It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The words arewritten with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pattern.
You will observe that the paper is torn away at the side here after theprinting was done, so that the S of SOAP is partly gone. Suggestive,Watson, is it not?
Of caution?
Exactly. There was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, somethingwhich might give a clue to the persons identity. Now, Mrs. Warren, yousay that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What age wouldhe be?
Youngish, sirCnot over thirty.
Well, can you give me no further indications?
He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was a foreigner byhis accent.
And he was well dressed?
Very smartly dressed, sirCquite the gentleman. Dark clothesCnothingyou would note.
He gave no name?
No, sir.
And has had no letters or callers?
None.
But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?
No, sir; he looks after himself entirely.
Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What about his luggage?
He had one big brown bag with himCnothing else.
Well, we dont seem to have much material to help us. Do you saynothing has come out of that roomCabsolutely nothing?
The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shook out twoburnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table.
They were on his tray this morning. I brought them because I hadheard that you can read great things out of small ones.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
There is nothing here, said he. The matches have, of course, beenused to light cigarettes. That is obvious from the shortness of the burntend. Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or cigar. But, dear me!
this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was beardedand moustached, you say?
Yes, sir.
I dont understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven mancould have smoked this. Why, Watson, even your modest moustachewould have been singed.
A holder? I suggested.
No, no; the end is matted. I suppose there could not be two people inyour rooms, Mrs. Warren?
No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it can keep life in one.
Well, I think we must wait for a little more material. After all, youhave nothing to complain of. You have received your rent, and he is not atroublesome lodger, though he is certainly an unusual one. He pays youwell, and if he chooses to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours.
We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have somereason to think that there is a guilty reason for it. Ive taken up the matter,and I wont lose sight of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, and relyupon my assistance if it should be needed.
[904] There are certainly some points of interest in this case, Watson,
he remarked when the landlady had left us. It may, of course, be trivialCindividual eccentricity; or it may be very much deeper than appears on thesurface. The first thing that strikes one is the obvious possibility that theperson now in the rooms may be entirely different from the one whoengaged them.
Why should you think so?
Well, apart from this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive that the onlytime the lodger went out was immediately after his taking the rooms? Hecame backCor someone came backCwhen all witnesses were out of theway. We have no proof that the person who came back was the personwho went out. Then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke Englishwell. This other, however, prints match when it should have beenmatches. I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary,which would give the noun but not the plural. The laconic style may be toconceal the absence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there aregood reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers.
But for what possible end?
Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line ofinvestigation. He took down the great book in which, day by day, hefiled the agony columns of the various London journals. Dear me! saidhe, turning over the pages, what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings!
What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuablehunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! Thisperson is alone and cannot be approached by letter without a breach ofthat absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any messageto reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement through anewspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately we need concernourselves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts ofthe last fortnight. Lady with a black boa at Princes Skating ClubCthatwe may pass. Surely Jimmy will not break his mothers heartC thatappears to be irrelevant. If the lady who fainted in the Brixton busC shedoes not interest me. Every day my heart longsC C Bleat, WatsonCunmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible. Listen to this: Bepatient. Will find some sure means of communication. Meanwhile, thiscolumn. G. That is two days after Mrs. Warrens lodger arrived. Itsounds plausible, does it not? The mysterious one could understandEnglish, even if he could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the traceagain. Yes, here we areC three days later. Am making successfularrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will pass. G. Nothingfor a week after that. Then comes something much more definite: Thepath is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember codeagreedCone A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G. That was inyesterdays paper, and there is nothing in to-days. Its all veryappropriate to Mrs. Warrens lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I dontdoubt that the affair will grow more intelligible.
So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on thehearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete satisfactionupon his face.
Hows this, Watson? he cried, picking up the paper from the table. High red house with white stone facings. Third floor. Second windowleft. After dusk. G. That is definite enough. I think after breakfast wemust make a little reconnaissance of Mrs. Warrens neighbourhood. Ah,Mrs. Warren! what news do you bring us this morning?
[905] Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosiveenergy which told of some new and momentous development.
Its a police matter, Mr. Holmes! she cried. Ill have no more of it!
He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I would have gone straight upand told him so, only I thought it was but fair to you to take your opinionfirst. But Im at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knockingmy old man aboutC C
Knocking Mr. Warren about?
Using him roughly, anyway.
But who used him roughly?
Ah! thats what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr.
Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylights, in Tottenham CourtRoad. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning hehad not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behindhim, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that wasbeside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door andshot him out. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he neversaw what became of the cab. When he picked himself up he found he wason Hampstead Heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on thesofa, while I came straight round to tell you what had happened.
Most interesting, said Holmes. Did he observe the appearance ofthese menCdid he hear them talk?
No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he was lifted up as if bymagic and dropped as if by magic. Two at least were in it, and maybethree.
And you connect this attack with your lodger?
Well, weve lived there fifteen years and no such happenings evercame before. Ive had enough of him. Moneys not everything. Ill havehim out of my house before the day is done.
Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think that thisaffair may be very much more important than appeared at first sight. It isclear now that some danger is threatening your lodger. It is equally clearthat his enemies, lying in wait for him near your door, mistook yourhusband for him in the foggy morning light. On discovering their mistakethey released him. What they would have done had it not been a mistake,we can only conjecture.
Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?
I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, Mrs. Warren.
I dont see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the door. Ialways hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after I leave the tray.
He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselves and seehim do it.
The landlady thought for a moment.
Well, sir, theres the box-room opposite. I could arrange a lookingglass,maybe, and if you were behind the doorC C
Excellent! said Holmes. When does he lunch?
About one, sir.
Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in time. For the present, Mrs.
Warren, good-bye.
At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of Mrs.
Warrens houseCa high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme Street, anarrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the British Museum.
Standing as it does near the corner of the street, it commands a view downHowe Street, with its more pretentious [906] houses. Holmes pointed witha chuckle to one of these, a row of residential flats, which projected sothat they could not fail to catch the eye.
See, Watson! said he.  High red house with stone facings. There isthe signal station all right. We know the place, and we know the code; sosurely our task should be simple. Theres a to let card in that window. Itis evidently an empty flat to which the confederate has access. Well, Mrs.
Warren, what now?
I have it all ready for you. If you will both come up and leave yourboots below on the landing, Ill put you there now.
It was an excellent hiding-place which she had arranged. The mirrorwas so placed that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly see the dooropposite. We had hardly settled down in it, and Mrs. Warren left us, whena distant tinkle announced that our mysterious neighbour had rung.
Presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it down upon a chairbeside the closed door, and then, treading heavily, departed. Crouchingtogether in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror.
Suddenly, as the landladys footsteps died away, there was the creak of aturning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out and liftedthe tray from the chair. An instant later it was hurriedly replaced, and Icaught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring at the narrowopening of the box-room. Then the door crashed to, the key turned oncemore, and all was silence. Holmes twitched my sleeve, and together westole down the stair.
I will call again in the evening, said he to the expectant landlady. Ithink, Watson, we can discuss this business better in our own quarters.
My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct, said he, speaking fromthe depths of his easy-chair. There has been a substitution of lodgers.
What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinarywoman, Watson.
She saw us.
Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is certain. The generalsequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? A couple seek refuge inLondon from a very terrible and instant danger. The measure of thatdanger is the rigour of their precautions. The man, who has some workwhich he must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute safety while hedoes it. It is not an easy problem, but he solved it in an original fashion,and so effectively that her presence was not even known to the landladywho supplies her with food. The printed messages, as is now evident,were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing. The man cannotcome near the woman, or he will guide their enemies to her. Since hecannot communicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony columnof a paper. So far all is clear.
But what is at the root of it?
Ah, yes, WatsonCseverely practical, as usual! What is at the root of itall? Mrs. Warrens whimsical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes amore sinister aspect as we proceed. This much we can say: that it is noordinary love escapade. You saw the womans face at the sign of danger.
We have heard, too, of the attack upon the landlord, which wasundoubtedly meant for the lodger. These alarms, and the desperate needfor secrecy, argue that the matter is one of life or death. The attack uponMr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, arethemselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male.
It is very curious and complex, Watson.
Why should you go further in it? What have you to gain from it?
[907] What, indeed? It is art for arts sake, Watson. I suppose whenyou doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of a fee?
For my education, Holmes.
Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with thegreatest for the last. This is an instructive case. There is neither moneynor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. When dusk comeswe should find ourselves one stage advanced in our investigation.
When we returned to Mrs. Warrens rooms, the gloom of a Londonwinter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone ofcolour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and theblurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from the darkened sittingroomof the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high upthrough the obscurity.
Someone is moving in that room, said Holmes in a whisper, his gauntand eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. Yes, I can see hisshadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Now he is peeringacross. He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. Now he begins toflash. Take the message also, Watson, that we may check each other. Asingle flashCthat is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it?
Twenty. So did I. That should mean T. ATCthats intelligible enough!
Another T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. Now,thenCTENTA. Dead stop. That cant be all, Watson? ATTENTA gives nosense. Nor is it any better as three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. are apersons initials. There it goes again! Whats that? ATTECwhy, it is thesame message over again. Curious, Watson, very curious! Now he is offonce more! ATCwhy, he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTA threetimes! How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. He haswithdrawn from the window. What do you make of it, Watson?
A cipher message, Holmes.
My companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension. And not avery obscure cipher, Watson, said he. Why, of course, it is Italian! TheA means that it is addressed to a woman. Beware! Beware! Beware!
Hows that, Watson?
I believe you have hit it.
Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to makeit more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit; he is coming to the windowonce more.
Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk ofthe small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. Theycame more rapidly than beforeCso rapid that it was hard to follow them.
PERICOLOCpericoloCeh, whats that, Watson? Danger, isnt it? Yes,by Jove, its a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what onearthC C
The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window haddisappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the loftybuilding, with its tiers of shining casements. That last warning cry hadbeen suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The same thought occurredon the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up from where he crouched bythe window.
This is serious, Watson, he cried. There is some devilry goingforward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? I should putScotland Yard in touch with this businessCand yet, it is too pressing for usto leave.
Shall I go for the police?
We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bear somemore innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselvesand see what we can make of it.
2[908] As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at thebuilding which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, Icould see the shadow of a head, a womans head, gazing tensely, rigidly,out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of thatinterrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats a man,muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. Hestarted as the hall-light fell upon our faces.
Holmes! he cried.
Why, Gregson! said my companion as he shook hands with theScotland Yard detective. Journeys end with lovers meetings. Whatbrings you here?
The same reasons that bring you, I expect, said Gregson. How yougot on to it I cant imagine.
Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. Ive been takingthe signals.
Signals?
Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came overto see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object incontinuing the business.
Wait a bit! cried Gregson eagerly. Ill do you this justice, Mr.
Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didnt feel stronger forhaving you on my side. Theres only the one exit to these flats, so wehave him safe.
Who is he?
Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must giveus best this time. He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which acabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler whichstood on the far side of the street. May I introduce you to Mr. SherlockHolmes? he said to the cabman. This is Mr. Leverton, of PinkertonsAmerican Agency.
The hero of the Long Island cave mystery? said Holmes. Sir, I ampleased to meet you.
The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven,hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. I am on the trailof my life now, Mr. Holmes, said he. If I can get GorgianoC C
What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?
Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, weve learned all abouthim in America. We know he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet wehave nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from NewYork, and Ive been close to him for a week in London, waiting someexcuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him to groundin that big tenement house, and theres only the one door, so he cant slipus. Theres three folk come out since he went in, but Ill swear he wasntone of them.
Mr. Holmes talks of signals, said Gregson. I expect, as usual, heknows a good deal that we dont.
In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appearedto us. The American struck his hands together with vexation.
Hes on to us! he cried.
Why do you think so?
Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending outmessages to an accompliceCthere are several of his gang in London. Thensuddenly, just as by [909] your own account he was telling them that therewas danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from thewindow he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in someway come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must actright away if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?
That we go up at once and see for ourselves.
But we have no warrant for his arrest.
He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances, saidGregson. That is good enough for the moment. When we have him bythe heels we can see if New York cant help us to keep him. Ill take theresponsibility of arresting him now.
Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, butnever in that of courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperatemurderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing withwhich he would have ascended the official staircase of Scotland Yard.
The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmlyelbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the Londonforce.
The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar.
Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute silence and darkness. Istruck a match and lit the detectives lantern. As I did so, and as theflicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the dealboards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood.
The red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, thedoor of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light fullblaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over his shoulders.
In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure ofan enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible inits contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood,lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees weredrawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of hisbroad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knifedriven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gonedown like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand amost formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, andnear it a black kid glove.
By George! its Black Gorgiano himself! cried the Americandetective. Someone has got ahead of us this time.
Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes, said Gregson. Why,whatever are you doing?
Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing itbackward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into thedarkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor.
I rather think that will be helpful, said he. He came over and stood indeep thought while the two professionals were examining the body. Yousay that three people came out from the flat while you were waitingdownstairs, said he at last. Did you observe them closely?
Yes, I did.
Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?
Yes; he was the last to pass me.
That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we havea very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you.
[910] Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London.
Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to youraid.
We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was atall and beautiful womanCthe mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowlyshe advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, hereyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure onthe floor.
You have killed him! she muttered. Oh, Dio mio, you have killedhim! Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she spranginto the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced, herhands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and athousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It was terribleand amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight.
Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare.
But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed GiuseppeGorgiano. Is it not so?
We are police, madam.
She looked round into the shadows of the room.
But where, then, is Gennaro? she asked. He is my husband, GennaroLucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where isGennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with allmy speed.
It was I who called, said Holmes.
You! How could you call?
Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here wasdesirable. I knew that I had only to flash Vieni and you would surelycome.
The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion.
I do not understand how you know these things, she said. GiuseppeGorgianoChow did heC C She paused, and then suddenly her face lit upwith pride and delight. Now I see it! My Gennaro! My splendid,beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, withhis own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gennaro, how wonderfulyou are! What woman could ever be worthy of such a man?
Well, Mrs. Lucca, said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon theladys sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a Notting Hillhooligan, I am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; butyouve said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at theYard.
One moment, Gregson, said Holmes. I rather fancy that this ladymay be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. Youunderstand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for thedeath of the man who lies before us? What you say may be used inevidence. But if you think that he has acted from motives which are notcriminal, and which he would wish to have known, then you cannot servehim better than by telling us the whole story.
Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing, said the lady. He was adevil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world who wouldpunish my husband for having killed him.
In that case, said Holmes, my suggestion is that we lock this door,leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room, and formour opinion after we have heard what it is that she has to say to us.
Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sitting-room ofSignora Lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative of those sinisterevents, the ending of which we had chanced to witness. She spoke inrapid and fluent but very [911] unconventional English, which, for thesake of clearness, I will make grammatical.
I was born in Posilippo, near Naples, said she, and was the daughterof Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of thatpart. Gennaro was in my fathers employment, and I came to love him, asany woman must. He had neither money nor positionCnothing but hisbeauty and strength and energyCso my father forbade the match. We fledtogether, were married at Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the moneywhich would take us to America. This was four years ago, and we havebeen in New York ever since.
Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a serviceto an Italian gentlemanChe saved him from some ruffians in the placecalled the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. His name was TitoCastalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm of Castalotteand Zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of New York. Signor Zambais an invalid, and our new friend Castalotte has all power within the firm,which employs more than three hundred men. He took my husband intohis employment, made him head of a department, and showed his goodwilltowards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and Ibelieve that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my husband and Iloved him as if he were our father. We had taken and furnished a littlehouse in Brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when that blackcloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky.
One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a fellowcountrymanback with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had comealso from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify, for you havelooked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that of a giant buteverything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and terrifying. His voicewas like thunder in our little house. There was scarce room for the whirlof his great arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, allwere exaggerated and monstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with suchenergy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty streamof words. His eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was aterrible and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead!
He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no morehappy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit pale andlistless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon socialquestions which made up our visitors conversation. Gennaro saidnothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read in his face someemotion which I had never seen there before. At first I thought that it wasdislike. And then, gradually, I understood that it was more than dislike. Itwas fearCa deep, secret, shrinking fear. That nightCthe night that I read histerrorCI put my arms round him and I implored him by his love for meand by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me whythis huge man overshadowed him so.
He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My poorGennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed againsthim and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of life, had joineda Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which was allied to the oldCarbonari. The oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, butonce within its rule no escape was possible. When we had fled to AmericaGennaro thought that he had cast it all off forever. What was his horrorone evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated him inNaples, the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of Death inthe south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come toNew [912] York to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted abranch of this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennaro told meand showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a RedCircle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be heldupon a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered.
That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for sometime that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening,he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my husbandthose terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always turned uponme. One night his secret came out. I had awakened what he called love
within himCthe love of a bruteC a savage. Gennaro had not yet returnedwhen he came. He pushed his way in, seized me in his mighty arms,hugged me in his bears embrace, covered me with kisses, and imploredme to come away with him. I was struggling and screaming whenGennaro entered and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fledfrom the house which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemythat we made that night.
A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it with aface which told me that something dreadful had occurred. It was worsethan we could have imagined possible. The funds of the society wereraised by blackmailing rich Italians and threatening them with violenceshould they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our dear friend andbenefactor, had been approached. He had refused to yield to threats, andhe had handed the notices to the police. It was resolved now that such anexample should be made of him as would prevent any other victim fromrebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he and his house should beblown up with dynamite. There was a drawing of lots as to who shouldcarry out the deed. Gennaro saw our enemys cruel face smiling at him ashe dipped his hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in somefashion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandatefor murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend, or hewas to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades. It waspart of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared or hated byinjuring not only their own persons but those whom they loved, and it wasthe knowledge of this which hung as a terror over my poor Gennaroshead and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension.
All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, eachstrengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very nextevening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husband and Iwere on our way to London, but not before he had given our benefactorfull warning of his danger, and had also left such information for thepolice as would safeguard his life for the future.
The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that ourenemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano had hisprivate reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless,cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and America are full ofstories of his dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it would be now.
My darling made use of the few clear days which our start had given us inarranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no possible dangercould reach me. For his own part, he wished to be free that he mightcommunicate both with the American and with the Italian police. I do notmyself know where he lived, or how. All that I learned was through thecolumns of a newspaper. But once as I looked through my window, I sawtwo Italians watching the house, and I understood that in some wayGorgiano had found out our retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, through thepaper, that he would signal to [913] me from a certain window, but whenthe signals came they were nothing but warnings, which were suddenlyinterrupted. It is very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to be closeupon him, and that, thank God! he was ready for him when he came. Andnow, gentlemen, I would ask you whether we have anything to fear fromthe law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my Gennaro forwhat he has done?
Well, Mr. Gregson, said the American, looking across at the official,I dont know what your British point of view may be, but I guess that inNew York this ladys husband will receive a pretty general vote ofthanks.
She will have to come with me and see the chief, Gregson answered.
If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she or her husband hasmuch to fear. But what I cant make head or tail of, Mr. Holmes, is howon earth you got yourself mixed up in the matter.
Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the olduniversity. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic andgrotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it is not eight oclock,and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we hurry, we might be in timefor the second act.
David Soucek, 1998 The Bruce-Partington PlansHis Last BowTHE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANSIN THE third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fogsettled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubtwhether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see theloom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in crossindexinghis huge book of references. The second and third had beenpatiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made hishobbyCthe music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, afterpushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brownswirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the windowpanes,my comrades impatient and active nature could endure this drabexistence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a feverof suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafingagainst inaction.
Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson? he said.
I was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anything ofcriminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible war,and of an impending change of government; but these did not comewithin the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in theshape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes groanedand resumed his restless meanderings.
The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow, said he in thequerulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. Look outof this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen,and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderercould roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseenuntil he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.
There have, said I, been numerous petty thefts.
Holmes snorted his contempt.
This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy thanthat,  said he. It is fortunate for this community that I am not acriminal.
[914] It is, indeed! said I heartily.
Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty menwho have good reason for taking my life, how long could I surviveagainst my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, and all wouldbe over. It is well they dont have days of fog in the Latin countriesCthecountries of assassination. By Jove! here comes something at last to breakour dead monotony.
It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst outlaughing.
Well, well! What next? said he. Brother Mycroft is coming round.
Why not? I asked.
Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane.
Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, theDiogenes Club, WhitehallCthat is his cycle. Once, and only once, he hasbeen here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?
Does he not explain?
Holmes handed me his brothers telegram.
Must see you over Cadogan West. Coming at once.
MYCROFT.
Cadogan West? I have heard the name.
It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out inthis erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit. By the way, doyou know what Mycroft is?
I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of theAdventure of the Greek Interpreter.
You told me that he had some small office under the Britishgovernment.
Holmes chuckled.
I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreetwhen one talks of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that heis under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if yousaid that occasionally he is the British government.
My dear Holmes!
I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fiftypounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, willreceive neither honour nor title, but remains the most indispensable manin the country.
But how?
Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There hasnever been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiestand most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of anyman living. The same great powers which I have turned to the detectionof crime he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of everydepartment are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse,which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but hisspecialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needsinformation as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and thebimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from variousdepartments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and sayoffhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using himas a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. Inthat great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out inan instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. Helives in it. He thinks of nothing else [915] save when, as an intellectualexercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on oneof my little problems. But Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth canit mean? Who is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?
I have it, I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon thesofa. Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogan West was the youngman who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning.
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brotherto alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he haveto do with it? The case was featureless as I remember it. The young manhad apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not beenrobbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that notso?
There has been an inquest, said I, and a good many fresh facts havecome out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was acurious case.
Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a mostextraordinary one. He snuggled down in his armchair. Now, Watson, letus have the facts.
The mans name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twenty-sevenyears of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal.
Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!
He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by hisfiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can giveno motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his deadbody was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just outside AldgateStation on the Underground system in London.
When?
The body was found at six on the Tuesday morning. It was lying wideof the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at apoint close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in whichit runs. The head was badly crushedCan injury which might well havebeen caused by a fall from the train. The body could only have come onthe line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouringstreet, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is alwaysstanding. This point seems absolutely certain.
Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive, eitherfell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue.
The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body wasfound are those which run from west to east, some being purelyMetropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions. It can bestated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, wastravelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what pointhe entered the train it is impossible to state.
His ticket, of course, would show that.
There was no ticket in his pockets.
No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According tomy experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitantrain without exhibiting ones ticket. Presumably, then, the young manhad one. Was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from whichhe came? It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That also ispossible. But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there wasno sign of robbery?
Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. His pursecontained two [916] pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book on theWoolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this hisidentity was established. There were also two dress-circle tickets for theWoolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also a small packet oftechnical papers.
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
There we have it at last, Watson! British governmentCWoolwich.
ArsenalCtechnical papersCBrother Mycroft, the chain is complete. Buthere he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself.
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes wasushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestionof uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy framethere was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steelgray,deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play ofexpression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body andremembered only the dominant mind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland YardCthin andaustere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest. Thedetective shook hands without a word. Mycroft Holmes struggled out ofhis overcoat and subsided into an armchair.
A most annoying business, Sherlock, said he. I extremely dislikealtering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. In thepresent state of Siam it is most awkward that I should be away from theoffice. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister soupset. As to the AdmiraltyCit is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive.
Have you read up the case?
We have just done so. What were the technical papers?
Ah, theres the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The presswould be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched youth had inhis pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine.
Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of theimportance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant.
Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it.
Only as a name.
Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the mostjealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it from me thatnaval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Bruce-Partingtons operation. Two years ago a very large sum was smuggledthrough the Estimates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly of theinvention. Every effort has been made to keep the secret. The plans,which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents,each essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe ina confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors andwindows. Under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be takenfrom the office. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consultthem, even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office for the purpose.
And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heartof London. From an official point of view its simply awful.
But you have recovered them?
No, Sherlock, no! Thats the pinch. We have not. Ten papers weretaken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of Cadogan West.
The three most essential are goneCstolen, vanished. You must dropeverything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the policecourt.
Its a vital international problem [917] that you have to solve. Whydid Cadogan West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how didhe die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be setright? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done goodservice for your country.
Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as far as I.
Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details. Give meyour details, and from an armchair I will return you an excellent expertopinion. But to run here and run there, to cross-question railway guards,and lie on my face with a lens to my eyeCit is not my mtier. No, you arethe one man who can clear the matter up. If you have a fancy to see yourname in the next honours listC C
My friend smiled and shook his head.
I play the game for the games own sake, said he. But the problemcertainly presents some points of interest, and I shall be very pleased tolook into it. Some more facts, please.
I have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of paper,together with a few addresses which you will find of service. The actualofficial guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, SirJames Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book ofreference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favouredguest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotismis beyond suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I mayadd that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hourson Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three oclock takinghis key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Sinclair at BarclaySquare during the whole of the evening when this incident occurred.
Has the fact been verified?
Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to hisdeparture from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London;so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem.
Who was the other man with a key?
The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a manof forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man, but hehas, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. He isunpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker. According to his ownaccount, corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was at home thewhole of Monday evening after office hours, and his key has never leftthe watch-chain upon which it hangs.
Tell us about Cadogan West.
He has been ten years in the service and has done good work. He hasthe reputation of being hot-headed and impetuous, but a straight, honestman. We have nothing against him. He was next Sidney Johnson in theoffice. His duties brought him into daily, personal contact with the plans.
No one else had the handling of them.
Who locked the plans up that night?
Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk.
Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. They areactually found upon the person of this junior clerk, Cadogan West. Thatseems final, does it not?
It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. In the firstplace, why did he take them?
I presume they were of value?
He could have got several thousands for them very easily.
[918] Can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers toLondon except to sell them?
No, I cannot.
Then we must take that as our working hypothesis. Young West tookthe papers. Now this could only be done by having a false keyC C
Several false keys. He had to open the building and the room.
He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to London to sellthe secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans themselves back in thesafe next morning before they were missed. While in London on thistreasonable mission he met his end.
How?
We will suppose that he was travelling back to Woolwich when hewas killed and thrown out of the compartment.
Aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the stationfor London Bridge, which would be his route to Woolwich.
Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would passLondon Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example, withwhom he was having an absorbing interview. This interview led to aviolent scene in which he lost his life. Possibly he tried to leave thecarriage, fell out on the line, and so met his end. The other closed thedoor. There was a thick fog, and nothing could be seen.
No better explanation can be given with our present knowledge; andyet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave untouched. We will suppose,for arguments sake, that young Cadogan West had determined to conveythese papers to London. He would naturally have made an appointmentwith the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he tooktwo tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and thensuddenly disappeared.
A blind, said Lestrade, who had sat listening with some impatience tothe conversation.
A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No. 2: We willsuppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign agent. He must bringback the papers before morning or the loss will be discovered. He tookaway ten. Only seven were in his pocket. What had become of the otherthree? He certainly would not leave them of his own free will. Then,again, where is the price of his treason? One would have expected to finda large sum of money in his pocket.
It seems to me perfectly clear, said Lestrade. I have no doubt at allas to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent.
They could not agree as to price. He started home again, but the agentwent with him. In the train the agent murdered him, took the moreessential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. That wouldaccount for everything, would it not?
Why had he no ticket?
The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agentshouse. Therefore he took it from the murdered mans pocket.
Good, Lestrade, very good, said Holmes. Your theory holdstogether. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On the one hand, thetraitor is dead. On the other, the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarineare presumably already on the Continent. What is there for us to do?
To act, SherlockCto act! cried Mycroft, springing to his feet. All myinstincts are against this explanation. Use your powers! Go to the scene ofthe crime! See [919] the people concerned! Leave no stone unturned! In allyour career you have never had so great a chance of serving yourcountry.
Well, well! said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. Come, Watson!
And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your company for an hour ortwo? We will begin our investigation by a visit to Aldgate Station. Goodbye,Mycroft. I shall let you have a report before evening, but I warn youin advance that you have little to expect.
An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Undergroundrailroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediately beforeAldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gentleman represented therailway company.
This is where the young mans body lay, said he, indicating a spotabout three feet from the metals. It could not have fallen from above, forthese, as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore, it could only have comefrom a train, and that train, so far as we can trace it, must have passedabout midnight on Monday.
Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?
There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found.
No record of a door being found open?
None.
We have had some fresh evidence this morning, said Lestrade. Apassenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan train about11:40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud, as of a bodystriking the line, just before the train reached the station. There was densefog, however, and nothing could be seen. He made no report of it at thetime. Why, whatever is the matter with Mr. Holmes?
My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensity uponhis face, staring at the railway metals where they curved out of the tunnel.
Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of points. On these hiseager, questioning eyes were fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face thattightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of theheavy, tufted brows which I knew so well.
Points, he muttered; the points.
What of it? What do you mean?
I suppose there are no great number of points on a system such asthis?
No; there are very few.
And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were only so.
What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?
An ideaCan indication, no more. But the case certainly grows ininterest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do not see anyindications of bleeding on the line.
There were hardly any.
But I understand that there was a considerable wound.
The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury.
And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it bepossible for me to inspect the train which contained the passenger whoheard the thud of a fall in the fog?
I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before now, andthe carriages redistributed.
I can assure you, Mr. Holmes, said Lestrade, that every carriage hasbeen carefully examined. I saw to it myself.
[920] It was one of my friends most obvious weaknesses that he wasimpatient with less alert intelligences than his own.
Very likely, said he, turning away. As it happens, it was not thecarriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done all we canhere. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. I think ourinvestigations must now carry us to Woolwich.
At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which hehanded to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:
See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out.
Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at BakerStreet, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agentsknown to be in England, with full address.
SHERLOCK.
That should be helpful, Watson, he remarked as we took our seats inthe Woolwich train. We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for havingintroduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable case.
His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-strungenergy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive circumstancehad opened up a stimulating line of thought. See the foxhound withhanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about the kennels, and compare itwith the same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runsupon a breast-high scent Csuch was the change in Holmes since themorning. He was a different man from the limp and lounging figure in themouse-coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a fewhours before round the fog-girt room.
There is material here. There is scope, said he. I am dull indeed notto have understood its possibilities.
Even now they are dark to me.
The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may leadus far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof ofa carriage.
On the roof!
Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a coincidence that itis found at the very point where the train pitches and sways as it comesround on the points? Is not that the place where an object upon the roofmight be expected to fall off? The points would affect no object inside thetrain. Either the body fell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence hasoccurred. But now consider the question of the blood. Of course, therewas no bleeding on the line if the body had bled elsewhere. Each fact issuggestive in itself. Together they have a cumulative force.
And the ticket, too! I cried.
Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This wouldexplain it. Everything fits together.
But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from unravelling themystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not simpler but stranger.
Perhaps, said Holmes thoughtfully, perhaps. He relapsed into asilent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up at last inWoolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew Mycrofts paper fromhis pocket.
We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make, said he. Ithink that Sir James Walter claims our first attention.
[921] The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawnsstretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog was lifting, and athin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered our ring.
Sir James, sir! said he with solemn face. Sir James died thismorning.
Good heavens! cried Holmes in amazement. How did he die?
Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, ColonelValentine?
Yes, we had best do so.
We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant laterwe were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-bearded man of fifty, theyounger brother of the dead scientist. His wild eyes, stained cheeks, andunkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow which had fallen upon thehousehold. He was hardly articulate as he spoke of it.
It was this horrible scandal, said he. My brother, Sir James, was aman of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. Itbroke his heart. He was always so proud of the efficiency of hisdepartment, and this was a crushing blow.
We had hoped that he might have given us some indications whichwould have helped us to clear the matter up.
I assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you and to all ofus. He had already put all his knowledge at the disposal of the police.
Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan West was guilty. But all the restwas inconceivable.
You cannot throw any new light upon the affair?
I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I have nodesire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr. Holmes, that weare much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to hasten this interviewto an end.
This is indeed an unexpected development, said my friend when wehad regained the cab. I wonder if the death was natural, or whether thepoor old fellow killed himself! If the latter, may it be taken as some signof self-reproach for duty neglected? We must leave that question to thefuture. Now we shall turn to the Cadogan Wests.
A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the town sheltered thebereaved mother. The old lady was too dazed with grief to be of any useto us, but at her side was a white-faced young lady, who introducedherself as Miss Violet Westbury, the fiancee of the dead man, and the lastto see him upon that fatal night.
I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes, she said. I have not shut an eyesince the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and day, what thetrue meaning of it can be. Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous,patriotic man upon earth. He would have cut his right hand off before hewould sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible,preposterous to anyone who knew him.
But the facts, Miss Westbury?
Yes, yes; I admit I cannot explain them.
Was he in any want of money?
No; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. He had saved afew hundreds, and we were to marry at the New Year.
No signs of any mental excitement? Come, Miss Westbury, beabsolutely frank with us.
The quick eye of my companion had noted some change in her manner.
She coloured and hesitated.
Yes, she said at last, I had a feeling that there was something on hismind.
For long?
[922] Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried.
Once I pressed him about it. He admitted that there was something, andthat it was concerned with his official life. It is too serious for me tospeak about, even to you, said he. I could get nothing more.
Holmes looked grave.
Go on, Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell against him, go on. Wecannot say what it may lead to.
Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or twice it seemed to me thathe was on the point of telling me something. He spoke one evening of theimportance of the secret, and I have some recollection that he said that nodoubt foreign spies would pay a great deal to have it.
My friends face grew graver still.
Anything else?
He said that we were slack about such mattersCthat it would be easyfor a traitor to get the plans.
Was it only recently that he made such remarks?
Yes, quite recently.
Now tell us of that last evening.
We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab wasuseless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly hedarted away into the fog.
Without a word?
He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited but he never returned.
Then I walked home. Next morning, after the office opened, they came toinquire. About twelve oclock we heard the terrible news. Oh, Mr.
Holmes, if you could only, only save his honour! It was so much to him.
Holmes shook his head sadly.
Come, Watson, said he, our ways lie elsewhere. Our next stationmust be the office from which the papers were taken.
It was black enough before against this young man, but our inquiriesmake it blacker, he remarked as the cab lumbered off. His comingmarriage gives a motive for the crime. He naturally wanted money. Theidea was in his head, since he spoke about it. He nearly made the girl anaccomplice in the treason by telling her his plans. It is all very bad.
But surely, Holmes, character goes for something? Then, again, whyshould he leave the girl in the street and dart away to commit a felony?
Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formidable casewhich they have to meet.
Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and receivedus with that respect which my companions card always commanded. Hewas a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his cheeks haggard,and his hands twitching from the nervous strain to which he had beensubjected.
It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death of thechief?
We have just come from his house.
The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, ourpapers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, wewere as efficient an office as any in the government service. Good God,its dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such athing!
You are sure of his guilt, then?
[923] I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trustedhim as I trust myself.
At what hour was the office closed on Monday?
At five.
Did you close it?
I am always the last man out.
Where were the plans?
In that safe. I put them there myself.
Is there no watchman to the building?
There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. He is anold soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Ofcourse the fog was very thick.
Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the buildingafter hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before he couldreach the papers?
Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the office, andthe key of the safe.
Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?
I had no keys of the doorsConly of the safe.
Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?
Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those three keys areconcerned he kept them on the same ring. I have often seen them there.
And that ring went with him to London?
He said so.
And your key never left your possession?
Never.
Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate. And yetnone was found upon his body. One other point: if a clerk in this officedesired to sell the plans, would it not be simpler to copy the plans forhimself than to take the originals, as was actually done?
It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in aneffective way.
But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West had that technicalknowledge?
No doubt we had, but I beg you wont try to drag me into the matter,Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in this way when theoriginal plans were actually found on West?
Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of takingoriginals if he could safely have taken copies, which would have equallyserved his turn.
Singular, no doubtCand yet he did so.
Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. Now thereare three papers still missing. They are, as I understand, the vital ones.
Yes, that is so.
Do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers, andwithout the seven others, could construct a Bruce-Partington submarine?
I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I have been overthe drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. The double valves with theautomatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers which havebeen returned. Until the foreigners had invented that for themselves theycould not make the boat. Of course they might soon get over thedifficulty.
But the three missing drawings are the most important?
[924] Undoubtedly.
I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll round thepremises. I do not recall any other question which I desired to ask.
He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and finally theiron shutters of the window. It was only when we were on the lawnoutside that his interest was strongly excited. There was a laurel bushoutside the window, and several of the branches bore signs of having beentwisted or snapped. He examined them carefully with his lens, and thensome dim and vague marks upon the earth beneath. Finally he asked thechief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that theyhardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for anyone outsideto see what was going on within the room.
The indications are ruined by the three days delay. They may meansomething or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think that Woolwich canhelp us further. It is a small crop which we have gathered. Let us see if wecan do better in London.
Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left WoolwichStation. The clerk in the ticket office was able to say with confidence thathe saw Cadogan WestCwhom he knew well by sightCupon the Mondaynight, and that he went to London by the 8:15 to London Bridge. He wasalone and took a single third-class ticket. The clerk was struck at the timeby his excited and nervous manner. So shaky was he that he could hardlypick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it. A reference tothe timetable showed that the 8:15 was the first train which it waspossible for West to take after he had left the lady about 7:30.
Let us reconstruct, Watson, said Holmes after half an hour of silence.
I am not aware that in all our joint researches we have ever had a casewhich was more difficult to get at. Every fresh advance which we makeonly reveals a fresh ridge beyond. And yet we have surely made someappreciable progress.
The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main been againstyoung Cadogan West; but the indications at the window would lendthemselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us suppose, for example,that he had been approached by some foreign agent. It might have beendone under such pledges as would have prevented him from speaking ofit, and yet would have affected his thoughts in the direction indicated byhis remarks to his fiancee. Very good. We will now suppose that as hewent to the theatre with the young lady he suddenly, in the fog, caught aglimpse of this same agent going in the direction of the office. He was animpetuous man, quick in his decisions. Everything gave way to his duty.
He followed the man, reached the window, saw the abstraction of thedocuments, and pursued the thief. In this way we get over the objectionthat no one would take originals when he could make copies. Thisoutsider had to take originals. So far it holds together.
What is the next step?
Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that under suchcircumstances the first act of young Cadogan West would be to seize thevillain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so? Could it have been anofficial superior who took the papers? That would explain Westsconduct. Or could the chief have given West the slip in the fog, and Weststarted at once to London to head him off from his own rooms, presumingthat he knew where the rooms were? The call must have been verypressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no effort tocommunicate with her. Our scent runs cold here, and there is a vast gapbetween either hypothesis and the laying of Wests body, with sevenpapers [925] in his pocket, on the roof of a Metropolitan train. My instinctnow is to work from the other end. If Mycroft has given us the list ofaddresses we may be able to pick our man and follow two tracks insteadof one.
Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A governmentmessenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threw itover to me.
There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so bigan affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph Meyer, of13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothiere, ofCampden Mansions, Notting Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13Caulfield Gardens, Kensington. The latter was known to be intown on Monday and is now reported as having left. Glad to hearyou have seen some light. The Cabinet awaits your final reportwith the utmost anxiety. Urgent representations have arrived fromthe very highest quarter. The whole force of the State is at yourback if you should need it.
MYCROFT.
Im afraid, said Holmes, smiling, that all the queens horses and allthe queens men cannot avail in this matter. He had spread out his bigmap of London and leaned eagerly over it. Well, well, said he presentlywith an exclamation of satisfaction, things are turning a little in ourdirection at last. Why, Watson, I do honestly believe that we are going topull it off, after all. He slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burstof hilarity. I am going out now. It is only a reconnaissance. I will donothing serious without my trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow.
Do you stay here, and the odds are that you will see me again in an houror two. If time hangs heavy get foolscap and a pen, and begin yournarrative of how we saved the State.
I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I knew wellthat he would not depart so far from his usual austerity of demeanourunless there was good cause for exultation. All the long Novemberevening I waited, filled with impatience for his return. At last, shortlyafter nine oclock, there arrived a messenger with a note:
Am dining at Goldinis Restaurant, Gloucester Road,Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring withyou a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver.
S. H.
It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through thedim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetly away in my overcoatand drove straight to the address given. There sat my friend at a littleround table near the door of the garish Italian restaurant.
Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee and curacao.
Try one of the proprietors cigars. They are less poisonous than onewould expect. Have you the tools?
They are here, in my overcoat.
Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have done, withsome indication of what we are about to do. Now it must be evident toyou, Watson, that this young mans body was placed on the roof of thetrain. That was clear from the instant that I determined the fact that it wasfrom the roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen.
Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?
[926] I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs you willfind that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing round them.
Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cadogan West was placed onit.
How could he be placed there?
That was the question which we had to answer. There is only onepossible way. You are aware that the Underground runs clear of tunnels atsome points in the West End. I had a vague memory that as I havetravelled by it I have occasionally seen windows just above my head.
Now, suppose that a train halted under such a window, would there beany difficulty in laying a body upon the roof?
It seems most improbable.
We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all othercontingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be thetruth. Here all other contingencies have failed. When I found that theleading international agent, who had just left London, lived in a row ofhouses which abutted upon the Underground, I was so pleased that youwere a little astonished at my sudden frivolity.
Oh, that was it, was it?
Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens, hadbecome my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester Road Station,where a very helpful official walked with me along the track and allowedme to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows of CaulfieldGardens open on the line but the even more essential fact that, owing tothe intersection of one of the larger railways, the Underground trains arefrequently held motionless for some minutes at that very spot.
Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!
So farCso far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well, havingseen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front and satisfied myselfthat the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable house, unfurnished, sofar as I could judge, in the upper rooms. Oberstein lived there with asingle valet, who was probably a confederate entirely in his confidence.
We must bear in mind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to disposeof his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear awarrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainlynever occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make.
Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?
Hardly on the evidence.
What can we hope to do?
We cannot tell what correspondence may be there.
I dont like it, Holmes.
My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. Ill do the criminalpart. Its not a time to stick at trifles. Think of Mycrofts note, of theAdmiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who waits for news. We arebound to go.
My answer was to rise from the table.
You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go.
He sprang up and shook me by the hand.
I knew you would not shrink at the last, said he, and for a moment Isaw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than I had everseen. The next instant he was his masterful, practical self once more.
It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk, said he.
Dont [927] drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspiciouscharacter would be a most unfortunate complication.
Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared, andporticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middleVictorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appeared tobe a childrens party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the clatter ofa piano resounded through the night. The fog still hung about andscreened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashedit upon the massive door.
This is a serious proposition, said he. It is certainly bolted as well aslocked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellent archwaydown yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude. Give me ahand, Watson, and Ill do the same for you.
A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached thedark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fogabove. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work upon the lowerdoor. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crash it flew open. Wesprang through into the dark passage, closing the area door behind us.
Holmes led the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan ofyellow light shone upon a low window.
Here we are, WatsonCthis must be the one. He threw it open, and ashe did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loudroar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes swept his lightalong the window-sill. It was thickly coated with soot from the passingengines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in places.
You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! what is this?
There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark. He was pointing to faintdiscolourations along the woodwork of the window. Here it is on thestone of the stair also. The demonstration is complete. Let us stay hereuntil a train stops.
We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the tunnel asbefore, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creaking of brakes, pulledup immediately beneath us. It was not four feet from the window-ledge tothe roof of the carriages. Holmes softly closed the window.
So far we are justified, said he. What do you think of it, Watson?
A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height.
I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I conceived theidea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a veryabstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were not for the graveinterests involved the affair up to this point would be insignificant. Ourdifficulties are still before us. But perhaps we may find something herewhich may help us.
We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms uponthe first floor. One was a dining-room, severely furnished and containingnothing of interest. A second was a bedroom, which also drew blank. Theremaining room appeared more promising, and my companion settleddown to a systematic examination. It was littered with books and papers,and was evidently used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmesturned over the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard aftercupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere face. Atthe end of an hour he was no further than when he started.
The cunning dog has covered his tracks, said he. He has left nothingto incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has been destroyed orremoved. This is our last chance.
[928] It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk.
Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper were within,covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to whatthey referred. The recurring words, water pressure and pressure to thesquare inch suggested some possible relation to a submarine. Holmestossed them all impatiently aside. There only remained an envelope withsome small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them out on the table, andat once I saw by his eager face that his hopes had been raised.
Whats this, Watson? Eh? Whats this? Record of a series of messagesin the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph agony column by theprint and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page. No datesCbut messagesarrange themselves. This must be the first:
Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to addressgiven on card.
PIERROT.
Next comes:
Too complex for description. Must have full report. Stuffawaits you when goods delivered.
PIERROT.
Then comes:
Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract completed.
Make appointment by letter. Will confirm by advertisement.
PIERROT.
Finally:
Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not beso suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered.
PIERROT.
A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at the man atthe other end! He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table.
Finally he sprang to his feet.
Well, perhaps it wont be so difficult, after all. There is nothing moreto be done here, Watson. I think we might drive round to the offices of theDaily Telegraph, and so bring a good days work to a conclusion.
Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment afterbreakfast next day and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to them ourproceedings of the day before. The professional shook his head over ourconfessed burglary.
We cant do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes, said he. Nowonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of these days youllgo too far, and youll find yourself and your friend in trouble.
For England, home and beautyCeh, Watson? Martyrs on the altar ofour country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?
Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make of it?
Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which lay upon the table.
Have you seen Pierrots advertisement to-day?
What? Another one?
Yes, here it is:
[929] To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitallyimportant. Your own safety at stake.
PIERROT.
By George! cried Lestrade. If he answers that weve got him!
That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make itconvenient to come with us about eight oclock to Caulfield Gardens wemight possibly get a little nearer to a solution.
One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was hispower of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughtson to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could nolonger work to advantage. I remember that during the whole of thatmemorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertakenupon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. For my own part I had none ofthis power of detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to beinterminable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense inhigh quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we weretryingCall combined to work upon my nerve. It was a relief to me when atlast, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade andMycroft met us by appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road Station.
The area door of Obersteins house had been left open the night before,and it was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely andindignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the halldoor. By nine oclock we were all seated in the study, waiting patientlyfor our man.
An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beatof the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes.
Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice aminute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids halfshut, but every sense on the alert. He raised his head with a sudden jerk.
He is coming, said he.
There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. We hearda shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker.
Holmes rose, motioning to us to remain seated. The gas in the hall was amere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as a dark figureslipped past him he closed and fastened it. This way! we heard him say,and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed himclosely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caughthim by the collar and threw him back into the room. Before our prisonerhad recovered his balance the door was shut and Holmes standing withhis back against it. The man glared round him, staggered, and fellsenseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flewfrom his head, his cravat slipped down from his lips, and there were thelong light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of ColonelValentine Walter.
Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.
You can write me down an ass this time, Watson, said he. This wasnot the bird that I was looking for.
Who is he? asked Mycroft eagerly.
The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of theSubmarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is comingto. I think that you had best leave his examination to me.
We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisoner sat up,looked [930] round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his handover his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses.
What is this? he asked. I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein.
Everything is known, Colonel Walter, said Holmes. How an Englishgentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension.
But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are withinour knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death ofyoung Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small creditfor repentance and confession, since there are still some details which wecan only learn from your lips.
The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he wassilent.
I can assure you, said Holmes, that every essential is already known.
We know that you were pressed for money; that you took an impress ofthe keys which your brother held; and that you entered into acorrespondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters through theadvertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that youwent down to the office in the fog on Monday night, but that you wereseen and followed by young Cadogan West, who had probably someprevious reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give thealarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to yourbrother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizenthat he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heelsuntil you reached this very house. There he intervened, and then it was,Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime ofmurder.
I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not! cried ourwretched prisoner.
Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end before you laid himupon the roof of a railway carriage.
I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It was justas you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the moneybadly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was to save myself fromruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent as you.
What happened, then?
He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you describe. Inever knew it until I was at the very door. It was thick fog, and one couldnot see three yards. I had given two taps and Oberstein had come to thedoor. The young man rushed up and demanded to know what we wereabout to do with the papers. Oberstein had a short life-preserver. Healways carried it with him. As West forced his way after us into the houseOberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He was deadwithin five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we were at our wits endwhat to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains which haltedunder his back window. But first he examined the papers which I hadbrought. He said that three of them were essential, and that he must keepthem. You cannot keep them, said I. There will be a dreadful row atWoolwich if they are not returned. I must keep them, said he, for theyare so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies. Thenthey must all go back together to-night, said I. He thought for a little, andthen he cried out that he had it. Three I will keep, said he. The otherswe will stuff into the pocket of this young man. When he is found thewhole business will assuredly be put to his account. I could see no otherway out of it, so we did as he suggested. We waited half an hour at thewindow before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen,[931] and we had no difficulty in lowering Wests body on to the train.
That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned.
And your brother?
He said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys, and I thinkthat he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, henever held up his head again.
There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes.
Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience, andpossibly your punishment.
What reparation can I make?
Where is Oberstein with the papers?
I do not know.
Did he give you no address?
He said that letters to the H.tel du Louvre, Paris, would eventuallyreach him.
Then reparation is still within your power, said Sherlock Holmes.
I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular good-will. Hehas been my ruin and my downfall.
Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my dictation.
Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right. Now the letter:
DEAR SIR:
With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt haveobserved by now that one essential detail is missing. I have atracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extratrouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of fivehundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I takeanything but gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but itwould excite remark if I left the country at present. Therefore Ishall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the CharingCross Hotel at noon on Saturday. Remember that only Englishnotes, or gold, will be taken.
That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does not fetchour man.
And it did! It is a matter of historyCthat secret history of a nation whichis often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chroniclesCthat Oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to thelure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In histrunk were found the invaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had putup for auction in all the naval centres of Europe.
Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of hissentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon thePolyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for privatecirculation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject.
Some weeks afterwards I learned incidentally that my friend spent a dayat Windsor, whence he returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin.
When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a presentfrom a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunateenough to carry out a small commission. He said no more; but I fancy thatI could guess at that ladys august name, and I have little doubt that theemerald pin will forever recall to my friends memory the adventure ofthe Bruce-Partington plans.
David Soucek, 1998 The Dying DetectiveHis Last BowTHE DYING DETECTIVEMRS. HUDSON, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-sufferingwoman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs ofsingular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodgershowed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorelytried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music atstrange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird andoften malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violenceand danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant inLondon. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubtthat the house might have been purchased at the price which Holmes paidfor his rooms during the years that I was with him.
The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared tointerfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. Shewas fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy inhis dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he wasalways a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard forhim, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in thesecond year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to whichmy poor friend was reduced.
Hes dying, Dr. Watson, said she. For three days he has beensinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let me get adoctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of his face and hisgreat bright eyes looking at me I could stand no more of it. With yourleave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctor this very hour,
said I. Let it be Watson, then, said he. I wouldnt waste an hour incoming to him, sir, or you may not see him alive.
I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not say thatI rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the details.
There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a case downat Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illnessback with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has nevermoved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed hislips.
Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?
He wouldnt have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didnt dareto disobey him. But hes not long for this world, as youll see for yourselfthe moment that you set eyes on him.
He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a foggyNovember day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt,wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. Hiseyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon eithercheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlettwitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He laylistlessly as I entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam ofrecognition to his eyes.
Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days, said he in afeeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner.
My dear fellow! I cried, approaching him.
[933] Stand back! Stand right back! said he with the sharpimperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. Ifyou approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house.
But why?
Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?
Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It waspitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.
I only wished to help, I explained.
Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told.
Certainly, Holmes.
He relaxed the austerity of his manner.
You are not angry? he asked, gasping for breath.
Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plightbefore me?
Its for your own sake, Watson, he croaked.
For my sake?
I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease fromSumatraC a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though theyhave made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infalliblydeadly, and it is horribly contagious.
He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching andjerking as he motioned me away.
Contagious by touch, WatsonCthats it, by touch. Keep your distanceand all is well.
Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a considerationweighs with me for an instant? It would not affect me in the case of astranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to soold a friend?
Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger.
If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave theroom.
I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that Ihave always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them.
But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my masterelsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.
Holmes, said I, you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, andso I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine yoursymptoms and treat you for them.
He looked at me with venomous eyes.
If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least havesomeone in whom I have confidence, said he.
Then you have none in me?
In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all,you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience andmediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but youleave me no choice.
I was bitterly hurt.
Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearlythe state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I wouldnot intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher,or any of the best men in London. But someone you must have, and that isfinal. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die withouteither helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then youhave mistaken your man.
[934] You mean well, Watson, said the sick man with somethingbetween a sob and a groan. Shall I demonstrate your own ignorance?
What do you know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know of theblack Formosa corruption?
I have never heard of either.
There are many problems of disease, many strange pathologicalpossibilities, in the East, Watson. He paused after each sentence tocollect his failing strength. I have learned so much during some recentresearches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It was in the course ofthem that I contracted this complaint. You can do nothing.
Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatestliving authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. Allremonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him. Iturned resolutely to the door.
Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-spring, thedying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key.
The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and pantingafter his one tremendous outflame of energy.
You wont take the key from me by force, Watson, Ive got you, myfriend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But Illhumour you. (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breathbetween.) Youve only my own good at heart. Of course I know thatvery well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength.
Not now, Watson, not now. Its four oclock. At six you can go.
This is insanity, Holmes.
Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are you contentto wait?
I seem to have no choice.
None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in arrangingthe clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now, Watson, there isone other condition that I would make. You will seek help, not from theman you mention, but from the one that I choose.
By all means.
The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you enteredthis room, Watson. You will find some books over there. I am somewhatexhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into anon-conductor? At six, Watson, we resume our conversation.
But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and incircumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by hisspring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at the silentfigure in the bed. His face was almost covered by the clothes and heappeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walkedslowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminalswith which every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimlessperambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A litter of pipes, tobaccopouches,syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris wasscattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and white ivorybox with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I had stretched out myhand to examine it more closely whenC CIt was a dreadful cry that he gaveCa yell which might have been hearddown the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horriblescream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsed face and franticeyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand.
[935] Put it down! Down, this instant, WatsonCthis instant, I say! Hishead sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as Ireplaced the box upon the mantelpiece. I hate to have my things touched,Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You,a doctorCyou are enough to drive a patient into an asylum. Sit down, man,and let me have my rest!
The incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind. Theviolent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality of speech, sofar removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deep was thedisorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the mostdeplorable. I sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time had passed.
He seemed to have been watching the clock as well as I, for it was hardlysix before he began to talk with the same feverish animation as before.
Now, Watson, said he. Have you any change in your pocket?
Yes.
Any silver?
A good deal.
How many half-crowns?
I have five.
Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson! However, suchas they are you can put them in your watchpocket. And all the rest of yourmoney in your left trouserpocket. Thank you. It will balance you so muchbetter like that.
This was raving insanity. He shuddered, and again made a soundbetween a cough and a sob.
You will now light the gas, Watson, but you will be very careful thatnot for one instant shall it be more than half on. I implore you to becareful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent. No, you need not draw theblind. Now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papersupon this table within my reach. Thank you. Now some of that litter fromthe mantelpiece. Excellent, Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindlyraise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among thepapers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13Lower Burke Street.
To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened,for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous toleave him. However, he was as eager now to consult the person named ashe had been obstinate in refusing.
I never heard the name, said I.
Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know that theman upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man,but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra,now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation,which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, withsome rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person,and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware thatyou would not find him in his study. If you could persuade him to comehere and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, theinvestigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that hecould help me.
I give Holmess remarks as a consecutive whole and will not attempt toindicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for breath and thoseclutchings of his hands which indicated the pain from which he wassuffering. His appearance had changed [936] for the worse during the fewhours that I had been with him. Those hectic spots were morepronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of darker hollows, and acold sweat glimmered upon his brow. He still retained, however, thejaunty gallantry of his speech. To the last gasp he would always be themaster.
You will tell him exactly how you have left me, said he. You willconvey the very impression which is in your own mindCa dying manCadying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of theocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah,I am wandering! Strange how the brain controls the brain! What was Isaying, Watson?
My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith.
Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it. Plead with him,Watson. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew, WatsonCI hadsuspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly.
He has a grudge against me. You will soften him, Watson. Beg him, prayhim, get him here by any means. He can save meConly he!
I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to it.
You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to come. Andthen you will return in front of him. Make any excuse so as not to comewith him. Dont forget, Watson. You wont fail me. You never did failme. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of thecreatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world,then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! Youll convey all that is inyour mind.
I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like afoolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I tookit with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting,trembling and weeping, in the passage. Behind me as I passed from theflat I heard Holmess high, thin voice in some delirious chant. Below, as Istood whistling for a cab, a man came on me through the fog.
How is Mr. Holmes, sir? he asked.
It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland Yard,dressed in unofficial tweeds.
He is very ill, I answered.
He looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not been toofiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight showedexultation in his face.
I heard some rumour of it, said he.
The cab had driven up, and I left him.
Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in thevague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. The particularone at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug and demurerespectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its massive folding-door,and its shining brasswork. All was in keeping with a solemn butler whoappeared framed in the pink radiance of a tinted electric light behind him.
Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, I will takeup your card.
My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. CulvertonSmith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant, penetratingvoice.
Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, how oftenhave I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?
There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the butler.
[937] Well, I wont see him, Staples. I cant have my work interruptedlike this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in the morning if hereally must see me.
Again the gentle murmur.
Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning, or hecan stay away. My work must not be hindered.
I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and counting theminutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. It was not a time tostand upon ceremony. His life depended upon my promptness. Before theapologetic butler had delivered his message I had pushed past him andwas in the room.
With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside thefire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy,double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me fromunder tufted and sandy brows. A high bald head had a small velvetsmoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. Theskull was of enormous capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to myamazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in theshoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in hischildhood.
Whats this? he cried in a high, screaming voice. What is themeaning of this intrusion? Didnt I send you word that I would see you tomorrowmorning?
I am sorry, said I, but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr. SherlockHolmesC C
The mention of my friends name had an extraordinary effect upon thelittle man. The look of anger passed in an instant from his face. Hisfeatures became tense and alert.
Have you come from Holmes? he asked.
I have just left him.
What about Holmes? How is he?
He is desperately ill. That is why I have come.
The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own. As hedid so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Icould have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. YetI persuaded myself that it must have been some nervous contractionwhich I had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later with genuineconcern upon his features.
I am sorry to hear this, said he. I only know Mr. Holmes throughsome business dealings which we have had, but I have every respect forhis talents and his character. He is an amateur of crime, as I am ofdisease. For him the villain, for me the microbe. There are my prisons,
he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon aside table. Among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worstoffenders in the world are now doing time.
It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmes desiredto see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought that you were theone man in London who could help him.
The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the floor.
Why? he asked. Why should Mr. Holmes think that I could help himin his trouble?
Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases.
But why should he think that this disease which he has contracted isEastern?
Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working amongChinese sailors down in the docks.
Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his smoking-cap.
[938] Oh, thats itCis it? said he. I trust the matter is not so grave asyou suppose. How long has he been ill?
About three days.
Is he delirious?
Occasionally.
Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not to answer hiscall. I very much resent any interruption to my work, Dr. Watson, but thiscase is certainly exceptional. I will come with you at once.
I remembered Holmess injunction.
I have another appointment, said I.
Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmess address.
You can rely upon my being there within half an hour at most.
It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmess bedroom. For allthat I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. To myenormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. His appearancewas as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spokein a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispnessand lucidity.
Well, did you see him, Watson?
Yes; he is coming.
Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers.
He wished to return with me.
That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously impossible.
Did he ask what ailed me?
I told him about the Chinese in the East End.
Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could.
You can now disappear from the scene.
I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes.
Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinionwould be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we arealone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson.
My dear Holmes!
I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself toconcealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion.
But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done. Suddenly he sat upwith a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. There are the wheels,Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And dont budge, whateverhappensCwhatever happens, do you hear? Dont speak! Dont move! Justlisten with all your ears. Then in an instant his sudden access of strengthdeparted, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low,vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man.
From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled I heardthe footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of thebedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, brokenonly by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. I couldimagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down atthe sufferer. At last that strange hush was broken.
Holmes! he cried. Holmes! in the insistent tone of one whoawakens a sleeper. Cant you hear me, Holmes? There was a rustling,as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder.
Is that you, Mr. Smith? Holmes whispered. I hardly dared hope thatyou would come.
[939] The other laughed.
I should imagine not, he said. And yet, you see, I am here. Coals offire, HolmesCcoals of fire!
It is very good of youCvery noble of you. I appreciate your specialknowledge.
Our visitor sniggered.
You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who does. Doyou know what is the matter with you?
The same, said Holmes.
Ah! You recognize the symptoms?
Only too well.
Well, I shouldnt be surprised, Holmes. I shouldnt be surprised if itwere the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. Poor Victor was a dead manon the fourth dayCa strong, hearty young fellow. It was certainly, as yousaid, very surprising that he should have contracted an out-of-the-wayAsiatic disease in the heart of LondonCa disease, too, of which I had madesuch a very special study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart ofyou to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause andeffect.
I knew that you did it.
Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldnt prove it, anyhow. But whatdo you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that, and thencrawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? What sort of agame is thatCeh?
I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. Give me thewater! he gasped.
Youre precious near your end, my friend, but I dont want you to gotill I have had a word with you. Thats why I give you water. There, dontslop it about! Thats right. Can you understand what I say?
Holmes groaned.
Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones, he whispered. Illput the words out of my headCI swear I will. Only cure me, and Ill forgetit.
Forget what?
Well, about Victor Savages death. You as good as admitted just nowthat you had done it. Ill forget it.
You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I dont see you inthe witness-box. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes, I assureyou. It matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died.
Its not him we are talking about. Its you.
Yes, yes.
The fellow who came for meCIve forgotten his nameCsaid that youcontracted it down in the East End among the sailors.
I could only account for it so.
You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think yourselfsmart, dont you? You came across someone who was smarter this time.
Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of no other way youcould have got this thing?
I cant think. My mind is gone. For heavens sake help me!
Yes, I will help you. Ill help you to understand just where you are andhow you got there. Id like you to know before you die.
Give me something to ease my pain.
Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealing towards theend. Takes you as cramp, I fancy.
[940] Yes, yes; it is cramp.
Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can youremember any unusual incident in your life just about the time yoursymptoms began?
No, no; nothing.
Think again.
Im too ill to think.
Well, then, Ill help you. Did anything come by post?
By post?
A box by chance?
Im faintingCIm gone!
Listen, Holmes! There was a sound as if he was shaking the dyingman, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet in my hidingplace.
You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you remember aboxCan ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You opened itCdo youremember?
Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some jokeC C
It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, you would haveit and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had leftme alone I would not have hurt you.
I remember, Holmes gasped. The spring! It drew blood. This boxCthis on the table.
The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room in mypocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you have the truthnow, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killed you. Youknew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sent you to share it.
You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch youdie.
Holmess voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.
What is that? said Smith. Turn up the gas? Ah, the shadows begin tofall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may see you the better. Hecrossed the room and the light suddenly brightened. Is there any otherlittle service that I can do you, my friend?
A match and a cigarette.
I nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was speaking inhis natural voiceCa little weak, perhaps, but the very voice I knew. Therewas a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith was standing in silentamazement looking down at his companion.
Whats the meaning of this? I heard him say at last in a dry, raspingtone.
The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it, said Holmes. Igive you my word that for three days I have tasted neither food nor drinkuntil you were good enough to pour me out that glass of water. But it isthe tobacco which I find most irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes. Iheard the striking of a match. That is very much better. Halloa! halloa!
Do I hear the step of a friend?
There were footfalls outside, the door opened, and Inspector Mortonappeared.
All is in order and this is your man, said Holmes.
The officer gave the usual cautions.
I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor Savage, heconcluded.
And you might add of the attempted murder of one Sherlock Holmes,
remarked my friend with a chuckle. To save an invalid trouble,Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give our signal byturning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a small box in the righthandpocket of his coat which it [941] would be as well to remove. Thankyou. I would handle it gingerly if I were you. Put it down here. It mayplay its part in the trial.
There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash of ironand a cry of pain.
Youll only get yourself hurt, said the inspector. Stand still, willyou? There was the click of the closing handcuffs.
A nice trap! cried the high, snarling voice. It will bring you into thedock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorryfor him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have saidanything which he may invent which will corroborate his insanesuspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as goodas yours.
Good heavens! cried Holmes. I had totally forgotten him. My dearWatson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should haveoverlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since Iunderstand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you thecab below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I may be of some useat the station.
I never needed it more, said Holmes as he refreshed himself with aglass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. However,as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means less to methan to most men. It was very essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudsonwith the reality of my condition, since she was to convey it to you, andyou in turn to him. You wont be offended, Watson? You will realize thatamong your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you hadshared my secret you would never have been able to impress Smith withthe urgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of thewhole scheme. Knowing his vindictive nature, I was perfectly certain thathe would come to look upon his handiwork.
But your appearance, HolmesCyour ghastly face?
Three days of absolute fast does not improve ones beauty, Watson.
For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. With vaselineupon ones forehead, belladonna in ones eyes, rouge over the cheekbones,and crusts of beeswax round ones lips, a very satisfying effect canbe produced. Malingering is a subject upon which I have sometimesthought of writing a monograph. A little occasional talk about halfcrowns,oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasingeffect of delirium.
But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth noinfection?
Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respectfor your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment wouldpass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse ortemperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. If I failed to do so, whowould bring my Smith within my grasp? No, Watson, I would not touchthat box. You can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharpspring like a vipers tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was bysome such device that poor Savage, who stood between this monster anda reversion, was done to death. My correspondence, however, is, as youknow, a varied one, and I am somewhat upon my guard against anypackages which reach me. It was clear to me, however, that by pretendingthat he had really succeeded in his design I might surprise a confession.
That pretence I have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist.
Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we havefinished at the police-station I think that something nutritious atSimpsons would not be out of place.
David Soucek, 1998 The Disappearance of Lady Frances CarfaxHis Last BowTHE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCES CARFAXBUT why Turkish? asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at myboots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and myprotruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention.
English, I answered in some surprise. I got them at Latimers, inOxford Street.
Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience.
The bath! he said; the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkishrather than the invigorating home-made article?
Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. ATurkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicineCa fresh startingpoint,a cleanser of the system.
By the way, Holmes, I added, I have no doubt the connectionbetween my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to alogical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it.
The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson, said Holmes witha mischievous twinkle. It belongs to the same elementary class ofdeduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared yourcab in your drive this morning.
I dont admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation, said I withsome asperity.
Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let mesee, what were the points? Take the last one firstCthe cab. You observethat you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat.
Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had nosplashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical.
Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clearthat you had a companion.
That is very evident.
Absurdly commonplace, is it not?
But the boots and the bath?
Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in acertain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate doublebow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore,had them off. Who has tied them? A bootmakerCor the boy at the bath. Itis unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well,what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkishbath has served a purpose.
What is that?
You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let mesuggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dearWatsonCfirst-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?
Splendid! But why?
Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from hispocket.
One of the most dangerous classes in the world, said he, is thedrifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often themost useful of mortals, [943] but she is the inevitable inciter of crime inothers. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to takeher from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as oftenas not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boarding-houses. She is a straychicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed.
I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax.
I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular.
Holmes consulted his notes.
Lady Frances, he continued, is the sole survivor of the direct familyof the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in themale line. She was left with limited means, but with some veryremarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds towhich she was fondly attachedCtoo attached, for she refused to leave themwith her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather patheticfigure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, andyet, by a strange chance, the last derelict of what only twenty years agowas a goodly fleet.
What has happened to her, then?
Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead?
There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years ithas been her invariable custom to write every second week to MissDobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell.
It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks havepassed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National atLausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address.
The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum willbe spared if we can clear the matter up.
Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had othercorrespondents?
There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is thebank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries.
She banks at Silvesters. I have glanced over her account. The last checkbut one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably lefther with cash in hand. Only one check has been drawn since.
To whom, and where?
To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the check wasdrawn. It was cashed at the Crdit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than threeweeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds.
And who is Miss Marie Devine?
That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was themaid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her this checkwe have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that yourresearches will soon clear the matter up.
My researches!
Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. You know that Icannot possibly leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terrorof his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leavethe country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes anunhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my dearWatson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant arate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the endof the Continental wire.
[944] Two days later found me at the H.tel National at Lausanne, whereI received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-knownmanager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for severalweeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was notmore than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having inher youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of anyvaluable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that theheavy trunk in the ladys bedroom was always scrupulously locked. MarieDevine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actuallyengaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was nodifficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. Allthis I jotted down and felt that Holmes himself could not have been moreadroit in collecting his facts.
Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which Ipossessed could clear up the cause for the ladys sudden departure. Shewas very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that sheintended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking thelake. And yet she had left at a single days notice, which involved her inthe useless payment of a weeks rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of themaid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departurewith the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man.
Un sauvageCun vritable sauvage! cried Jules Vibart. The man hadrooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly toMadame on the promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She hadrefused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record.
Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and,what was of more importance, Jules Vibarts sweetheart, thought that thiscall and this departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules wouldnot discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of thathe could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go toMontpellier and ask her.
So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devoted to theplace which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne.
Concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the ideathat she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track.
Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled forBaden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route.
This much I gathered from the manager of Cooks local office. So toBaden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all myproceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorouscommendation.
At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayedat the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made theacquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from SouthAmerica. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort andoccupation in religion. Dr. Shlessingers remarkable personality, hiswhole-hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from adisease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected herdeeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of theconvalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me,upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon eitherside of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with specialreference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing amonograph. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife hadreturned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither in theircompany. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heardnothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days [945]
beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she wasleaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the wholeparty before his departure.
By the way, said the landlord in conclusion, you are not the onlyfriend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only aweek or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand.
Did he give a name? I asked.
None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type.
A savage? said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustriousfriend.
Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded,sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in afarmers inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I shouldthink, and one whom I should be sorry to offend.
Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer withthe lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious lady pursued from placeto place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she wouldnot have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later hewould overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was that the secret ofher continued silence? Could the good people who were her companionsnot screen her from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose,what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problemwhich I had to solve.
To Holmes I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had got down tothe roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for a descriptionof Dr. Shlessingers left ear. Holmess ideas of humour are strange andoccasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jestCindeed, Ihad already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, beforehis message came.
I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that shecould tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistressbecause she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her ownapproaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Hermistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability oftemper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questionedher once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made theparting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had givenher fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deepdistrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With herown eyes she had seen him seize the ladys wrist with great violence onthe public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. Shebelieved that it was out of dread of him that Lady Frances had acceptedthe escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marieabout it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistresslived in a state of continual nervous apprehension. So far she had got inher narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face wasconvulsed with surprise and fear. See! she cried. The miscreantfollows still! There is the very man of whom I speak.
Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man witha bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street andstaring eagerly at the numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself,he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment,I rushed out and accosted him.
You are an Englishman, I said.
What if I am? he asked with a most villainous scowl.
[946] May I ask what your name is?
No, you may not, said he with decision.
The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best.
Where is the Lady Frances Carfax? I asked.
He stared at me in amazement.
What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insistupon an answer! said I.
The fellow gave a bellow of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. Ihave held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron andthe fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearlygone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out froma cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant asharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. Hestood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should notrenew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered thecottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preserver, whostood beside me in the roadway.
Well, Watson, said he, a very pretty hash you have made of it! Irather think you had better come back with me to London by the nightexpress.
An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, wasseated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden andopportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could getaway from London, he determined to head me off at the next obviouspoint of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had sat in thecabaret waiting for my appearance.
And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dearWatson, said he. I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunderwhich you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been togive the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing.
Perhaps you would have done no better, I answered bitterly.
There is no perhaps about it. I have done better. Here is the Hon.
Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we mayfind him the starting-point for a more successful investigation.
A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the samebearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when hesaw me.
What is this, Mr. Holmes? he asked. I had your note and I havecome. But what has this man to do with the matter?
This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us inthis affair.
The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words ofapology.
I hope I didnt harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lostmy grip of myself. Indeed, Im not responsible in these days. My nervesare like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know,in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear ofmy existence at all.
I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Francess governess.
Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well.
And she remembers you. It was in the days beforeCbefore you found itbetter to go to South Africa.
Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. Iswear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man wholoved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. Iwas a wild youngster, I [947] knowCnot worse than others of my class. Buther mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness.
So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have nomore to say to me. And yet she loved meCthat is the wonder of it!Clovedme well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sakealone. When the years had passed and I had made my money at BarbertonI thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heard that shewas still unmarried. I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. Sheweakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she hadleft the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that hermaid was here. Im a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr.
Watson spoke to me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But forGods sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances.
That is for us to find out, said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar gravity.
What is your London address, Mr. Green?
The Langham Hotel will find me.
Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case Ishould want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you mayrest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of LadyFrances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card sothat you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you willpack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best effortsfor two hungry travellers at 7:30 to-morrow.
A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms,which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across tome. Jagged or torn, was the message, and the place of origin, Baden.
What is this? I asked.
It is everything, Holmes answered. You may remember myseemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentlemans left ear. Youdid not answer it.
I had left Baden and could not inquire.
Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of theEnglischer Hof, whose answer lies here.
What does it show?
It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionallyastute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary fromSouth America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the mostunscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolvedCand for a youngcountry it has turned out some very finished types. His particularspecialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religiousfeelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is aworthy helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me,and this physical peculiarityChe was badly bitten in a saloon-fight atAdelaide in 89Cconfirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the handsof a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she isalready dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly insome sort of confinement and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her otherfriends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that shehas passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their systemof registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with theContinental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rogues couldnot hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep aperson under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, butas we have at present [948] no possible means of telling where, we canonly take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls inpatience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a word withfriend Lestrade at Scotland Yard.
But neither the official police nor Holmess own small but veryefficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid thecrowded millions of London the three persons we sought were ascompletely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements weretried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminalresort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His oldassociates were watched, but they kept clear of him. And then suddenly,after a week of helpless suspense there came a flash of light. A silver-andbrilliantpendant of old Spanish design had been pawned at Bovingtons,in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large, clean-shaven man ofclerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. Theear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called fornewsCthe third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clotheswere getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting away inhis anxiety. If you will only give me something to do! was his constantwail. At last Holmes could oblige him.
He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now.
But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear thatthey cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must preparefor the worst.
What can I do?
These people do not know you by sight?
No.
It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. Inthat case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair priceand no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he willprobably come back to Bovingtons. I will give you a note to them, andthey will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow himhome. But no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. I put you on yourhonour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent.
For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son ofthe famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet inthe Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third herushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of hispowerful frame quivering with excitement.
We have him! We have him! he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with a fewwords and thrust him into an armchair.
Come, now, give us the order of events, said he.
She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendantshe brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, withferret eyes.
That is the lady, said Holmes.
She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the KenningtonRoad, [949] and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr.
Holmes, it was an undertakers.
My companion started. Well? he asked in that vibrant voice whichtold of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face.
She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. Itis late, I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusingherself. It should be there before now, she answered. It took longer,being out of the ordinary. They both stopped and looked at me, so Iasked some question and then left the shop.
You did excellently well. What happened next?
The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Hersuspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then shecalled a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to followher. She got down at last at No. 36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drovepast, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house.
Did you see anyone?
The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. Theblind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there, wonderingwhat I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it.
They descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the stepsto the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin.
Ah!
For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had beenopened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who hadopened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think thatshe recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. Iremembered my promise to you, and here I am.
You have done excellent work, said Holmes scribbling a few wordsupon a half-sheet of paper. We can do nothing legal without a warrant,and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to theauthorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I shouldthink that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will seeto all details.
But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffinmean, and for whom could it be but for her?
We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a moment will be lost.
Leave it in our hands. Now, Watson, he added as our client hurriedaway, he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, theirregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikesme as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified. Not amoment is to be lost in getting to Poultney Square.
Let us try to reconstruct the situation, said he as we drove swiftlypast the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. Thesevillains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after first alienatingher from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have beenintercepted. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnishedhouse. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they havebecome possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their objectfrom the first. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safeenough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone isinterested in the ladys fate. When she is released she will, of course,denounce them. [950] Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannotkeep her under lock and key forever. So murder is their only solution.
That seems very clear.
Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow twoseparate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point ofintersection which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, notfrom the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incidentproves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to anorthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate andofficial sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, they would haveburied her in a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular.
What does that mean? Surely that they have done her to death in someway which has deceived the doctor and simulated a naturalendCpoisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let adoctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly acredible proposition.
Could they have forged a medical certificate?
Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that.
Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertakers, for we have just passedthe pawnbrokers. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearance inspiresconfidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place tomorrow.
The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was tobe at eight oclock in the morning. You see, Watson, no mystery;everything above-board! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedlybeen complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well,theres nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?
My stick!
Well, well, we shall be strong enough. Thrice is he armed who hathhis quarrel just. We simply cant afford to wait for the police or to keepwithin the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now,Watson, well just take our luck together, as we have occasionally done inthe past.
He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre ofPoultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tallwoman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.
Well, what do you want? she asked sharply, peering at us through thedarkness.
I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger, said Holmes.
There is no such person here, she answered, and tried to close thedoor, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot.
Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may callhimself, said Holmes firmly.
She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. Well, come in! said she.
My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world. She closed thedoor behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of thehall, turning up the gas as she left us. Mr. Peters will be with you in aninstant, she said.
Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around thedusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before thedoor opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly intothe room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a generalair of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, viciousmouth.
There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen, he said in anunctuous, [951] make-everything-easy voice. I fancy that you have beenmisdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the streetC C
That will do; we have no time to waste, said my companion firmly.
You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, ofBaden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name isSherlock Holmes.
Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidablepursuer. I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes, said hecoolly. When a mans conscience is easy you cant rattle him. What isyour business in my house?
I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax,whom you brought away with you from Baden.
Id be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be, Petersanswered coolly. Ive a bill against her for nearly a hundred pounds, andnothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealerwould hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me atBadenCit is a fact that I was using another name at the timeCand she stuckon to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once inLondon, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels topay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and Im your debtor.
I mean to find her, said Sherlock Holmes. Im going through thishouse till I do find her.
Where is your warrant?
Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. This will have to servetill a better one comes.
Why, you are a common burglar.
So you might describe me, said Holmes cheerfully. My companionis also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through yourhouse.
Our opponent opened the door.
Fetch a policeman, Annie! said he. There was a whisk of feminineskirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut.
Our time is limited, Watson, said Holmes. If you try to stop us,Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which wasbrought into your house?
What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it.
I must see that body.
Never with my consent.
Then without it. With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellowto one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stoodimmediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table,under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gasand raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay anemaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an agedand withered face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, ordisease could this wornout wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances.
Holmess face showed his amazement, and also his relief.
Thank God! he muttered. Its someone else.
Ah, youve blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, saidPeters, who had followed us into the room.
Who is this dead woman?
Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wifes, RoseSpender [952] by name, whom we found in the Brixton WorkhouseInfirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13Firbank VillasCmind you take the address, Mr. HolmesCand had hercarefully tended, as Christian folk should. On the third day shediedCcertificate says senile decayCbut thats only the doctors opinion,and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried outby Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eightoclock to-morrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes?
Youve made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. Id givesomething for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulledaside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found apoor old woman of ninety.
Holmess expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of hisantagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance.
I am going through your house, said he.
Are you, though! cried Peters as a womans voice and heavy stepssounded in the passage. Well soon see about that. This way, officers, ifyou please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannotget rid of them. Help me to put them out.
A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his cardfrom his case.
This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson.
Bless you, sir, we know you very well, said the sergeant, but youcant stay here without a warrant.
Of course not. I quite understand that.
Arrest him! cried Peters.
We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted,
said the sergeant majestically, but youll have to go, Mr. Holmes.
Yes, Watson, we shall have to go.
A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool asever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followedus.
Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but thats the law.
Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise.
I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there isanything I can doC C
Its a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. Iexpect a warrant presently.
Then Ill keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comesalong, I will surely let you know.
It was only nine oclock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once.
First we drove to Brixton Workhouse Infirmary, where we found that itwas indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before,that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, andthat they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprisewas expressed at the news that she had since died.
The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found thewoman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and hadsigned the certificate in due form. I assure you that everything wasperfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter, saidhe. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for peopleof their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So farand no farther went the doctor.
[953] Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had beendifficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay wasinevitable. The magistrates signature might not be obtained until nextmorning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down withLestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnightour friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lightshere and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one hadleft it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait forthe morrow.
Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversation and too restless forsleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knottedtogether, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair,as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery.
Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowling about thehouse. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed intomy room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed facetold me that his night had been a sleepless one.
What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not? he asked eagerly.
Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of anybrains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! Its life or deathCahundred chances on death to one on life. Ill never forgive myself, never,if we are too late!
Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom downBaker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed BigBen, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others werelate as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standingat the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt thecoffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes dartedforward and barred their way.
Take it back! he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost.
Take it back this instant!
What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is yourwarrant? shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over thefarther end of the coffin.
The warrant is on its way. This coffin shall remain in the house until itcomes.
The authority in Holmess voice had its effect upon the bearers. Petershad suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders.
Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver! he shouted as the coffinwas replaced upon the table. Heres one for you, my man! A sovereign ifthe lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questionsCwork away! Thats good!
Another! And another! Now pull all together! Its giving! Its giving! Ah,that does it at last.
With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there camefrom the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. Abody lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had beensoaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesqueface of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant hehad passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position.
Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!
For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation,and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Francesseemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, withartificial respiration, with injected ether, with every device that sciencecould suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, somedimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly [954] returning life. A cab haddriven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. Here isLestrade with his warrant, said he. He will find that his birds haveflown. And here, he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, issomeone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Goodmorning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the LadyFrances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor oldwoman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone.
Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson, saidHolmes that evening, it can only be as an example of that temporaryeclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slipsare common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize andrepair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim.
My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strangesentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had beentoo easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, thewords came back to me. It was the remark of the undertakers wife, asreported by Philip Green. She had said, It should be there before now. Ittook longer, being out of the ordinary. It was the coffin of which shespoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it hadbeen made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in aninstant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at thebottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room foranother body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had allbeen so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight theLady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffinbefore it left the house.
It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it was achance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge,done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. Theycould bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she wereexhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerationsmight prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. Yousaw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long.
They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried herdown, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and thenscrewed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in theannals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches ofLestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their futurecareer.
David Soucek, 1998 The Devils FootHis Last BowTHE DEVILS FOOTIN RECORDING from time to time some of the curious experiences andinteresting recollections which I associate with my long and intimatefriendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced bydifficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre andcynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothingamused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over theactual exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mockingsmile to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed[955] this attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack ofinteresting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few ofmy records before the public. My participation in some of his adventureswas always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me.
It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram fromHolmes last TuesdayChe has never been known to write where a telegramwould serveCin the following terms:
Why not tell them of the Cornish horrorCstrangest case I havehandled.
I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matterfresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I shouldrecount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive, tohunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and to laythe narrative before my readers.
It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmess ironconstitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constanthard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasionalindiscretions of his own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of HarleyStreet, whose dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day recount,gave positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside all hiscases and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert anabsolute breakdown. The state of his health was not a matter in which hehimself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute,but he was induced at last, on the threat of being permanently disqualifiedfrom work, to give himself a complete change of scene and air. Thus itwas that in the early spring of that year we found ourselves together in asmall cottage near Poldhu Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornishpeninsula.
It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grimhumour of my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed house,which stood high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon thewhole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailingvessels, with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on whichinnumerable seamen have met their end. With a northerly breeze it liesplacid and sheltered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for restand protection.
Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blustering gale fromthe south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle inthe creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that evilplace.
On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It wasa country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-coloured, with an occasionalchurch tower to mark the site of some old-world village. In everydirection upon these moors there were traces of some vanished race whichhad passed utterly away, and left as its sole record strange monuments ofstone, irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of the dead,and curious earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. The glamourand mystery of the place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations,appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent much of his timein long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor. The ancientCornish language had also arrested his attention, and he had, I remember,conceived the idea that it was akin to the Chaldean, and had been largelyderived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He had received a consignmentof books upon philology and was settling down to develop this thesiswhen suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we foundourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem [956] at ourvery doors which was more intense, more engrossing, and infinitely moremysterious than any of those which had driven us from London. Oursimple life and peaceful, healthy routine were violently interrupted, andwe were precipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused theutmost excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the whole west ofEngland. Many of my readers may retain some recollection of what wascalled at the time The Cornish Horror, though a most imperfect accountof the matter reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, I willgive the true details of this inconceivable affair to the public.
I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted thispart of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of TredannickWollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clusteredround an ancient, moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr.
Roundhay, was something of an archaeologist, and as such Holmes hadmade his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable,with a considerable fund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken teaat the vicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, anindependent gentleman, who increased the clergymans scanty resourcesby taking rooms in his large, straggling house. The vicar, being abachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little incommon with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, with astoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. Iremember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but hislodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting withaverted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs.
These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sittingroomon Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as wewere smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors.
Mr. Holmes, said the vicar in an agitated voice, the mostextraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is the mostunheard-of business. We can only regard it as a special Providence thatyou should chance to be here at the time, for in all England you are theone man we need.
I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but Holmestook his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound whohears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our palpitatingvisitor with his agitated companion sat side by side upon it. Mr. MortimerTregennis was more self-contained than the clergyman, but the twitchingof his thin hands and the brightness of his dark eyes showed that theyshared a common emotion.
Shall I speak or you? he asked of the vicar.
Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be,and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do thespeaking, said Holmes.
I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressedlodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmesssimple deduction had brought to their faces.
Perhaps I had best say a few words first, said the vicar, and then youcan judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or whetherwe should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious affair. I mayexplain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in the company of histwo brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister Brenda, at their house ofTredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. Heleft them shortly after ten oclock, [957] playing cards round the diningroom table, in excellent health and spirits. This morning, being an earlyriser, he walked in that direction before breakfast and was overtaken bythe carriage of Dr. Richards, who explained that he had just been sent foron a most urgent call to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennisnaturally went with him. When he arrived at Tredannick Wartha he foundan extraordinary state of things. His two brothers and his sister wereseated round the table exactly as he had left them, the cards still spread infront of them and the candles burned down to their sockets. The sister layback stone-dead in her chair, while the two brothers sat on each side ofher laughing, shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean out of them.
All three of them, the dead woman and the two demented men, retainedupon their faces an expression of the utmost horrorCa convulsion of terrorwhich was dreadful to look upon. There was no sign of the presence ofanyone in the house, except Mrs. Porter, the old cook and housekeeper,who declared that she had slept deeply and heard no sound during thenight. Nothing had been stolen or disarranged, and there is absolutely noexplanation of what the horror can be which has frightened a woman todeath and two strong men out of their senses. There is the situation, Mr.
Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help us to clear it up you will havedone a great work.
I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into thequiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at hisintense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now theexpectation. He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the strangedrama which had broken in upon our peace.
I will look into this matter, he said at last. On the face of it, it wouldappear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been thereyourself, Mr. Roundhay?
No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to thevicarage, and I at once hurried over with him to consult you.
How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?
About a mile inland.
Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask you afew questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis.
The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his morecontrolled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of theclergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed uponHolmes, and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lipsquivered as he listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen hisfamily, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of thescene.
Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes, said he eagerly. It is a bad thing tospeak of, but I will answer you the truth.
Tell me about last night.
Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elderbrother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down aboutnine oclock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left them allround the table, as merry as could be.
Who let you out?
Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall doorbehind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but theblind was not drawn down. There was no change in door or window thismorning, nor any reason [958] to think that any stranger had been to thehouse. Yet there they sat, driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda lyingdead of fright, with her head hanging over the arm of the chair. Ill neverget the sight of that room out of my mind so long as I live.
The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable, saidHolmes. I take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any wayaccount for them?
Its devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish! cried Mortimer Tregennis. It isnot of this world. Something has come into that room which has dashedthe light of reason from their minds. What human contrivance could dothat?
I fear, said Holmes, that if the matter is beyond humanity it iscertainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all natural explanations beforewe fall back upon such a theory as this. As to yourself, Mr. Tregennis, Itake it you were divided in some way from your family, since they livedtogether and you had rooms apart?
That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with. Wewere a family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold out our venture to acompany, and so retired with enough to keep us. I wont deny that therewas some feeling about the division of the money and it stood between usfor a time, but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we were the best offriends together.
Looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anythingstand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon thetragedy? Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which can help me.
There is nothing at all, sir.
Your people were in their usual spirits?
Never better.
Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehension ofcoming danger?
Nothing of the kind.
You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?
Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment.
There is one thing occurs to me, said he at last. As we sat at thetable my back was to the window, and my brother George, he being mypartner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hard over myshoulder, so I turned round and looked also. The blind was up and thewindow shut, but I could just make out the bushes on the lawn, and itseemed to me for a moment that I saw something moving among them. Icouldnt even say if it was man or animal, but I just thought there wassomething there. When I asked him what he was looking at, he told methat he had the same feeling. That is all that I can say.
Did you not investigate?
No; the matter passed as unimportant.
You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?
None at all.
I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning.
I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. Thismorning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook me.
He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy down with an urgentmessage. I sprang in beside him and we drove on. When we got there welooked into that dreadful room. The candles and the fire must have burnedout hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark until dawnhad broken. The doctor said Brenda must have been dead at least sixhours. There were no signs of violence. She just lay across the arm [959]
of the chair with that look on her face. George and Owen were singingsnatches of songs and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful tosee! I couldnt stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. Indeed, hefell into a chair in a sort of faint, and we nearly had him on our hands aswell.
RemarkableCmost remarkable! said Holmes, rising and taking hishat. I think, perhaps, we had better go down to Tredannick Warthawithout further delay. I confess that I have seldom known a case which atfirst sight presented a more singular problem.
Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance theinvestigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by an incident whichleft the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approach to the spotat which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding, country lane.
While we made our way along it we heard the rattle of a carriage comingtowards us and stood aside to let it pass. As it drove by us I caught aglimpse through the closed window of a horribly contorted, grinning faceglaring out at us. Those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past uslike a dreadful vision.
My brothers! cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips. They aretaking them to Helston.
We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its way.
Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which theyhad met their strange fate.
It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage, with aconsiderable garden which was already, in that Cornish air, well filledwith spring flowers. Towards this garden the window of the sitting-roomfronted, and from it, according to Mortimer Tregennis, must have comethat thing of evil which had by sheer horror in a single instant blastedtheir minds. Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the flowerplotsand along the path before we entered the porch. So absorbed was hein his thoughts, I remember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upsetits contents, and deluged both our feet and the garden path. Inside thehouse we were met by the elderly Cornish housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who,with the aid of a young girl, looked after the wants of the family. Shereadily answered all Holmess questions. She had heard nothing in thenight. Her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, and she hadnever known them more cheerful and prosperous. She had fainted withhorror upon entering the room in the morning and seeing that dreadfulcompany round the table. She had, when she recovered, thrown open thewindow to let the morning air in, and had run down to the lane, whenceshe sent a farm-lad for the doctor. The lady was on her bed upstairs if wecared to see her. It took four strong men to get the brothers into theasylum carriage. She would not herself stay in the house another day andwas starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family at St. Ives.
We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss Brenda Tregennishad been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. Herdark, clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still lingeredupon it something of that convulsion of horror which had been her lasthuman emotion. From her bedroom we descended to the sitting-room,where this strange tragedy had actually occurred. The charred ashes of theovernight fire lay in the grate. On the table were the four guttered andburned-out candles, with the cards scattered over its surface. The chairshad been moved back against the walls, but all else was as it [960] hadbeen the night before. Holmes paced with light, swift steps about theroom; he sat in the various chairs, drawing them up and reconstructingtheir positions. He tested how much of the garden was visible; heexamined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace; but never once did I seethat sudden brightening of his eyes and tightening of his lips which wouldhave told me that he saw some gleam of light in this utter darkness.
Why a fire? he asked once. Had they always a fire in this smallroom on a spring evening?
Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. Forthat reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. What are you going to donow, Mr. Holmes? he asked.
My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. I think, Watson, thatI shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so oftenand so justly condemned, said he. With your permission, gentlemen, wewill now return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor islikely to come to our notice here. I will turn the facts over in my mind,Mr. Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I will certainlycommunicate with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wish you bothgood-morning.
It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that Holmesbroke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his armchair,his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl of histobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, hiseyes vacant and far away. Finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to hisfeet.
It wont do, Watson! said he with a laugh. Let us walk along thecliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely to find themthan clues to this problem. To let the brain work without sufficientmaterial is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces. The sea air,sunshine, and patience, WatsonCall else will come.
Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson, he continued as weskirted the cliffs together. Let us get a firm grip of the very little whichwe do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit theminto their places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of us is preparedto admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. Let us begin byruling that entirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain threepersons who have been grievously stricken by some conscious orunconscious human agency. That is firm ground. Now, when did thisoccur? Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediatelyafter Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. That is a very importantpoint. The presumption is that it was within a few minutes afterwards.
The cards still lay upon the table. It was already past their usual hour forbed. Yet they had not changed their position or pushed back their chairs. Irepeat, then, that the occurrence was immediately after his departure, andnot later than eleven oclock last night.
Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements ofMortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no difficulty,and they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods as you do,you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-potexpedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot than mightotherwise have been possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Lastnight was also wet, you will remember, and it was not difficultChavingobtained a sample printCto pick out his track among others and to follow[961] his movements. He appears to have walked away swiftly in thedirection of the vicarage.
If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yetsome outside person affected the cardplayers, how can we reconstruct thatperson, and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Portermay be eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence thatsomeone crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced soterrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? Theonly suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself,who says that his brother spoke about some movement in the garden. Thatis certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyonewho had the design to alarm these people would be compelled to place hisvery face against the glass before he could be seen. There is a three-footflower-border outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. It isdifficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible animpression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive forso strange and elaborate an attempt. You perceive our difficulties,Watson?
They are only too clear, I answered with conviction.
And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are notinsurmountable, said Holmes. I fancy that among your extensivearchives, Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure.
Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate data areavailable, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithicman.
I may have commented upon my friends power of mental detachment,but never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning inCornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, andshards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. Itwas not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottage that wefound a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to thematter in hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. Thehuge body, the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes andhawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottageceiling, the beardCgolden at the fringes and white near the lips, save forthe nicotine stain from his perpetual cigarCall these were as well known inLondon as in Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendouspersonality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer.
We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twicecaught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made noadvances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him,as it was well known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him tospend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a smallbungalow buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amidhis books and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to hisown simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of hisneighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmesin an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstructionof this mysterious episode. The county police are utterly at fault, saidhe, but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivableexplanation. My only claim to being taken into your confidence is thatduring my many residences here I have come to know this family ofTregennis very wellCindeed, upon my Cornish mothers side I could callthem cousinsC and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock tome. I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth [962] upon my way toAfrica, but the news reached me this morning, and I came straight backagain to help in the inquiry.
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
Did you lose your boat through it?
I will take the next.
Dear me! that is friendship indeed.
I tell you they were relatives.
Quite soCcousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard the ship?
Some of it, but the main part at the hotel.
I see. But surely this event could not have found its way into thePlymouth morning papers.
No, sir; I had a telegram.
Might I ask from whom?
A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer.
You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes.
It is my business.
With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure.
I have no objection to telling you, he said. It was Mr. Roundhay, thevicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me.
Thank you, said Holmes. I may say in answer to your originalquestion that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of thiscase, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would bepremature to say more.
Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in anyparticular direction?
No, I can hardly answer that.
Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit. Thefamous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, andwithin five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more untilthe evening, when he returned with a slow step and haggard face whichassured me that he had made no great progress with his investigation. Heglanced at a telegram which awaited him and threw it into the grate.
From the Plymouth hotel, Watson, he said. I learned the name of itfrom the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Sterndalesaccount was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last night there, andthat he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to Africa, whilehe returned to be present at this investigation. What do you make of that,Watson?
He is deeply interested.
Deeply interestedCyes. There is a thread here which we have not yetgrasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson,for I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When itdoes we may soon leave our difficulties behind us.
Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, orhow strange and sinister would be that new development which openedup an entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window inthe morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dogcartcoming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and ourfriend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Holmeswas already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him.
[963] Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but atlast in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him.
We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden! hecried. Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his hands! Hedanced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for his ashyface and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news.
Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly thesame symptoms as the rest of his family.
Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant.
Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?
Yes, I can.
Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we areentirely at your disposal. HurryChurry, before things get disarranged.
The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angleby themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room;above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came upto the windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so thateverything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the sceneas we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impressionwhich can never be effaced from my mind.
The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressingstuffiness. The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window,or it would have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due tothe fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. Besideit sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, hisspectacles pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face turnedtowards the window and twisted into the same distortion of terror whichhad marked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed andhis fingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. Hewas fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been donein a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and thatthe tragic end had come to him in the early morning.
One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmess phlegmaticexterior when one saw the sudden change which came over him from themoment that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense andalert, his eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eageractivity. He was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room,and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhounddrawing a cover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and endedby throwing open the window, which appeared to give him some freshcause for excitement, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations ofinterest and delight. Then he rushed down the stair, out through the openwindow, threw himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and into theroom once more, all with the energy of the hunter who is at the very heelsof his quarry. The lamp, which was an ordinary standard, he examinedwith minute care, making certain measurements upon its bowl. Hecarefully scrutinized with his lens the talc shield which covered the top ofthe chimney and scraped off some ashes which adhered to its uppersurface, putting some of them into an envelope, which he placed in hispocketbook. Finally, just as the doctor and the official police put in anappearance, he beckoned to the vicar and we all three went out upon thelawn.
I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren, heremarked. I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but Ishould be [964] exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would give theinspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroomwindow and to the sitting-room lamp. Each is suggestive, and togetherthey are almost conclusive. If the police would desire further informationI shall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. And now, Watson, Ithink that, perhaps, we shall be better employed elsewhere.
It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or thatthey imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation;but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days.
During this time Holmes spent some of his time smoking and dreaming inthe cottage; but a greater portion in country walks which he undertookalone, returning after many hours without remark as to where he hadbeen. One experiment served to show me the line of his investigation. Hehad bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burnedin the room of Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. This hefilled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and he carefully timedthe period which it would take to be exhausted. Another experimentwhich he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which I am notlikely ever to forget.
You will remember, Watson, he remarked one afternoon, that thereis a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports whichhave reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the roomin each case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect thatMortimer Tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to hisbrothers house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into achair? You had forgotten? Well, I can answer for it that it was so. Now,you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that sheherself fainted upon entering the room and had afterwards opened thewindow. In the second caseCthat of Mortimer Tregennis himselfCyoucannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when wearrived, though the servant had thrown open the window. That servant, Ifound upon inquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her bed. You willadmit, Watson, that these facts are very suggestive. In each case there isevidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case, also, there iscombustion going on in the roomCin the one case a fire, in the other alamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was litCas a comparison of theoil consumed will showClong after it was broad daylight. Why? Surelybecause there is some connection between three thingsCthe burning, thestuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of those unfortunatepeople. That is clear, is it not?
It would appear so.
At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose,then, that something was burned in each case which produced anatmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the firstinstanceCthat of the Tregennis familyCthis substance was placed in thefire. Now the window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumesto some extent up the chimney. Hence one would expect the effects of thepoison to be less than in the second case, where there was less escape forthe vapour. The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the firstcase only the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism,was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacywhich is evidently the first effect of the drug. In the second case the resultwas complete. The facts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of apoison which worked by combustion.
[965] With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked aboutin Mortimer Tregenniss room to find some remains of this substance.
The obvious place to look was the talc shield or smoke-guard of the lamp.
There, sure enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round theedges a fringe of brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed.
Half of this I took, as you saw, and I placed it in an envelope.
Why half, Holmes?
It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the officialpolice force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison stillremained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we willlight our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our windowto avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, andyou will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like asensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh,you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair Iwill place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from thepoison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in aposition to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end shouldthe symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take ourpowderCor what remains of itCfrom the envelope, and I lay it above theburning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments.
They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before Iwas conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the veryfirst whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. Athick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that inthis cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalledsenses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous andinconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swamamid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of somethingcoming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold,whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror tookpossession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes wereprotruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. Theturmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I triedto scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was myown voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, insome effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had aglimpse of Holmess face, white, rigid, and drawn with horrorCthe verylook which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that visionwhich gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from mychair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through thedoor, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grassplot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshinewhich was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which hadgirt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscapeuntil peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass,wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at eachother to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we hadundergone.
Upon my word, Watson! said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice,I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiableexperiment even for ones self, and doubly so for a friend. I am reallyvery sorry.
You know, I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen somuch of Holmess heart before, that it is my greatest joy and privilege tohelp you.
[966] He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical veinwhich was his habitual attitude to those about him. It would besuperfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson, said he. A candidobserver would certainly declare that we were so already before weembarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imaginedthat the effect could be so sudden and so severe. He dashed into thecottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arms length,he threw it among a bank of brambles. We must give the room a littletime to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of adoubt as to how these tragedies were produced?
None whatever.
But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbour hereand let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems still to lingerround my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points to thisman, Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy,though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in thefirst place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by areconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow thereconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, withthe foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, heis not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgivingdisposition. Well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea ofsomeone moving in the garden, which took our attention for a momentfrom the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. He had a motivein misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw this substance into the fire atthe moment of leaving the room, who did do so? The affair happenedimmediately after his departure. Had anyone else come in, the familywould certainly have risen from the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall,visitors do not arrive after ten oclock at night. We may take it, then, thatall the evidence points to Mortimer Tregennis as the culprit.
Then his own death was suicide!
Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. Theman who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate uponhis own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself.
There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there isone man in England who knows all about it, and I have madearrangements by which we shall hear the facts this afternoon from hisown lips. Ah! he is a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly stepthis way, Dr. Leon Sterndale. We have been conducting a chemicalexperiment indoors which has left our little room hardly fit for thereception of so distinguished a visitor.
I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure ofthe great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in somesurprise towards the rustic arbour in which we sat.
You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and Ihave come, though I really do not know why I should obey yoursummons.
Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate, said Holmes.
Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence.
You will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friendWatson and I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what thepapers call the Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for thepresent. Perhaps, since the matters which we have to discuss will affectyou personally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talkwhere there can be no eavesdropping.
[967] The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at mycompanion.
I am at a loss to know, sir, he said, what you can have to speakabout which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion.
The killing of Mortimer Tregennis, said Holmes.
For a moment I wished that I were armed. Sterndales fierce face turnedto a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins startedout in his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands towardsmy companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed acold, rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger thanhis hot-headed outburst.
I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law, said he,that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would dowell, Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you aninjury.
Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale. Surely theclearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you andnot for the police.
Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time inhis adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmessmanner which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for amoment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation.
What do you mean? he asked at last. If this is bluff upon your part,Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us haveno more beating about the bush. What do you mean?
I will tell you, said Holmes, and the reason why I tell you is that Ihope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be willdepend entirely upon the nature of your own defence.
My defence?
Yes, sir.
My defence against what?
Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis.
Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Upon my word,you are getting on, said he. Do all your successes depend upon thisprodigious power of bluff?
The bluff, said Holmes sternly, is upon your side, Dr. LeonSterndale, and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the factsupon which my conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth,allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing savethat it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to betaken into account in reconstructing this dramaC C
I came backC C
I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing andinadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom Isuspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waitedoutside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage.
How do you know that?
I followed you.
I saw no one.
That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent arestless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in theearly morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your doorjust as day was breaking, [968] you filled your pocket with some reddishgravel that was lying heaped beside your gate.
Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement.
You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from thevicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennisshoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarageyou passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under thewindow of the lodger Tregennis. It was now daylight, but the householdwas not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, andyou threw it up at the window above you.
Sterndale sprang to his feet.
I believe that you are the devil himself! he cried.
Holmes smiled at the compliment. It took two, or possibly three,handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him tocome down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. Youentered by the window. There was an interviewCa short oneCduring whichyou walked up and down the room. Then you passed out and closed thewindow, standing on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching whatoccurred. Finally, after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as you hadcome. Now, Dr. Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and whatwere the motives for your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle with me, Igive you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my hands forever.
Our visitors face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words ofhis accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in hishands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photographfrom his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us.
That is why I have done it, said he.
It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stoopedover it.
Brenda Tregennis, said he.
Yes, Brenda Tregennis, repeated our visitor. For years I have lovedher. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornishseclusion which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to theone thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have awife who has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws ofEngland, I could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited.
And this is what we have waited for. A terrible sob shook his greatframe, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Then with aneffort he mastered himself and spoke on:
The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that shewas an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and Ireturned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that sucha fate had come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to myaction, Mr. Holmes.
Proceed, said my friend.
Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon thetable. On the outside was written Radix pedis diaboli with a red poisonlabel beneath it. He pushed it towards me. I understand that you are adoctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?
Devils-foot root! No, I have never heard of it.
It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge, said he, for Ibelieve that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no otherspecimen in [969] Europe. It has not yet found its way either into thepharmacopoeia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped likea foot, half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by abotanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-menin certain districts of West Africa and is kept as a secret among them.
This particular specimen I obtained under very extraordinarycircumstances in the Ubanghi country. He opened the paper as he spokeand disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like powder.
Well, sir? asked Holmes sternly.
I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for youalready know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you shouldknow all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to theTregennis family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with thebrothers. There was a family quarrel about money which estranged thisman Mortimer, but it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards methim as I did the others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and severalthings arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but I had no cause for anypositive quarrel.
One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottageand I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things Iexhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how itstimulates those brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and howeither madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjectedto the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerlessEuropean science would be to detect it. How he took it I cannot say, for Inever left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while I wasopening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract someof the devils-foot root. I well remember how he plied me with questionsas to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but I littledreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking.
I thought no more of the matter until the vicars telegram reached meat Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before thenews could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But Ireturned at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details withoutfeeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round to see you onthe chance that some other explanation had suggested itself to you. Butthere could be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was themurderer; that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that ifthe other members of his family were all insane he would be the soleguardian of their joint property, he had used the devils-foot powder uponthem, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sister Brenda,the one human being whom I have ever loved or who has ever loved me.
There was his crime; what was to be his punishment?
Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that thefacts were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe sofantastic a story? I might or I might not. But I could not afford to fail. Mysoul cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes,that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come atlast to be a law to myself. So it was now. I determined that the fate whichhe had given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I woulddo justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can be noman who sets less value upon his own life than I do at the present moment.
Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, asyou say, [970] after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. Iforesaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from thepile which you have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his window.
He came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting-room.
I laid his offence before him. I told him that I had come both as judge andexecutioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of myrevolver. I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside thewindow, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leavethe room. In five minutes he died. My God! how he died! But my heartwas flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not feltbefore him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved awoman, you would have done as much yourself. At any rate, I am in yourhands. You can take what steps you like. As I have already said, there isno man living who can fear death less than I do.
Holmes sat for some little time in silence.
What were your plans? he asked at last.
I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work there is buthalf finished.
Go and do the other half, said Holmes. I, at least, am not prepared toprevent you.
Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walked fromthe arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch.
Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change,
said he. I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which weare called upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, andour action shall be so also. You would not denounce the man?
Certainly not, I answered.
I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved hadmet such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done.
Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence byexplaining what is obvious. The gravel upon the window-sill was, ofcourse, the starting-point of my research. It was unlike anything in thevicarage garden. Only when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndaleand his cottage did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broaddaylight and the remains of powder upon the shield were successive linksin a fairly obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we maydismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience tothe study of those Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in theCornish branch of the great Celtic speech.
David Soucek, 1998 His Last BowHis Last BowHIS LAST BOWAn Epilogue of Sherlock HolmesIT WAS nine oclock at night upon the second of AugustCthe most terribleAugust in the history of the world. One might have thought already thatGods curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was anawesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry andstagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an openwound lay low in the distant west. Above, the stars [971] were shiningbrightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. Thetwo famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk,with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they lookeddown upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalkcliff on which Von Bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himselffour years before. They stood with their heads close together, talking inlow, confidential tones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigarsmight have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend lookingdown in the darkness.
A remarkable man this Von BorkCa man who could hardly be matchedamong all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which hadfirst recommended him for the English mission, the most importantmission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had becomemore and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who werereally in touch with the truth. One of these was his present companion,Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waftits owner back to London.
So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably be back inBerlin within the week, the secretary was saying. When you get there,my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the welcome you willreceive. I happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of yourwork in this country. He was a huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, andtall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main assetin his political career.
Von Bork laughed.
They are not very hard to deceive, he remarked. A more docile,simple folk could not be imagined.
I dont know about that, said the other thoughtfully. They havestrange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is that surfacesimplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger. Ones firstimpression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly uponsomething very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit andmust adapt yourself to the fact. They have, for example, their insularconventions which simply must be observed.
Meaning, good form and that sort of thing? Von Bork sighed as onewho had suffered much.
Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. As anexample I may quote one of my own worst blundersCI can afford to talkof my blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of mysuccesses. It was on my first arrival. I was invited to a week-endgathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversationwas amazingly indiscreet.
Von Bork nodded. Ive been there, said he dryly.
Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a rsum of the information to Berlin.
Unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavy-handed in thesematters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware ofwhat had been said. This, of course, took the trail straight up to me.
Youve no idea the harm that it did me. There was nothing soft about ourBritish hosts on that occasion, I can assure you. I was two years living itdown. Now you, with this sporting pose of yoursC C
No, no, dont call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quitenatural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it.
Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them, youhunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your fourin-hand takes the [972] prize at Olympia. I have even heard that you go thelength of boxing with the young officers. What is the result? Nobodytakes you seriously. You are a good old sport, quite a decent fellow fora German, a hard-drinking, night-club, knock-about-town, devil-maycareyoung fellow. And all the time this quiet country house of yours isthe centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire themost astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear VonBorkCgenius!
You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim that my four years inthis country have not been unproductive. Ive never shown you my littlestore. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?
The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von Borkpushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electriclight. He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed himand carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Onlywhen all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn hissunburned aquiline face to his guest.
Some of my papers have gone, said he. When my wife and thehousehold left yesterday for Flushing they took the less important withthem. I must, of course, claim the protection of the embassy for theothers.
Your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. Therewill be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course, it is justpossible that we may not have to go. England may leave France to herfate. We are sure that there is no binding treaty between them.
And Belgium?
Yes, and Belgium, too.
Von Bork shook his head. I dont see how that could be. There is adefinite treaty there. She could never recover from such a humiliation.
She would at least have peace for the moment.
But her honour?
Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a mediaevalconception. Besides England is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, buteven our special war tax of fifty million, which one would think made ourpurpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the Times,has not roused these people from their slumbers. Here and there one hearsa question. It is my business to find an answer. Here and there also thereis an irritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure you that sofar as the essentials goCthe storage of munitions, the preparation forsubmarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosivesCnothingis prepared. How, then, can England come in, especially when we havestirred her up such a devils brew of Irish civil war, window-breakingFuries, and God knows what to keep her thoughts at home.
She must think of her future.
Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our ownvery definite plans about England, and that your information will be veryvital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers todaywe are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still.
I should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them,but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But youwere speaking of your papers. He sat in the armchair with the lightshining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar.
The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in thefurther corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-boundsafe. Von Bork [973] detached a small key from his watch chain, and aftersome considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavydoor.
Look! said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.
The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of theembassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeonholeswith which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had its label, and hiseyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as Fords,
Harbour-defences, Aeroplanes, Ireland, Egypt, Portsmouthforts, The Channel, Rosythe, and a score of others. Eachcompartment was bristling with papers and plans.
Colossal! said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clappedhis fat hands.
And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the harddrinking,hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection iscoming and there is the setting all ready for it. He pointed to a spaceover which Naval Signals was printed.
But you have a good dossier there already.
Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got thealarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, BaronCthe worstsetback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and thegood Altamont all will be well to-night.
The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation ofdisappointment.
Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things aremoving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at ourposts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. DidAltamont name no hour?
Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs.
ALTAMONT.
Sparking plugs, eh?
You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In ourcode everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If hetalks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on.
Sparking plugs are naval signals.
From Portsmouth at midday, said the secretary, examining thesuperscription. By the way, what do you give him?
Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salaryas well.
The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge themtheir blood money.
I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay himwell, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he isnot a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a suckingdove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.
Oh, an Irish-American?
If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure youI can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on theKings English as well as on the English king. Must you really go? Hemay be here any moment.
No. Im sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shall expectyou early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book through the littledoor on [974] the Duke of Yorks steps you can put a triumphant finis toyour record in England. What! Tokay! He indicated a heavily sealeddust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses upon a salver.
May I offer you a glass before your journey?
No, thanks. But it looks like revelry.
Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my Tokay.
He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I have tostudy him, I assure you. They had strolled out on to the terrace again,and along it to the further end where at a touch from the Baronschauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. Those are the lights ofHarwich, I suppose, said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat. Howstill and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lights within the week,and the English coast a less tranquil place! The heavens, too, may not bequite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true. Bythe way, who is that?
Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp,and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in acountry cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionallyto stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her.
That is Martha, the only servant I have left.
The secretary chuckled.
She might almost personify Britannia, said he, with her completeself-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, aurevoir, Von Bork! With a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car,and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shotforward through the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions ofthe luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impendingEuropean tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round thevillage street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in the oppositedirection.
Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of themotor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed he observed thathis old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. It was a newexperience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, forhis family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him,however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one oldwoman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place tohimself. There was a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and heset himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with theheat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, andinto this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the preciouscontents of his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, however,when his quick ears caught the sound of a distant car. Instantly he gave anexclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it,and hurried out on to the terrace. He was just in time to see the lights of asmall car come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it andadvanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built,elderly man with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resignshimself to a long vigil.
Well? asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor.
For answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantlyabove his head.
[975] You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister, he cried. Imbringing home the bacon at last.
The signals?
Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lampcode, MarconiCa copy, mind you, not the original. That was toodangerous. But its the real goods, and you can lay to that. He slappedthe German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which theother winced.
Come in, he said. Im all alone in the house. I was only waiting forthis. Of course a copy is better than the original. If an original weremissing they would change the whole thing. You think its all safe aboutthe copy?
The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbsfrom the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cutfeatures and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblanceto the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung fromthe corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it.
Making ready for a move? he remarked as he looked round him. Say,mister, he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtainwas now removed, you dont tell me you keep your papers in that?
Why not?
Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! And they reckon you to besome spy. Why, a Yankee crook would be into that with a can-opener. IfId known that any letter of mine was goin to lie loose in a thing like thatId have been a mug to write to you at all.
It would puzzle any crook to force that safe, Von Bork answered.
You wont cut that metal with any tool.
But the lock?
No, its a double combination lock. You know what that is?
Search me, said the American.
Well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can getthe lock to work. He rose and showed a double-radiating disc round thekeyhole. This outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures.
Well, well, thats fine.
So its not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that Ihad it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?
Its beyond me.
Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and herewe are.
The Americans face showed his surprise and admiration.
My, but that was smart! You had it down to a fine thing.
Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. Here it is, andIm shutting down to-morrow morning.
Well, I guess youll have to fix me up also. Im not staying in this goldarnedcountry all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see,John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. Id rather watch himfrom over the water.
But youre an American citizen?
Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but hes doing time inPortland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell himyoure an American citizen. Its British law and order over here, sayshe. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you dont domuch to cover your men.
What do you mean? Von Bork asked sharply.
[976] Well, you are their employer, aint you? Its up to you to see thatthey dont fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pickthem up? Theres JamesC C
It was Jamess own fault. You know that yourself. He was too selfwilledfor the job.
James was a boneheadCI give you that. Then there was Hollis.
The man was mad.
Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. Its enough to make a manbughouse when he has to play a part from morning to night with ahundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there isSteinerC C
Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler.
What about Steiner?
Well, theyve got him, thats all. They raided his store last night, andhe and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. Youll go off and he, poordevil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life.
Thats why I want to get over the water as soon as you do.
Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see thatthe news had shaken him.
How could they have got on to Steiner? he muttered. Thats theworst blow yet.
Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far offme.
You dont mean that!
Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries, andwhen I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I wantto know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? Steiner is the fifthman youve lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of thesixth if I dont get a move on. How do you explain it, and aint youashamed to see your men go down like this?
Von Bork flushed crimson.
How dare you speak in such a way!
If I didnt dare things, mister, I wouldnt be in your service. But Illtell you straight what is in my mind. Ive heard that with you Germanpoliticians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see himput away.
Von Bork sprang to his feet.
Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents!
I dont stand for that, mister, but theres a stool pigeon or a crosssomewhere, and its up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am takingno more chances. Its me for little Holland, and the sooner the better.
Von Bork had mastered his anger.
We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour ofvictory, he said. Youve done splendid work and taken risks, and I cantforget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat fromRotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe a week from now. Illtake that book and pack it with the rest.
The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion togive it up.
What about the dough? he asked.
The what?
The boodle. The reward. The 500. The gunner turned damned nastyat the last, and I had to square him with an extra hundred dollars or itwould have been nitsky for you and me. Nothin doin! says he, and hemeant it, too, but the last [977] hundred did it. Its cost me two hundredpound from first to last, so it isnt likely Id give it up without gettin mywad.
Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. You dont seem to have a veryhigh opinion of my honour, said he, you want the money before yougive up the book.
Well, mister, it is a business proposition.
All right. Have your way. He sat down at the table and scribbled acheck, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it tohis companion. After all, since we are to be on such terms, Mr.
Altamont, said he, I dont see why I should trust you any more than youtrust me. Do you understand? he added, looking back over his shoulderat the American. Theres the check upon the table. I claim the right toexamine that parcel before you pick the money up.
The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid awinding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat gazing for amoment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him.
Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of BeeCulture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangelyirrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck bya grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of hiswrithing face.
Another glass, Watson! said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended thebottle of Imperial Tokay.
The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushedforward his glass with some eagerness.
It is a good wine, Holmes.
A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assured methat it is from Franz Josefs special cellar at the Schoenbrunn Palace.
Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroform vapour does nothelp the palate.
The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it was removingdossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly inVon Borks valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleeping stertorouslywith a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs.
We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe from interruption.
Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one in the house exceptold Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I got her the situationhere when first I took the matter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hearthat all is well.
The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtseyed witha smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figureupon the sofa.
It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all.
I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he has been akind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, butthat would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?
No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in my mind.
We waited some time for your signal to-night.
It was the secretary, sir.
I know. His car passed ours.
I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your plans,sir, to find him here.
No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so untilI [978] saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. You canreport to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at Claridges Hotel.
Very good, sir.
I suppose you have everything ready to leave.
Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addresses as usual.
Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Good-night.
These papers, he continued as the old lady vanished, are not of verygreat importance, for, of course, the information which they represent hasbeen sent off long ago to the German government. These are the originalswhich could not safely be got out of the country.
Then they are of no use.
I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at least showour people what is known and what is not. I may say that a good many ofthese papers have come through me, and I need not add are thoroughlyuntrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to see a Germancruiser navigating the Solent according to the mine-field plans which Ihave furnished. But you, WatsonChe stopped his work and took his oldfriend by the shouldersCIve hardly seen you in the light yet. How havethe years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever.
I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy aswhen I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. Butyou, Holmes Cyou have changed very littleCsave for that horrible goatee.
These are the sacrifices one makes for ones country, Watson, saidHolmes, pulling at his little tuft. To-morrow it will be but a dreadfulmemory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall nodoubt reappear at Claridges to-morrow as I was before this AmericanstuntCI beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to bepermanently defiledC before this American job came my way.
But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of ahermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the SouthDowns.
Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnumopus of my latter years! He picked up the volume from the table andread out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with SomeObservations upon the Segregation of the Queen. Alone I did it. Beholdthe fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the littleworking gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London.
But how did you get to work again?
Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Minister alone Icould have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned to visit myhumble roofC C! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofawas a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Thingswere going wrong, and no one could understand why they were goingwrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence ofsome strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary toexpose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. Ithas cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid ofexcitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago,graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to theconstabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of asubordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man,you will realize that the matter was complex. Since then I have beenhonoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plansgoing subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. [979] Iwatched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, Ihope that you are none the worse!
The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after muchgasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmess statement. Hebroke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his faceconvulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation ofdocuments while his prisoner cursed and swore.
Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages,
he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. Hullo!
Hullo! he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing beforeputting it in the box. This should put another bird in the cage. I had noidea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eyeupon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for.
The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa andwas staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor.
I shall get level with you, Altamont, he said, speaking with slowdeliberation. If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!
The old sweet song, said Holmes. How often have I heard it in daysgone by. It was a favourite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.
Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I liveand keep bees upon the South Downs.
Curse you, you double traitor! cried the German, straining against hisbonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes.
No, no, it is not so bad as that, said Holmes, smiling. As my speechsurely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. Iused him and he is gone.
Then who are you?
It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interestyou, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance withthe members of your family. I have done a good deal of business inGermany in the past and my name is probably familiar to you.
I would wish to know it, said the Prussian grimly.
It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and thelate King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the ImperialEnvoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the Nihilist Klopman,Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was your mothers elder brother. Itwas IC C
Von Bork sat up in amazement.
There is only one man, he cried.
Exactly, said Holmes.
Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. And most of thatinformation came through you, he cried. What is it worth? What have Idone? It is my ruin forever!
It is certainly a little untrustworthy, said Holmes. It will requiresome checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral mayfind the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps atrifle faster.
Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair.
There are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt,come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare ina German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me noill-will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many otherpeople, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done yourbest for your country, and I have done my [980] best for mine, and whatcould be more natural? Besides, he added, not unkindly, as he laid hishand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, it is better than to fallbefore some more ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. Ifyou will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started forLondon at once.
It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and adesperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked himvery slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proudconfidence when he received the congratulations of the famousdiplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle he washoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the little car. Hisprecious valise was wedged in beside him.
I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit, saidHolmes when the final arrangements were made. Should I be guilty of aliberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?
But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German.
I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said he, that if yourgovernment bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war.
What about your government and all this treatment? said Holmes,tapping the valise.
You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. Thewhole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous.
Absolutely, said Holmes.
Kidnapping a German subject.
And stealing his private papers.
Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here. If Iwere to shout for help as we pass through the villageC C
My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probablyenlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us TheDangling Prussian as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature,but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not totry him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensiblefashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend, BaronVon Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he hasreserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you arejoining us with your old service, as I understand, so London wont be outof your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the lastquiet talk that we shall ever have.
The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes,recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainlywriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the carHolmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.
Theres an east wind coming, Watson.
I think not, Holmes. It is very warm.
Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age.
Theres an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew onEngland yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of usmay wither before its blast. But its Gods own wind none the less, and acleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm hascleared. Start her up, Watson, for its time that we were on our way. Ihave a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, forthe drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.
David Soucek, 1998 The Case Book of Sherlock HolmesThe Complete Sherlock HolmesTHE CASE-BOOKOF SHERLOCK HOLMESThe Strand Magazine from January 1925 with TheAdventure of the Three GarridebsThe Adventure of the Illustrious ClientFirst published in Colliers Weekly Magazine, Nov. 1924, with 4 illustrationsby John Richard Flanagan, and in the Strand Magazine, Feb.-Mar. 1925, with8 illustrations by Howard K. Elcock.
The Adventure of the Blanched SoldierFirst published in Liberty, Oct. 1926, with 5 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Nov. 1926, with 5 illustrations byHoward K. Elcock.
The Adventure of the Mazarin StoneFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Oct. 1921, with 3 illustrations by A.
Gilbert, and in Hearsts International Magazine, Nov. 1921, with 4illustrations by Frederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Three GablesFirst published in Liberty, Sep. 1926, with 6 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Oct. 1926, with 4 illustrations by HowardK. Elcock.
The Adventure of the Sussex VampireFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1924, with 4 illustrations byHoward K. Elcock, and in Hearsts International Magazine, Jan. 1924, with 4illustrations by W. T. Benda.
The Adventure of the Three GarridebsFirst published in Colliers Weekly Magazine, Oct. 1924, with 3 illustrationsby John Richard Flanagan, and in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1925, with 5illustrations by Howard K. Elcock.
The Problem of Thor BridgeFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Feb.-Mar. 1922, with 7 illustrationsby A. Gilbert, and in Hearsts International Magazine, Feb.-Mar. 1922, with3 illustrations by G. Patrick Nelson.
The Adventure of the Creeping ManFirst published in the Strand Magazine, Mar. 1923, with 5 illustrations byHoward K. Elcock, and in Hearsts International Magazine, Mar. 1923, with6 illustrations by Frederic Dorr Steele.
The Adventure of the Lions ManeFirst published in Liberty, Nov. 1926, with 7 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Dec. 1926, with 3 illustrations by HowardK. Elcock.
The Adventure of the Veiled LodgerFirst published in Liberty, Jan. 1927, with 4 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Feb. 1927, with 3 illustrations by FrankWiles.
The Adventure of Shoscombe Old PlaceFirst published in Liberty, Mar. 1927, with 7 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Apr. 1927, with 5 illustrations by FrankWiles.
The Adventure of the Retired ColourmanFirst published in Liberty, Dec. 1926, with 4 illustrations by Frederic DorrSteele, and in the Strand Magazine, Jan. 1927, with 5 illustrations by FrankWiles.
The whole collection of The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes was published by JohnMurray in June 1927, in an edition of 15,150 copies. The first American edition waspublished on the same day by the G. H. Doran Co.
PREFACEI FEAR that Mr. Sherlock Holmes may become like one of those populartenors who, having outlived their time, are still tempted to make repeatedfarewell bows to their indulgent audiences. This must cease and he mustgo the way of all flesh, material or imaginary. One likes to think that thereis some fantastic limbo for the children of imagination, some strange,impossible place where the beaux of Fielding may still make love to thebelles of Richardson, where Scotts heroes still may strut, Dickenssdelightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, and Thackerays worldlingscontinue to carry on their reprehensible careers. Perhaps in some humblecorner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock and his Watson may for a time find aplace, while some more astute sleuth with some even less astute comrademay fill the stage which they have vacated.
His career has been a long oneCthough it is possible to exaggerate it;decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare that his adventuresformed the reading of their boyhood do not meet the response from mewhich they seem to expect. One is not anxious to have ones personaldates handled so unkindly. As a matter of cold fact, Holmes made hisdebut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Sign of Four, two small bookletswhich appeared between 1887 and 1889. It was in 1891 that A Scandalin Bohemia, the first of the long series of short stories, appeared in TheStrand Magazine. The public seemed appreciative and desirous of more,so that from that date, thirty-nine years ago, they have been produced in abroken series which now contains no fewer than fifty-six stories,republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, and His LastBow, and there remain these twelve published during the last few yearswhich are here produced under the title of The Case-Book of SherlockHolmes. He began his adventures in the very heart of the later Victorianera, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward, and has managedto hold his own little niche even in these feverish days. Thus it would betrue to say that those who first read of him, as young men, have lived tosee their own grown-up children following the same adventures in thesame magazine. It is a striking example of the patience and loyalty of theBritish public.
I had fully determined at the conclusion of The Memoirs to bringHolmes to an end, as I felt that my literary energies should not be directedtoo much into one channel. That pale, clear-cut face and loose-limbedfigure were taking up an undue share of my imagination. I did the deed,but fortunately no coroner had pronounced upon the remains, and so, aftera long interval, it was not difficult for me to respond to the flatteringdemand and to explain my rash act away. I have never regretted it, for Ihave not in actual practice found that these lighter sketches haveprevented me from exploring and finding my limitations in such variedbranches of literature as history, poetry, historical novels, psychicresearch, and the drama. Had Holmes never existed I could not have donemore, though he may perhaps have stood a little in the way of therecognition of my more serious literary work.
And so, reader, farewell to Sherlock Holmes! I thank you for your pastconstancy, and can but hope that some return has been made in the shapeof that distraction from the worries of life and stimulating change ofthought which can only be found in the fairy kingdom of romance.
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
David Soucek, 1998The Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENTIT CANT hurt now, was Mr. Sherlock Holmess comment when, for thetenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal the followingnarrative. So it was that at last I obtained permission to put on recordwhat was, in some ways, the supreme moment of my friends career.
Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over asmoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found himless reticent and more human than anywhere else. On the upper floor ofthe Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated cornerwhere two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay uponSeptember 3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins. I had asked himwhether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long, thin,nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawn anenvelope from the inside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.
It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matter of life ordeath, said he as he handed me the note. I know no more than thismessage tells me.
It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. This is whatI read:
Sir James Damery presents his compliments to Mr. SherlockHolmes and will call upon him at 4:30 to-morrow. Sir James begsto say that the matter upon which he desires to consult Mr. Holmesis very delicate and also very important. He trusts, therefore, thatMr. Holmes will make every effort to grant this interview, and thathe will confirm it over the telephone to the Carlton Club.
I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson, said Holmes as Ireturned the paper. Do you know anything of this man Damery?
Only that this name is a household word in society.
Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He has rather a reputationfor arranging delicate matters which are to be kept out of the papers. Youmay remember his negotiations with Sir George Lewis over theHammerford Will case. He is a man of the world with a natural turn fordiplomacy. I am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not a false scent andthat he has some real need for our assistance.
Our?
Well, if you will be so good, Watson.
I shall be honoured.
Then you have the hourC4:30. Until then we can put the matter out ofour heads.
I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne Street at the time, but Iwas round at Baker Street before the time named. Sharp to the half-hour,Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardly necessary todescribe him, for many will [985] remember that large, bluff, honestpersonality, that broad, clean-shaven face, and, above all, that pleasant,mellow voice. Frankness shone from his gray Irish eyes, and goodhumour played round his mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat, his darkfrock-coat, indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in the black satincravat to the lavender spats over the varnished shoes, spoke of themeticulous care in dress for which he was famous. The big, masterfularistocrat dominated the little room.
Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson, he remarked with acourteous bow. His collaboration may be very necessary, for we aredealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence isfamiliar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. I should say that there isno more dangerous man in Europe.
I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has beenapplied, said Holmes with a smile. Dont you smoke? Then you willexcuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerous than the lateProfessor Moriarty, or than the living Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he isindeed worth meeting. May I ask his name?
Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?
You mean the Austrian murderer?
Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands with a laugh. There isno getting past you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you have already sizedhim up as a murderer?
It is my business to follow the details of Continental crime. Who couldpossibly have read what happened at Prague and have any doubts as to themans guilt! It was a purely technical legal point and the suspicious deathof a witness that saved him! I am as sure that he killed his wife when theso-called accident happened in the Splugen Pass as if I had seen him doit. I knew, also, that he had come to England and had a presentiment thatsooner or later he would find me some work to do. Well, what has BaronGruner been up to? I presume it is not this old tragedy which has come upagain?
No, it is more serious than that. To revenge crime is important, but toprevent it is more so. It is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes, to see a dreadfulevent, an atrocious situation, preparing itself before your eyes, to clearlyunderstand whither it will lead and yet to be utterly unable to avert it. Cana human being be placed in a more trying position?
Perhaps not.
Then you will sympathize with the client in whose interests I amacting.
I did not understand that you were merely an intermediary. Who is theprincipal?
Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It is importantthat I should be able to assure him that his honoured name has been in noway dragged into the matter. His motives are, to the last degree,honourable and chivalrous, but he prefers to remain unknown. I need notsay that your fees will be assured and that you will be given a perfectlyfree hand. Surely the actual name of your client is immaterial?
I am sorry, said Holmes. I am accustomed to have mystery at oneend of my cases, but to have it at both ends is too confusing. I fear, SirJames, that I must decline to act.
Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large, sensitive face wasdarkened with emotion and disappointment.
[986] You hardly realize the effect of your own action, Mr. Holmes,
said he. You place me in a most serious dilemma, for I am perfectlycertain that you would be proud to take over the case if I could give youthe facts, and yet a promise forbids me from revealing them all. May I, atleast, lay all that I can before you?
By all means, so long as it is understood that I commit myself tonothing.
That is understood. In the first place, you have no doubt heard ofGeneral de Merville?
De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have heard of him.
He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, rich, beautiful,accomplished, a wonder-woman in every way. It is this daughter, thislovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from theclutches of a fiend.
Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?
The strongest of all holds where a woman is concernedCthe hold oflove. The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarily handsome,with a most fascinating manner, a gentle voice, and that air of romanceand mystery which means so much to a woman. He is said to have thewhole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact.
But how came such a man to meet a lady of the standing of MissViolet de Merville?
It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage. The company, thoughselect, paid their own passages. No doubt the promoters hardly realizedthe Barons true character until it was too late. The villain attachedhimself to the lady, and with such effect that he has completely andabsolutely won her heart. To say that she loves him hardly expresses it.
She dotes upon him; she is obsessed by him. Outside of him there isnothing on earth. She will not hear one word against him. Everything hasbeen done to cure her of her madness, but in vain. To sum up, sheproposes to marry him next month. As she is of age and has a will of iron,it is hard to know how to prevent her.
Does she know about the Austrian episode?
The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury public scandal of hispast life, but always in such a way as to make himself out to be aninnocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version and will listen to noother.
Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently let out the name of yourclient? It is no doubt General de Merville.
Our visitor fidgeted in his chair.
I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes, but it would not betrue. De Merville is a broken man. The strong soldier has been utterlydemoralized by this incident. He has lost the nerve which never failed himon the battlefield and has become a weak, doddering old man, utterlyincapable of contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal like this Austrian.
My client, however, is an old friend, one who has known the Generalintimately for many years and taken a paternal interest in this young girlsince she wore short frocks. He cannot see this tragedy consummatedwithout some attempt to stop it. There is nothing in which Scotland Yardcan act. It was his own suggestion that you should be called in, but it was,as I have said, on the express stipulation that he should not be personallyinvolved in the matter. I have no doubt, Mr. Holmes, with your greatpowers you could easily trace my client back through me, but I must askyou, as a point of honour, to refrain from doing so, and not to break inupon his incognito.
Holmes gave a whimsical smile.
[987] I think I may safely promise that, said he. I may add that yourproblem interests me, and that I shall be prepared to look into it. Howshall I keep in touch with you?
The Carlton Club will find me. But in case of emergency, there is aprivate telephone call, XX.31.
Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with the openmemorandum-book upon his knee.
The Barons present address, please?
Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large house. He has beenfortunate in some rather shady speculations and is a rich man, whichnaturally makes him a more dangerous antagonist.
Is he at home at present?
Yes.
Apart from what you have told me, can you give me any furtherinformation about the man?
He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. For a short time heplayed polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair got noised aboutand he had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a man with aconsiderable artistic side to his nature. He is, I believe, a recognizedauthority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book upon the subject.
A complex mind, said Holmes. All great criminals have that. Myold friend Charlie Peace was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright was no meanartist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, you will inform yourclient that I am turning my mind upon Baron Gruner. I can say no more. Ihave some sources of information of my own, and I dare say we may findsome means of opening the matter up.
When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long in deep thought that itseemed to me that he had forgotten my presence. At last, however, hecame briskly back to earth.
Well, Watson, any views? he asked.
I should think you had better see the young lady herself.
My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father cannot move her, howshall I, a stranger, prevail? And yet there is something in the suggestion ifall else fails. But I think we must begin from a different angle. I ratherfancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a help.
I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in these memoirsbecause I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter phases of myfriends career. During the first years of the century he became a valuableassistant. Johnson, I grieve to say, made his name first as a verydangerous villain and served two terms at Parkhurst. Finally he repentedand allied himself to Holmes, acting as his agent in the huge criminalunderworld of London and obtaining information which often proved tobe of vital importance. Had Johnson been a nark of the police he wouldsoon have been exposed, but as he dealt with cases which never camedirectly into the courts, his activities were never realized by hiscompanions. With the glamour of his two convictions upon him, he hadthe entree of every night-club, doss house, and gambling-den in the town,and his quick observation and active brain made him an ideal agent forgaining information. It was to him that Sherlock Holmes now proposed toturn.
It was not possible for me to follow the immediate steps taken by myfriend, for I had some pressing professional business of my own, but I methim by [988] appointment that evening at Simpsons, where, sitting at asmall table in the front window and looking down at the rushing stream oflife in the Strand, he told me something of what had passed.
Johnson is on the prowl, said he. He may pick up some garbage inthe darker recesses of the underworld, for it is down there, amid the blackroots of crime, that we must hunt for this mans secrets.
But if the lady will not accept what is already known, why should anyfresh discovery of yours turn her from her purpose?
Who knows, Watson? Womans heart and mind are insoluble puzzlesto the male. Murder might be condoned or explained, and yet somesmaller offence might rankle. Baron Gruner remarked to meC C
He remarked to you!
Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. Well, Watson, I love tocome to close grips with my man. I like to meet him eye to eye and readfor myself the stuff that he is made of. When I had given Johnson hisinstructions I took a cab out to Kingston and found the Baron in a mostaffable mood.
Did he recognize you?
There was no difficulty about that, for I simply sent in my card. He isan excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as one ofyour fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He has breedingin himCa real aristocrat of crime, with a superficial suggestion ofafternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I am glad tohave had my attention called to Baron Adelbert Gruner.
You say he was affable?
A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Some peoplesaffability is more deadly than the violence of coarser souls. His greetingwas characteristic. I rather thought I should see you sooner or later, Mr.
Holmes, said he. You have been engaged, no doubt by General deMerville, to endeavour to stop my marriage with his daughter, Violet.
That is so, is it not?
I acquiesced.
 My dear man, said he, you will only ruin your own well-deservedreputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly succeed. You willhave barren work, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let me verystrongly advise you to draw off at once.
 It is curious, I answered, but that was the very advice which I hadintended to give you. I have a respect for your brains, Baron, and the littlewhich I have seen of your personality has not lessened it. Let me put it toyou as man to man. No one wants to rake up your past and make youunduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now in smooth waters, butif you persist in this marriage you will raise up a swarm of powerfulenemies who will never leave you alone until they have made Englandtoo hot to hold you. Is the game worth it? Surely you would be wiser ifyou left the lady alone. It would not be pleasant for you if these facts ofyour past were brought to her notice.
The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like the shortantennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement as he listened, andhe finally broke into a gentle chuckle.
 Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes, said he, but it is really funnyto see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I dont think anyonecould do it better, [989] but it is rather pathetic, all the same. Not a colourcard there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of the small.
 So you think.
 So I know. Let me make the thing clear to you, for my own hand isso strong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunate enough to winthe entire affection of this lady. This was given to me in spite of the factthat I told her very clearly of all the unhappy incidents in my past life. Ialso told her that certain wicked and designing personsCI hope yourecognize yourself Cwould come to her and tell her these things, and Iwarned her how to treat them. You have heard of post-hypnoticsuggestion, Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it works, for a man ofpersonality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery.
So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give you anappointment, for she is quite amenable to her fathers willCsave only inthe one little matter.
Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to say, so I took my leavewith as much cold dignity as I could summon, but, as I had my hand onthe door-handle, he stopped me.
 By the way, Mr. Holmes, said he, did you know Le Brun, theFrench agent?
 Yes, said I.
 Do you know what befell him?
 I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches in the Montmartredistrict and crippled for life.
 Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence he had beeninquiring into my affairs only a week before. Dont do it, Mr. Holmes; itsnot a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My last word to youis, go your own way and let me go mine. Good-bye!
So there you are, Watson. You are up to date now.
The fellow seems dangerous.
Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer, but this is the sort of manwho says rather less than he means.
Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he marries the girl?
Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his last wife, I should sayit mattered very much. Besides, the client! Well, well, we need notdiscuss that. When you have finished your coffee you had best comehome with me, for the blithe Shinwell will be there with his report.
We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced, scorbutic man,with a pair of vivid black eyes which were the only external sign of thevery cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived down into what waspeculiarly his kingdom, and beside him on the settee was a brand whichhe had brought up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young woman with apale, intense face, youthful, and yet so worn with sin and sorrow that oneread the terrible years which had left their leprous mark upon her.
This is Miss Kitty Winter, said Shinwell Johnson, waving his fathand as an introduction. What she dont knowCwell, there, shell speakfor herself. Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes, within an hour of yourmessage.
Im easy to find, said the young woman. Hell, London, gets meevery time. Same address for Porky Shinwell. Were old mates, Porky,you and I. But, by cripes! there is another who ought to be down in alower hell than we if there was any justice in the world! That is the manyou are after, Mr. Holmes.
Holmes smiled. I gather we have your good wishes, Miss Winter.
[990] If I can help to put him where he belongs, Im yours to therattle, said our visitor with fierce energy. There was an intensity ofhatred in her white, set face and her blazing eyes such as woman seldomand man never can attain. You neednt go into my past, Mr. Holmes.
Thats neither here nor there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. IfI could pull him down! She clutched frantically with her hands into theair. Oh, if I could only pull him into the pit where he has pushed somany!
You know how the matter stands?
Porky Shinwell has been telling me. Hes after some other poor fooland wants to marry her this time. You want to stop it. Well, you surelyknow enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl in her senseswanting to be in the same parish with him.
She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has been told allabout him. She cares nothing.
Told about the murder?
Yes.
My Lord, she must have a nerve!
She puts them all down as slanders.
Couldnt you lay proofs before her silly eyes?
Well, can you help us do so?
Aint I a proof myself? If I stood before her and told her how he usedmeC C
Would you do this?
Would I? Would I not!
Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told her most of his sins andhad pardon from her, and I understand she will not reopen the question.
Ill lay he didnt tell her all, said Miss Winter. I caught a glimpse ofone or two murders besides the one that made such a fuss. He wouldspeak of someone in his velvet way and then look at me with a steady eyeand say: He died within a month. It wasnt hot air, either. But I tooklittle noticeC you see, I loved him myself at that time. Whatever he didwent with me, same as with this poor fool! There was just one thing thatshook me. Yes, by cripes! if it had not been for his poisonous, lyingtongue that explains and soothes, Id have left him that very night. Its abook he hasCa brown leather book with a lock, and his arms in gold onthe outside. I think he was a bit drunk that night, or he would not haveshown it to me.
What was it, then?
I tell you, Mr. Holmes, this man collects women, and takes a pride inhis collection, as some men collect moths or butterflies. He had it all inthat book. Snapshot photographs, names, details, everything about them.
It was a beastly bookCa book no man, even if he had come from thegutter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruners book all thesame. Souls I have ruined. He could have put that on the outside if hehad been so minded. However, thats neither here nor there, for the bookwould not serve you, and, if it would, you cant get it.
Where is it?
How can I tell you where it is now? Its more than a year since I lefthim. I know where he kept it then. Hes a precise, tidy cat of a man inmany of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole of the old bureauin the inner study. Do you know his house?
Ive been in the study, said Holmes.
[991] Have you, though? You havent been slow on the job if you onlystarted this morning. Maybe dear Adelbert has met his match this time.
The outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery in itCbig glasscupboard between the windows. Then behind his desk is the door thatleads to the inner studyCa small room where he keeps papers and things.
Is he not afraid of burglars?
Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy couldnt say that of him. Hecan look after himself. Theres a burglar alarm at night. Besides, what isthere for a burglarCunless they got away with all this fancy crockery?
No good, said Shinwell Johnson with the decided voice of the expert.
No fence wants stuff of that sort that you can neither melt nor sell.
Quite so, said Holmes. Well, now, Miss Winter, if you would callhere to-morrow evening at five, I would consider in the meanwhilewhether your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may not bearranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you for your cooperation. I neednot say that my clients will consider liberallyC C
None of that, Mr. Holmes, cried the young woman. I am not out formoney. Let me see this man in the mud, and Ive got all Ive workedforCin the mud with my foot on his cursed face. Thats my price. Im withyou to-morrow or any other day so long as you are on his track. Porkyhere can tell you always where to find me.
I did not see Holmes again until the following evening when we dinedonce more at our Strand restaurant. He shrugged his shoulders when Iasked him what luck he had had in his interview. Then he told the story,which I would repeat in this way. His hard, dry statement needs somelittle editing to soften it into the terms of real life.
There was no difficulty at all about the appointment, said Holmes,for the girl glories in showing abject filial obedience in all secondarythings in an attempt to atone for her flagrant breach of it in herengagement. The General phoned that all was ready, and the fiery MissW. turned up according to schedule, so that at half-past five a cabdeposited us outside 104 Berkeley Square, where the old soldierresidesCone of those awful gray London castles which would make achurch seem frivolous. A footman showed us into a great yellowcurtained drawing-room, and there was the lady awaiting us, demure,pale, self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow image on amountain.
I dont quite know how to make her clear to you, Watson. Perhaps youmay meet her before we are through, and you can use your own gift ofwords. She is beautiful, but with the ethereal other-world beauty of somefanatic whose thoughts are set on high. I have seen such faces in thepictures of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How a beastman couldhave laid his vile paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannot imagine.
You may have noticed how extremes call to each other, the spiritual to theanimal, the cave-man to the angel. You never saw a worse case than this.
She knew what we had come for, of courseCthat villain had lost notime in poisoning her mind against us. Miss Winters advent ratheramazed her, I think, but she waved us into our respective chairs like areverend abbess receiving two rather leprous mendicants. If your head isinclined to swell, my dear Watson, take a course of Miss Violet deMerville.
 Well, sir, said she in a voice like the wind from an iceberg, yourname is familiar to me. You have called, as I understand, to malign myfianc, Baron Gruner. It is only by my fathers request that I see you atall, and I warn you in [992] advance that anything you can say could notpossibly have the slightest effect upon my mind.
I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her for the moment as Iwould have thought of a daughter of my own. I am not often eloquent. Iuse my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with her with all thewarmth of words that I could find in my nature. I pictured to her the awfulposition of the woman who only wakes to a mans character after she ishis wifeCa woman who has to submit to be caressed by bloody hands andlecherous lips. I spared her nothing Cthe shame, the fear, the agony, thehopelessness of it all. All my hot words could not bring one tinge ofcolour to those ivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion to those abstractedeyes. I thought of what the rascal had said about a post-hypnoticinfluence. One could really believe that she was living above the earth insome ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothing indefinite in her replies.
 I have listened to you with patience, Mr. Holmes, said she. Theeffect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am aware that Adelbert,that my fianc, has had a stormy life in which he has incurred bitterhatreds and most unjust aspersions. You are only the last of a series whohave brought their slanders before me. Possibly you mean well, though Ilearn that you are a paid agent who would have been equally willing toact for the Baron as against him. But in any case I wish you to understandonce for all that I love him and that he loves me, and that the opinion ofall the world is no more to me than the twitter of those birds outside thewindow. If his noble nature has ever for an instant fallen, it may be that Ihave been specially sent to raise it to its true and lofty level. I am notclearChere she turned eyes upon my companionCwho this young ladymay be.
I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind. If everyou saw flame and ice face to face, it was those two women.
 Ill tell you who I am, she cried, springing out of her chair, hermouth all twisted with passionCI am his last mistress. I am one of ahundred that he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into therefuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse heap is more likely to be agrave, and maybe thats the best. I tell you, you foolish woman, if youmarry this man hell be the death of you. It may be a broken heart or itmay be a broken neck, but hell have you one way or the other. Its notout of love for you Im speaking. I dont care a tinkers curse whether youlive or die. Its out of hate for him and to spite him and to get back on himfor what he did to me. But its all the same, and you neednt look at melike that, my fine lady, for you may be lower than I am before you arethrough with it.
 I should prefer not to discuss such matters, said Miss de Mervillecoldly. Let me say once for all that I am aware of three passages in myfiancs life in which he became entangled with designing women, andthat I am assured of his hearty repentance for any evil that he may havedone.
 Three passages! screamed my companion. You fool! Youunutterable fool!
 Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this interview to an end, saidthe icy voice. I have obeyed my fathers wish in seeing you, but I am notcompelled to listen to the ravings of this person.
With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and if I had not caught herwrist she would have clutched this maddening woman by the hair. Idragged her towards the door and was lucky to get her back into the cabwithout a public scene, for she was beside herself with rage. In a cold wayI felt pretty furious myself, Watson, for there was somethingindescribably annoying in the calm aloofness and supreme [993] selfcomplaisanceof the woman whom we were trying to save. So now onceagain you know exactly how we stand, and it is clear that I must plansome fresh opening move, for this gambit wont work. Ill keep in touchwith you, Watson, for it is more than likely that you will have your part toplay, though it is just possible that the next move may lie with them ratherthan with us.
And it did. Their blow fellCor his blow rather, for never could I believethat the lady was privy to it. I think I could show you the very pavingstoneupon which I stood when my eyes fell upon the placard, and a pangof horror passed through my very soul. It was between the Grand Hoteland Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged news-vender displayed hisevening papers. The date was just two days after the last conversation.
There, black upon yellow, was the terrible news-sheet:
MURDEROUS ATTACK UPONSHERLOCK HOLMESI think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have a confusedrecollection of snatching at a paper, of the remonstrance of the man,whom I had not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway of achemists shop while I turned up the fateful paragraph. This was how itran:
We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-knownprivate detective, was the victim this morning of a murderousassault which has left him in a precarious position. There are noexact details to hand, but the event seems to have occurred abouttwelve oclock in Regent Street, outside the Cafe Royal. Theattack was made by two men armed with sticks, and Mr. Holmeswas beaten about the head and body, receiving injuries which thedoctors describe as most serious. He was carried to Charing CrossHospital and afterwards insisted upon being taken to his rooms inBaker Street. The miscreants who attacked him appear to havebeen respectably dressed men, who escaped from the bystandersby passing through the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Streetbehind it. No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity whichhas so often had occasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity ofthe injured man.
I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over the paragraphbefore I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way to Baker Street. Ifound Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, in the hall and hisbrougham waiting at the curb.
No immediate danger, was his report. Two lacerated scalp woundsand some considerable bruises. Several stitches have been necessary.
Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, but an interview of afew minutes would not be absolutely forbidden.
With this permission I stole into the darkened room. The sufferer waswide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind wasthree-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted through and struckthe bandaged head of the injured man. A crimson patch had soakedthrough the white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent my head.
All right, Watson. Dont look so scared, he muttered in a very weakvoice. Its not as bad as it seems.
Thank God for that!
Im a bit of a single-stick expert, as you know. I took most of them onmy guard. It was the second man that was too much for me.
[994] What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellowwho set them on. Ill go and thrash the hide off him if you give the word.
Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless the police laytheir hands on the men. But their get-away had been well prepared. Wemay be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my plans. The first thing is toexaggerate my injuries. Theyll come to you for news. Put it on thick,Watson. Lucky if I live the week outCconcussionCdeliriumCwhat youlike! You cant overdo it.
But Sir Leslie Oakshott?
Oh, hes all right. He shall see the worst side of me. Ill look afterthat.
Anything else?
Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way. Thosebeauties will be after her now. They know, of course, that she was withme in the case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they will neglecther. That is urgent. Do it to-night.
Ill go now. Anything more?
Put my pipe on the tableCand the tobacco-slipper. Right! Come ineach morning and we will plan our campaign.
I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to a quietsuburb and see that she lay low until the danger was past.
For six days the public were under the impression that Holmes was atthe door of death. The bulletins were very grave and there were sinisterparagraphs in the papers. My continual visits assured me that it was not sobad as that. His wiry constitution and his determined will were workingwonders. He was recovering fast, and I had suspicions at times that hewas really finding himself faster than he pretended even to me. There wasa curious secretive streak in the man which led to many dramatic effects,but left even his closest friend guessing as to what his exact plans mightbe. He pushed to an extreme the axiom that the only safe plotter was hewho plotted alone. I was nearer him than anyone else, and yet I wasalways conscious of the gap between.
On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, in spite of which therewas a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. The same evening papershad an announcement which I was bound, sick or well, to carry to myfriend. It was simply that among the passengers on the Cunard boatRuritania, starting from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron AdelbertGruner, who had some important financial business to settle in the Statesbefore his impending wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughterof, etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold, concentrated lookupon his pale face, which told me that it hit him hard.
Friday! he cried. Only three clear days. I believe the rascal wants toput himself out of dangers way. But he wont, Watson! By the LordHarry, he wont! Now, Watson, I want you to do something for me.
I am here to be used, Holmes.
Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensive study ofChinese pottery.
He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experience Ihad learned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left his room Iwalked down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on earth I was tocarry out so strange an order. Finally I drove to the London Library in St.
Jamess Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax, the sublibrarian, anddeparted to my rooms with a goodly volume under my arm.
[995] It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such care thathe can examine an expert witness upon the Monday has forgotten all hisforced knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should not like now topose as an authority upon ceramics. And yet all that evening, and all thatnight with a short interval for rest, and all next morning, I was sucking inknowledge and committing names to memory. There I learned of the hallmarksof the great artist-decorators, of the mystery of cyclical dates, themarks of the Hung-wu and the beauties of the Yung-lo, the writings ofTang-ying, and the glories of the primitive period of the Sung and theYuan. I was charged with all this information when I called upon Holmesnext evening. He was out of bed now, though you would not have guessedit from the published reports, and he sat with his much-bandaged headresting upon his hand in the depth of his favourite armchair.
Why, Holmes, I said, if one believed the papers, you are dying.
That, said he, is the very impression which I intended to convey.
And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?
At least I have tried to.
Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on the subject?
I believe I could.
Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece.
He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefully wrappedin some fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and disclosed a delicate littlesaucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.
It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real egg-shell pottery ofthe Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passed through Christies. Acomplete set of this would be worth a kings ransomCin fact, it is doubtfulif there is a complete set outside the imperial palace of Peking. The sightof this would drive a real connoisseur wild.
What am I to do with it?
Holmes handed me a card upon which was printed: Dr. Hill Barton,369 Half Moon Street.
That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call upon BaronGruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-past eight he wouldprobably be disengaged. A note will tell him in advance that you areabout to call, and you will say that you are bringing him a specimen of anabsolutely unique set of Ming china. You may as well be a medical man,since that is a part which you can play without duplicity. You are acollector, this set has come your way, you have heard of the Baronsinterest in the subject, and you are not averse to selling at a price.
What price?
Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall down badly if you didnot know the value of your own wares. This saucer was got for me by SirJames, and comes, I understand, from the collection of his client. Youwill not exaggerate if you say that it could hardly be matched in theworld.
I could perhaps suggest that the set should be valued by an expert.
Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day. Suggest Christie orSotheby. Your delicacy prevents your putting a price for yourself.
But if he wont see me?
Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection mania in its most acuteformCand especially on this subject, on which he is an acknowledgedauthority. Sit down, [996] Watson, and I will dictate the letter. No answerneeded. You will merely say that you are coming, and why.
It was an admirable document, short, courteous, and stimulating to thecuriosity of the connoisseur. A district messenger was duly dispatchedwith it. On the same evening, with the precious saucer in my hand and thecard of Dr. Hill Barton in my pocket, I set off on my own adventure.
The beautiful house and grounds indicated that Baron Gruner was, asSir James had said, a man of considerable wealth. A long winding drive,with banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into a great gravelledsquare adorned with statues. The place had been built by a South Africangold king in the days of the great boom, and the long, low house with theturrets at the corners, though an architectural nightmare, was imposing inits size and solidity. A butler, who would have adorned a bench ofbishops, showed me in and handed me over to a plush-clad footman, whoushered me into the Barons presence.
He was standing at the open front of a great case which stood betweenthe windows and which contained part of his Chinese collection. Heturned as I entered with a small brown vase in his hand.
Pray sit down, Doctor, said he. I was looking over my own treasuresand wondering whether I could really afford to add to them. This littleTang specimen, which dates from the seventh century, would probablyinterest you. I am sure you never saw finer workmanship or a richer glaze.
Have you the Ming saucer with you of which you spoke?
I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He seated himself at hisdesk, pulled over the lamp, for it was growing dark, and set himself toexamine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon his own features, and Iwas able to study them at my ease.
He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputationfor beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middlesize, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy,almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easilyhold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache wereraven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His featureswere regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. Ifever I saw a murderers mouth it was thereCa cruel, hard gash in the face,compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was ill-advised to train hismoustache away from it, for it was Natures danger-signal, set as awarning to his victims. His voice was engaging and his manners perfect.
In age I should have put him at little over thirty, though his recordafterwards showed that he was forty-two.
Very fineCvery fine indeed! he said at last. And you say you have aset of six to correspond. What puzzles me is that I should not have heardof such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in England to matchthis, and it is certainly not likely to be in the market. Would it beindiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. Hill Barton, how you obtained this?
Does it really matter? I asked with as careless an air as I couldmuster. You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I amcontent to take an experts valuation.
Very mysterious, said he with a quick, suspicious flash of his darkeyes. In dealing with objects of such value, one naturally wishes to knowall about the transaction. That the piece is genuine is certain. I have nodoubts at all about that. [997] But supposeCI am bound to take everypossibility into accountC that it should prove afterwards that you had noright to sell?
I would guarantee you against any claim of the sort.
That, of course, would open up the question as to what your guaranteewas worth.
My bankers would answer that.
Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes me as rather unusual.
You can do business or not, said I with indifference. I have givenyou the first offer as I understood that you were a connoisseur, but I shallhave no difficulty in other quarters.
Who told you I was a connoisseur?
I was aware that you had written a book upon the subject.
Have you read the book?
No.
Dear me, this becomes more and more difficult for me to understand!
You are a connoisseur and collector with a very valuable piece in yourcollection, and yet you have never troubled to consult the one book whichwould have told you of the real meaning and value of what you held. Howdo you explain that?
I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in practice.
That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he follows it up, whatever hisother pursuits may be. You said in your note that you were a connoisseur.
So I am.
Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I am obliged to tell you,DoctorCif you are indeed a doctorCthat the incident becomes more andmore suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of the EmperorShomu and how do you associate him with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dearme, does that puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Northern Wei dynastyand its place in the history of ceramics.
I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.
This is intolerable, sir, said I. I came here to do you a favour, andnot to be examined as if I were a schoolboy. My knowledge on thesesubjects may be second only to your own, but I certainly shall not answerquestions which have been put in so offensive a way.
He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone from his eyes. Theysuddenly glared. There was a gleam of teeth from between those cruel lips.
What is the game? You are here as a spy. You are an emissary ofHolmes. This is a trick that you are playing upon me. The fellow is dyingI hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. Youve made yourway in here without leave, and, by God! you may find it harder to get outthan to get in.
He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myself for anattack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He may have suspectedme from the first; certainly this cross-examination had shown him thetruth; but it was clear that I could not hope to deceive him. He dived hishand into a side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then something struckupon his ear, for he stood listening intently.
Ah! he cried. Ah! and dashed into the room behind him.
Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind will ever carry aclear picture of the scene within. The window leading out to the gardenwas wide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost, his head girtwith bloody bandages, his face drawn and white, stood Sherlock Holmes.
The next instant he was through the [998] gap, and I heard the crash of hisbody among the laurel bushes outside. With a howl of rage the master ofthe house rushed after him to the open window.
And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it. An armC awomans armCshot out from among the leaves. At the same instant theBaron uttered a horrible cryCa yell which will always ring in my memory.
He clapped his two hands to his face and rushed round the room, beatinghis head horribly against the walls. Then he fell upon the carpet, rollingand writhing, while scream after scream resounded through the house.
Water! For Gods sake, water! was his cry.
I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. At the samemoment the butler and several footmen ran in from the hall. I rememberthat one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured man and turned thatawful face to the light of the lamp. The vitriol was eating into iteverywhere and dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye was alreadywhite and glazed. The other was red and inflamed. The features which Ihad admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful paintingover which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They wereblurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible.
In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far as thevitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through the window andothers had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark and it had begun torain. Between his screams the victim raged and raved against the avenger.
It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter! he cried. Oh, the she-devil! She shallpay for it! She shall pay! Oh, God in heaven, this pain is more than I canbear!
I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the raw surfaces, andadministered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicion of me had passedfrom his mind in the presence of this shock, and he clung to my hands asif I might have the power even yet to clear those dead-fish eyes whichgazed up at me. I could have wept over the ruin had I not rememberedvery clearly the vile life which had led up to so hideous a change. It wasloathsome to feel the pawing of his burning hands, and I was relievedwhen his family surgeon, closely followed by a specialist, came to relieveme of my charge. An inspector of police had also arrived, and to him Ihanded my real card. It would have been useless as well as foolish to dootherwise, for I was nearly as well known by sight at the Yard as Holmeshimself. Then I left that house of gloom and terror. Within an hour I wasat Baker Street.
Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale andexhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had been shockedby the events of the evening, and he listened with horror to my account ofthe Barons transformation.
The wages of sin, WatsonCthe wages of sin! said he. Sooner or laterit will always come. God knows, there was sin enough, he added, takingup a brown volume from the table. Here is the book the woman talkedof. If this will not break off the marriage, nothing ever could. But it will,Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could stand it.
It is his love diary?
Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the woman toldus of it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if we could but layour hands on it. I said nothing at the time to indicate my thoughts, for thiswoman might have given it away. But I brooded over it. Then this assaultupon me gave me the chance of letting the Baron think that noprecautions need be taken against me. That was all to the good. I wouldhave waited a little longer, but his visit to [999] America forced my hand.
He would never have left so compromising a document behind him.
Therefore we had to act at once. Burglary at night is impossible. He takesprecautions. But there was a chance in the evening if I could only be surethat his attention was engaged. That was where you and your blue saucercame in. But I had to be sure of the position of the book, and I knew I hadonly a few minutes in which to act, for my time was limited by yourknowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore I gathered the girl up at the lastmoment. How could I guess what the little packet was that she carried socarefully under her cloak? I thought she had come altogether on mybusiness, but it seems she had some of her own.
He guessed I came from you.
I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enough for me toget the book, though not long enough for an unobserved escape. Ah, SirJames, I am very glad you have come!
Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previous summons. Helistened with the deepest attention to Holmess account of what hadoccurred.
You have done wondersCwonders! he cried when he had heard thenarrative. But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr. Watson describes,then surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage is sufficiently gainedwithout the use of this horrible book.
Holmes shook his head.
Women of the De Merville type do not act like that. She would lovehim the more as a disfigured martyr. No, no. It is his moral side, not hisphysical, which we have to destroy. That book will bring her back toearthC and I know nothing else that could. It is in his own writing. Shecannot get past it.
Sir James carried away both it and the precious saucer. As I was myselfoverdue, I went down with him into the street. A brougham was waitingfor him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to the cockaded coachman,and drove swiftly away. He flung his overcoat half out of the window tocover the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I had seen them in theglare of our fanlight none the less. I gasped with surprise. Then I turnedback and ascended the stair to Holmess room.
I have found out who our client is, I cried, bursting with my greatnews. Why, Holmes, it isC C
It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman, said Holmes, holdingup a restraining hand. Let that now and forever be enough for us.
I do not know how the incriminating book was used. Sir James mayhave managed it. Or it is more probable that so delicate a task wasentrusted to the young ladys father. The effect, at any rate, was all thatcould be desired. Three days later appeared a paragraph in the MorningPost to say that the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and MissViolet de Merville would not take place. The same paper had the firstpolice-court hearing of the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winter on thegrave charge of vitriol-throwing. Such extenuating circumstances cameout in the trial that the sentence, as will be remembered, was the lowestthat was possible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes was threatenedwith a prosecution for burglary, but when an object is good and a client issufficiently illustrious, even the rigid British law becomes human andelastic. My friend has not yet stood in the dock.
David Soucek, 1998 The Blanched SoldierThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE BLANCHED SOLDIERTHE ideas of my friend Watson, though limited, are exceedinglypertinacious. For a long time he has worried me to write an experience ofmy own. Perhaps I have rather invited this persecution, since I have oftenhad occasion to point out to him how superficial are his own accounts andto accuse him of pandering to popular taste instead of confining himselfrigidly to facts and figures. Try it yourself, Holmes! he has retorted, andI am compelled to admit that, having taken my pen in my hand, I do beginto realize that the matter must be presented in such a way as may interestthe reader. The following case can hardly fail to do so, as it is among thestrangest happenings in my collection, though it chanced that Watson hadno note of it in his collection. Speaking of my old friend and biographer, Iwould take this opportunity to remark that if I burden myself with acompanion in my various little inquiries it is not done out of sentiment orcaprice, but it is that Watson has some remarkable characteristics of hisown to which in his modesty he has given small attention amid hisexaggerated estimates of my own performances. A confederate whoforesees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, butone to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and towhom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate.
I find from my notebook that it was in January, 1903, just after theconclusion of the Boer War, that I had my visit from Mr. James M. Dodd,a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The good Watson had at thattime deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall inour association. I was alone.
It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place myvisitors in the opposite chair, where the light falls full upon them. Mr.
James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the interview. Idid not attempt to help him, for his silence gave me more time forobservation. I have found it wise to impress clients with a sense of power,and so I gave him some of my conclusions.
From South Africa, sir, I perceive.
Yes, sir, he answered, with some surprise.
Imperial Yeomanry, I fancy.
Exactly.
Middlesex Corps, no doubt.
That is so. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard.
I smiled at his bewildered expression.
When a gentleman of virile appearance enters my room with such tanupon his face as an English sun could never give, and with hishandkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is not difficult toplace him. You wear a short beard, which shows that you were not aregular. You have the cut of a riding-man. As to Middlesex, your card hasalready shown me that you are a stockbroker from Throgmorton Street.
What other regiment would you join?
You see everything.
I see no more than you, but I have trained myself to notice what I see.
However, Mr. Dodd, it was not to discuss the science of observation thatyou called upon me this morning. What has been happening at TuxburyOld Park?
[1001] Mr. HolmesC C!
My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter came with that heading,and as you fixed this appointment in very pressing terms it was clear thatsomething sudden and important had occurred.
Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the afternoon, and a gooddeal has happened since then. If Colonel Emsworth had not kicked meoutC C
Kicked you out!
Well, that was what it amounted to. He is a hard nail, is ColonelEmsworth. The greatest martinet in the Army in his day, and it was a dayof rough language, too. I couldnt have stuck the colonel if it had not beenfor Godfreys sake.
I lit my pipe and leaned back in my chair.
Perhaps you will explain what you are talking about.
My client grinned mischievously.
I had got into the way of supposing that you knew everything withoutbeing told, said he. But I will give you the facts, and I hope to God thatyou will be able to tell me what they mean. Ive been awake all nightpuzzling my brain, and the more I think the more incredible does itbecome.
When I joined up in January, 1901Cjust two years agoCyoung GodfreyEmsworth had joined the same squadron. He was Colonel Emsworthsonly sonC Emsworth, the Crimean V. C.Cand he had the fighting blood inhim, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There was not a finer lad in theregiment. We formed a friendshipCthe sort of friendship which can onlybe made when one lives the same life and shares the same joys andsorrows. He was my mateCand that means a good deal in the Army. Wetook the rough and the smooth together for a year of hard fighting. Thenhe was hit with a bullet from an elephant gun in the action near DiamondHill outside Pretoria. I got one letter from the hospital at Cape Town andone from Southampton. Since then not a wordCnot one word, Mr.
Holmes, for six months and more, and he my closest pal.
Well, when the war was over, and we all got back, I wrote to his fatherand asked where Godfrey was. No answer. I waited a bit and then I wroteagain. This time I had a reply, short and gruff. Godfrey had gone on avoyage round the world, and it was not likely that he would be back for ayear. That was all.
I wasnt satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole thing seemed to me sodamned unnatural. He was a good lad, and he would not drop a pal likethat. It was not like him. Then, again, I happened to know that he was heirto a lot of money, and also that his father and he did not always hit it offtoo well. The old man was sometimes a bully, and young Godfrey had toomuch spirit to stand it. No, I wasnt satisfied, and I determined that Iwould get to the root of the matter. It happened, however, that my ownaffairs needed a lot of straightening out, after two years absence, and soit is only this week that I have been able to take up Godfreys case again.
But since I have taken it up I mean to drop everything in order to see itthrough.
Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of person whom it wouldbe better to have as a friend than as an enemy. His blue eyes were sternand his square jaw had set hard as he spoke.
Well, what have you done? I asked.
My first move was to get down to his home, Tuxbury Old Park, nearBedford, and to see for myself how the ground lay. I wrote to the mother,thereforeCI had had quite enough of the curmudgeon of a fatherCand Imade a clean frontal [1002] attack: Godfrey was my chum, I had a greatdeal of interest which I might tell her of our common experiences, Ishould be in the neighbourhood, would there be any objection, et cetera?
In reply I had quite an amiable answer from her and an offer to put me upfor the night. That was what took me down on Monday.
Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessibleCfive miles from anywhere. Therewas no trap at the station, so I had to walk, carrying my suitcase, and itwas nearly dark before I arrived. It is a great wandering house, standing ina considerable park. I should judge it was of all sorts of ages and styles,starting on a half-timbered Elizabethan foundation and ending in aVictorian portico. Inside it was all panelling and tapestry and half-effacedold pictures, a house of shadows and mystery. There was a butler, oldRalph, who seemed about the same age as the house, and there was hiswife, who might have been older. She had been Godfreys nurse, and Ihad heard him speak of her as second only to his mother in his affections,so I was drawn to her in spite of her queer appearance. The mother I likedalsoCa gentle little white mouse of a woman. It was only the colonelhimself whom I barred.
We had a bit of barney right away, and I should have walked back tothe station if I had not felt that it might be playing his game for me to doso. I was shown straight into his study, and there I found him, a huge,bow-backed man with a smoky skin and a straggling gray beard, seatedbehind his littered desk. A red-veined nose jutted out like a vulturesbeak, and two fierce gray eyes glared at me from under tufted brows. Icould understand now why Godfrey seldom spoke of his father.
 Well, sir, said he in a rasping voice, I should be interested to knowthe real reasons for this visit.
I answered that I had explained them in my letter to his wife.
 Yes, yes, you said that you had known Godfrey in Africa. We have,of course, only your word for that.
 I have his letters to me in my pocket.
 Kindly let me see them.
He glanced at the two which I handed him, and then he tossed themback.
 Well, what then? he asked.
 I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memories unitedus. Is it not natural that I should wonder at his sudden silence and shouldwish to know what has become of him?
 I have some recollections, sir, that I had already corresponded withyou and had told you what had become of him. He has gone upon avoyage round the world. His health was in a poor way after his Africanexperiences, and both his mother and I were of opinion that complete restand change were needed. Kindly pass that explanation on to any otherfriends who may be interested in the matter.
 Certainly, I answered. But perhaps you would have the goodness tolet me have the name of the steamer and of the line by which he sailed,together with the date. I have no doubt that I should be able to get a letterthrough to him.
My request seemed both to puzzle and to irritate my host. His greateyebrows came down over his eyes, and he tapped his fingers impatientlyon the table. He looked up at last with the expression of one who has seenhis adversary make a dangerous move at chess, and has decided how tomeet it.
 Many people, Mr. Dodd, said he, would take offence at yourinfernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence had reached thepoint of damned impertinence.
[1003]  You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.
 Exactly. I have already made every allowance upon that score. Imust ask you, however, to drop these inquiries. Every family has its owninner knowledge and its own motives, which cannot always be made clearto outsiders, however well-intentioned. My wife is anxious to hearsomething of Godfreys past which you are in a position to tell her, but Iwould ask you to let the present and the future alone. Such inquiries serveno useful purpose, sir, and place us in a delicate and difficult position.
So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There was no getting past it. Icould only pretend to accept the situation and register a vow inwardly thatI would never rest until my friends fate had been cleared up. It was a dullevening. We dined quietly, the three of us, in a gloomy, faded old room.
The lady questioned me eagerly about her son, but the old man seemedmorose and depressed. I was so bored by the whole proceeding that Imade an excuse as soon as I decently could and retired to my bedroom. Itwas a large, bare room on the ground floor, as gloomy as the rest of thehouse, but after a year of sleeping upon the veldt, Mr. Holmes, one is nottoo particular about ones quarters. I opened the curtains and looked outinto the garden, remarking that it was a fine night with a bright halfmoon.
Then I sat down by the roaring fire with the lamp on a table besideme, and endeavoured to distract my mind with a novel. I was interrupted,however, by Ralph, the old butler, who came in with a fresh supply ofcoals.
 I thought you might run short in the night-time, sir. It is bitterweather and these rooms are cold.
He hesitated before leaving the room, and when I looked round he wasstanding facing me with a wistful look upon his wrinkled face.
 Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help hearing what you said ofyoung Master Godfrey at dinner. You know, sir, that my wife nursed him,and so I may say I am his foster-father. Its natural we should take aninterest. And you say he carried himself well, sir?
 There was no braver man in the regiment. He pulled me out oncefrom under the rifles of the Boers, or maybe I should not be here.
The old butler rubbed his skinny hands.
 Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. He was alwayscourageous. Theres not a tree in the park, sir, that he has not climbed.
Nothing would stop him. He was a fine boyCand oh, sir, he was a fineman.
I sprang to my feet.
 Look here! I cried. You say he was. You speak as if he were dead.
What is all this mystery? What has become of Godfrey Emsworth?
I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he shrank away.
 I dont know what you mean, sir. Ask the master about MasterGodfrey. He knows. It is not for me to interfere.
He was leaving the room, but I held his arm.
 Listen, I said. You are going to answer one question before youleave if I have to hold you all night. Is Godfrey dead?
He could not face my eyes. He was like a man hypnotized. The answerwas dragged from his lips. It was a terrible and unexpected one.
 I wish to God he was! he cried, and, tearing himself free, he dashedfrom the room.
You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to my chair in no veryhappy [1004] state of mind. The old mans words seemed to me to bearonly one interpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become involved insome criminal or, at the least, disreputable transaction which touched thefamily honour. That stern old man had sent his son away and hidden himfrom the world lest some scandal should come to light. Godfrey was areckless fellow. He was easily influenced by those around him. No doubthe had fallen into bad hands and been misled to his ruin. It was a piteousbusiness, if it was indeed so, but even now it was my duty to hunt him outand see if I could aid him. I was anxiously pondering the matter when Ilooked up, and there was Godfrey Emsworth standing before me.
My client had paused as one in deep emotion.
Pray continue, I said. Your problem presents some very unusualfeatures.
He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with his face pressed againstthe glass. I have told you that I looked out at the night. When I did so Ileft the curtains partly open. His figure was framed in this gap. Thewindow came down to the ground and I could see the whole length of it,but it was his face which held my gaze. He was deadly paleCnever have Iseen a man so white. I reckon ghosts may look like that; but his eyes metmine, and they were the eyes of a living man. He sprang back when hesaw that I was looking at him, and he vanished into the darkness.
There was something shocking about the man, Mr. Holmes. It wasntmerely that ghastly face glimmering as white as cheese in the darkness. Itwas more subtle than thatCsomething slinking, something furtive,something guiltyC something very unlike the frank, manly lad that I hadknown. It left a feeling of horror in my mind.
But when a man has been soldiering for a year or two with brotherBoer as a playmate, he keeps his nerve and acts quickly. Godfrey hadhardly vanished before I was at the window. There was an awkwardcatch, and I was some little time before I could throw it up. Then I nippedthrough and ran down the garden path in the direction that I thought hemight have taken.
It was a long path and the light was not very good, but it seemed to mesomething was moving ahead of me. I ran on and called his name, but itwas no use. When I got to the end of the path there were several othersbranching in different directions to various outhouses. I stood hesitating,and as I did so I heard distinctly the sound of a closing door. It was notbehind me in the house, but ahead of me, somewhere in the darkness.
That was enough, Mr. Holmes, to assure me that what I had seen was nota vision. Godfrey had run away from me, and he had shut a door behindhim. Of that I was certain.
There was nothing more I could do, and I spent an uneasy nightturning the matter over in my mind and trying to find some theory whichwould cover the facts. Next day I found the colonel rather moreconciliatory, and as his wife remarked that there were some places ofinterest in the neighbourhood, it gave me an opening to ask whether mypresence for one more night would incommode them. A somewhatgrudging acquiescence from the old man gave me a clear day in which tomake my observations. I was already perfectly convinced that Godfreywas in hiding somewhere near, but where and why remained to be solved.
The house was so large and so rambling that a regiment might be hidaway in it and no one the wiser. If the secret lay there it was difficult forme to penetrate it. But the door which I had heard close was certainly notin the house. I must [1005] explore the garden and see what I could find.
There was no difficulty in the way, for the old people were busy in theirown fashion and left me to my own devices.
There were several small outhouses, but at the end of the garden therewas a detached building of some sizeClarge enough for a gardeners or agamekeepers residence. Could this be the place whence the sound of thatshutting door had come? I approached it in a careless fashion as though Iwere strolling aimlessly round the grounds. As I did so, a small, brisk,bearded man in a black coat and bowler hatCnot at all the gardenertypeCcame out of the door. To my surprise, he locked it after him and putthe key in his pocket. Then he looked at me with some surprise on hisface.
 Are you a visitor here? he asked.
I explained that I was and that I was a friend of Godfreys.
 What a pity that he should be away on his travels, for he would haveso liked to see me, I continued.
 Quite so. Exactly, said he with a rather guilty air. No doubt youwill renew your visit at some more propitious time. He passed on, butwhen I turned I observed that he was standing watching me, halfconcealedby the laurels at the far end of the garden.
I had a good look at the little house as I passed it, but the windowswere heavily curtained, and, so far as one could see, it was empty. I mightspoil my own game and even be ordered off the premises if I were tooaudacious, for I was still conscious that I was being watched. Therefore, Istrolled back to the house and waited for night before I went on with myinquiry. When all was dark and quiet I slipped out of my window andmade my way as silently as possible to the mysterious lodge.
I have said that it was heavily curtained, but now I found that thewindows were shuttered as well. Some light, however, was breakingthrough one of them, so I concentrated my attention upon this. I was inluck, for the curtain had not been quite closed, and there was a crack inthe shutter, so that I could see the inside of the room. It was a cheeryplace enough, a bright lamp and a blazing fire. Opposite to me was seatedthe little man whom I had seen in the morning. He was smoking a pipeand reading a paper.
What paper? I asked.
My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of his narrative.
Can it matter? he asked.
It is most essential.
I really took no notice.
Possibly you observed whether it was a broad-leafed paper or of thatsmaller type which one associates with weeklies.
Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have been theSpectator. However, I had little thought to spare upon such details, for asecond man was seated with his back to the window, and I could swearthat this second man was Godfrey. I could not see his face, but I knew thefamiliar slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his elbow in anattitude of great melancholy, his body turned towards the fire. I washesitating as to what I should do when there was a sharp tap on myshoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside me.
 This way, sir! said he in a low voice. He walked in silence to thehouse, and I followed him into my own bedroom. He had picked up atime-table in the hall.
[1006]  There is a train to London at 8:30, said he. The trap will be atthe door at eight.
He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in so difficult aposition that I could only stammer out a few incoherent apologies inwhich I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety for my friend.
 The matter will not bear discussion, said he abruptly. You havemade a most damnable intrusion into the privacy of our family. You werehere as a guest and you have become a spy. I have nothing more to say,sir, save that I have no wish ever to see you again.
At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I spoke with some warmth.
 I have seen your son, and I am convinced that for some reason ofyour own you are concealing him from the world. I have no idea whatyour motives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I am sure that he isno longer a free agent. I warn you, Colonel Emsworth, that until I amassured as to the safety and well-being of my friend I shall never desist inmy efforts to get to the bottom of the mystery, and I shall certainly notallow myself to be intimidated by anything which you may say or do.
The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really thought he was about toattack me. I have said that he was a gaunt, fierce old giant, and though Iam no weakling I might have been hard put to it to hold my own againsthim. However, after a long glare of rage he turned upon his heel andwalked out of the room. For my part, I took the appointed train in themorning, with the full intention of coming straight to you and asking foryour advice and assistance at the appointment for which I had alreadywritten.
Such was the problem which my visitor laid before me. It presented, asthe astute reader will have already perceived, few difficulties in itssolution, for a very limited choice of alternatives must get to the root ofthe matter. Still, elementary as it was, there were points of interest andnovelty about it which may excuse my placing it upon record. I nowproceeded, using my familiar method of logical analysis, to narrow downthe possible solutions.
The servants, I asked; how many were in the house?
To the best of my belief there were only the old butler and his wife.
They seemed to live in the simplest fashion.
There was no servant, then, in the detached house?
None, unless the little man with the beard acted as such. He seemed,however, to be quite a superior person.
That seems very suggestive. Had you any indication that food wasconveyed from the one house to the other?
Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph carrying a basket downthe garden walk and going in the direction of this house. The idea of fooddid not occur to me at the moment.
Did you make any local inquiries?
Yes, I did. I spoke to the station-master and also to the innkeeper inthe village. I simply asked if they knew anything of my old comrade,Godfrey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that he had gone for avoyage round the world. He had come home and then had almost at oncestarted off again. The story was evidently universally accepted.
You said nothing of your suspicions?
Nothing.
[1007] That was very wise. The matter should certainly be inquiredinto. I will go back with you to Tuxbury Old Park.
To-day?
It happened that at the moment I was clearing up the case which myfriend Watson has described as that of the Abbey School, in which theDuke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I had also a commissionfrom the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediate action, as politicalconsequences of the gravest kind might arise from its neglect. Therefore itwas not until the beginning of the next week, as my diary records, that Iwas able to start forth on my mission to Bedfordshire in company withMr. James M. Dodd. As we drove to Euston we picked up a grave andtaciturn gentleman of iron-gray aspect, with whom I had made thenecessary arrangements.
This is an old friend, said I to Dodd. It is possible that his presencemay be entirely unnecessary, and, on the other hand, it may be essential.
It is not necessary at the present stage to go further into the matter.
The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt, to thefact that I do not waste words or disclose my thoughts while a case isactually under consideration. Dodd seemed surprised, but nothing morewas said, and the three of us continued our journey together. In the train Iasked Dodd one more question which I wished our companion to hear.
You say that you saw your friends face quite clearly at the window,so clearly that you are sure of his identity?
I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed against theglass. The lamplight shone full upon him.
It could not have been someone resembling him?
No, no, it was he.
But you say he was changed?
Only in colour. His face wasChow shall I describe it?Cit was of a fishbelly whiteness. It was bleached.
Was it equally pale all over?
I think not. It was his brow which I saw so clearly as it was pressedagainst the window.
Did you call to him?
I was too startled and horrified for the moment. Then I pursued him,as I have told you, but without result.
My case was practically complete, and there was only one smallincident needed to round it off. When, after a considerable drive, wearrived at the strange old rambling house which my client had described,it was Ralph, the elderly butler, who opened the door. I had requisitionedthe carriage for the day and had asked my elderly friend to remain withinit unless we should summon him. Ralph, a little wrinkled old fellow, wasin the conventional costume of black coat and pepper-and-salt trousers,with only one curious variant. He wore brown leather gloves, which atsight of us he instantly shuffled off, laying them down on the hall-table aswe passed in. I have, as my friend Watson may have remarked, anabnormally acute set of senses, and a faint but incisive scent wasapparent. It seemed to centre on the hall-table. I turned, placed my hatthere, knocked it off, stooped to pick it up, and contrived to bring my nosewithin a foot of the gloves. Yes, it was undoubtedly from them that thecurious tarry odour was oozing. I passed on into the study with my casecomplete. Alas, that I should have to show my hand so when [1008] I tellmy own story! It was by concealing such links in the chain that Watsonwas enabled to produce his meretricious finales.
Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he came quickly enough onreceipt of Ralphs message. We heard his quick, heavy step in thepassage. The door was flung open and he rushed in with bristling beardand twisted features, as terrible an old man as ever I have seen. He heldour cards in his hand, and he tore them up and stamped on the fragments.
Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, that you are warned offthe premises? Never dare to show your damned face here again. If youenter again without my leave I shall be within my rights if I use violence.
Ill shoot you, sir! By God, I will! As to you, sir, turning upon me, Iextend the same warning to you. I am familiar with your ignobleprofession, but you must take your reputed talents to some other field.
There is no opening for them here.
I cannot leave here, said my client firmly, until I hear fromGodfreys own lips that he is under no restraint.
Our involuntary host rang the bell.
Ralph, he said, telephone down to the county police and ask theinspector to send up two constables. Tell him there are burglars in thehouse.
One moment, said I. You must be aware, Mr. Dodd, that ColonelEmsworth is within his rights and that we have no legal status within hishouse. On the other hand, he should recognize that your action isprompted entirely by solicitude for his son. I venture to hope that if I wereallowed to have five minutes conversation with Colonel Emsworth Icould certainly alter his view of the matter.
I am not so easily altered, said the old soldier. Ralph, do what I havetold you. What the devil are you waiting for? Ring up the police!
Nothing of the sort, I said, putting my back to the door. Any policeinterference would bring about the very catastrophe which you dread. Itook out my notebook and scribbled one word upon a loose sheet. That,
said I as I handed it to Colonel Emsworth, is what has brought us here.
He stared at the writing with a face from which every expression saveamazement had vanished.
How do you know? he gasped, sitting down heavily in his chair.
It is my business to know things. That is my trade.
He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging at his straggling beard.
Then he made a gesture of resignation.
Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It is no doing of mine, butyou have forced my hand. Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Kent that infive minutes we shall be with them.
At the end of that time we passed down the garden path and foundourselves in front of the mystery house at the end. A small bearded manstood at the door with a look of considerable astonishment upon his face.
This is very sudden, Colonel Emsworth, said he. This willdisarrange all our plans.
I cant help it, Mr. Kent. Our hands have been forced. Can Mr.
Godfrey see us?
Yes, he is waiting inside. He turned and led us into a large, plainlyfurnished front room. A man was standing with his back to the fire, and atthe sight of him my client sprang forward with outstretched hand.
Why, Godfrey, old man, this is fine!
[1009] But the other waved him back.
Dont touch me, Jimmie. Keep your distance. Yes, you may wellstare! I dont quite look the smart Lance-Corporal Emsworth, of BSquadron, do I?
His appearance was certainly extraordinary. One could see that he hadindeed been a handsome man with clear-cut features sunburned by anAfrican sun, but mottled in patches over this darker surface were curiouswhitish patches which had bleached his skin.
Thats why I dont court visitors, said he. I dont mind you, Jimmie,but I could have done without your friend. I suppose there is some goodreason for it, but you have me at a disadvantage.
I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, Godfrey. I saw you thatnight when you looked into my window, and I could not let the matter resttill I had cleared things up.
Old Ralph told me you were there, and I couldnt help taking a peep atyou. I hoped you would not have seen me, and I had to run to my burrowwhen I heard the window go up.
But what in heavens name is the matter?
Well, its not a long story to tell, said he, lighting a cigarette. Youremember that morning fight at Buffelsspruit, outside Pretoria, on theEastern railway line? You heard I was hit?
Yes, I heard that, but I never got particulars.
Three of us got separated from the others. It was very broken country,you may remember. There was SimpsonCthe fellow we called BaldySimpsonC and Anderson, and I. We were clearing brother Boer, but he laylow and got the three of us. The other two were killed. I got an elephantbullet through my shoulder. I stuck on to my horse, however, and hegalloped several miles before I fainted and rolled off the saddle.
When I came to myself it was nightfall, and I raised myself up, feelingvery weak and ill. To my surprise there was a house close beside me, afairly large house with a broad stoep and many windows. It was deadlycold. You remember the kind of numb cold which used to come atevening, a deadly, sickening sort of cold, very different from a crisphealthy frost. Well, I was chilled to the bone, and my only hope seemed tolie in reaching that house. I staggered to my feet and dragged myselfalong, hardly conscious of what I did. I have a dim memory of slowlyascending the steps, entering a wide-opened door, passing into a largeroom which contained several beds, and throwing myself down with agasp of satisfaction upon one of them. It was unmade, but that troubledme not at all. I drew the clothes over my shivering body and in a momentI was in a deep sleep.
It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me that instead ofcoming out into a world of sanity I had emerged into some extraordinarynightmare. The African sun flooded through the big, curtainless windows,and every detail of the great, bare, whitewashed dormitory stood out hardand clear. In front of me was standing a small, dwarf-like man with ahuge, bulbous head, who was jabbering excitedly in Dutch, waving twohorrible hands which looked to me like brown sponges. Behind him stooda group of people who seemed to be intensely amused by the situation,but a chill came over me as I looked at them. Not one of them was anormal human being. Every one was twisted or swollen or disfigured insome strange way. The laughter of these strange monstrosities was adreadful thing to hear.
[1010] It seemed that none of them could speak English, but thesituation wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big head wasgrowing furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he had laid hisdeformed hands upon me and was dragging me out of bed, regardless ofthe fresh flow of blood from my wound. The little monster was as strongas a bull, and I dont know what he might have done to me had not anelderly man who was clearly in authority been attracted to the room bythe hubbub. He said a few stern words in Dutch, and my persecutorshrank away. Then he turned upon me, gazing at me in the utmostamazement.
 How in the world did you come here? he asked in amazement.
Wait a bit! I see that you are tired out and that wounded shoulder ofyours wants looking after. I am a doctor, and Ill soon have you tied up.
But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here than ever you were onthe battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and you have slept in alepers bed.
Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of theapproaching battle all these poor creatures had been evacuated the daybefore. Then, as the British advanced, they had been brought back by this,their medical superintendent, who assured me that, though he believed hewas immune to the disease, he would none the less never have dared to dowhat I had done. He put me in a private room, treated me kindly, andwithin a week or so I was removed to the general hospital at Pretoria.
So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against hope, but it was notuntil I had reached home that the terrible signs which you see upon myface told me that I had not escaped. What was I to do? I was in this lonelyhouse. We had two servants whom we could utterly trust. There was ahouse where I could live. Under pledge of secrecy, Mr. Kent, who is asurgeon, was prepared to stay with me. It seemed simple enough on thoselines. The alternative was a dreadful one Csegregation for life amongstrangers with never a hope of release. But absolute secrecy wasnecessary, or even in this quiet countryside there would have been anoutcry, and I should have been dragged to my horrible doom. Even you,JimmieCeven you had to be kept in the dark. Why my father has relented Icannot imagine.
Colonel Emsworth pointed to me.
This is the gentleman who forced my hand. He unfolded the scrap ofpaper on which I had written the word Leprosy. It seemed to me that ifhe knew so much as that it was safer that he should know all.
And so it was, said I. Who knows but good may come of it? Iunderstand that only Mr. Kent has seen the patient. May I ask, sir, if youare an authority on such complaints, which are, I understand, tropical orsemi-tropical in their nature?
I have the ordinary knowledge of the educated medical man, heobserved with some stiffness.
I have no doubt, sir, that you are fully competent, but I am sure thatyou will agree that in such a case a second opinion is valuable. You haveavoided this, I understand, for fear that pressure should be put upon youto segregate the patient.
That is so, said Colonel Emsworth.
I foresaw this situation, I explained, and I have brought with me afriend whose discretion may absolutely be trusted. I was able once to dohim a professional service, and he is ready to advise as a friend ratherthan as a specialist. His name is Sir James Saunders.
[1011] The prospect of an interview with Lord Roberts would not haveexcited greater wonder and pleasure in a raw subaltern than was nowreflected upon the face of Mr. Kent.
I shall indeed be proud, he murmured.
Then I will ask Sir James to step this way. He is at present in thecarriage outside the door. Meanwhile, Colonel Emsworth, we mayperhaps assemble in your study, where I could give the necessaryexplanations.
And here it is that I miss my Watson. By cunning questions andejaculations of wonder he could elevate my simple art, which is butsystematized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell my own story Ihave no such aid. And yet I will give my process of thought even as Igave it to my small audience, which included Godfreys mother in thestudy of Colonel Emsworth.
That process, said I, starts upon the supposition that when you haveeliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, howeverimprobable, must be the truth. It may well be that several explanationsremain, in which case one tries test after test until one or other of themhas a convincing amount of support. We will now apply this principle tothe case in point. As it was first presented to me, there were three possibleexplanations of the seclusion or incarceration of this gentleman in anouthouse of his fathers mansion. There was the explanation that he wasin hiding for a crime, or that he was mad and that they wished to avoid anasylum, or that he had some disease which caused his segregation. I couldthink of no other adequate solutions. These, then, had to be sifted andbalanced against each other.
The criminal solution would not bear inspection. No unsolved crimehad been reported from that district. I was sure of that. If it were somecrime not yet discovered, then clearly it would be to the interest of thefamily to get rid of the delinquent and send him abroad rather than keephim concealed at home. I could see no explanation for such a line ofconduct.
Insanity was more plausible. The presence of the second person in theouthouse suggested a keeper. The fact that he locked the door when hecame out strengthened the supposition and gave the idea of constraint. Onthe other hand, this constraint could not be severe or the young man couldnot have got loose and come down to have a look at his friend. You willremember, Mr. Dodd, that I felt round for points, asking you, forexample, about the paper which Mr. Kent was reading. Had it been theLancet or the British Medical Journal it would have helped me. It is notillegal, however, to keep a lunatic upon private premises so long as thereis a qualified person in attendance and that the authorities have been dulynotified. Why, then, all this desperate desire for secrecy? Once again Icould not get the theory to fit the facts.
There remained the third possibility, into which, rare and unlikely as itwas, everything seemed to fit. Leprosy is not uncommon in South Africa.
By some extraordinary chance this youth might have contracted it. Hispeople would be placed in a very dreadful position, since they woulddesire to save him from segregation. Great secrecy would be needed toprevent rumours from getting about and subsequent interference by theauthorities. A devoted medical man, if sufficiently paid, would easily befound to take charge of the sufferer. There would be no reason why thelatter should not be allowed freedom after dark. Bleaching of the skin is acommon result of the disease. The case was a strong oneCso strong that Idetermined to act as if it were actually proved. When on arriving here Inoticed [1012] that Ralph, who carries out the meals, had gloves which areimpregnated with disinfectants, my last doubts were removed. A singleword showed you, sir, that your secret was discovered, and if I wroterather than said it, it was to prove to you that my discretion was to betrusted.
I was finishing this little analysis of the case when the door was openedand the austere figure of the great dermatologist was ushered in. But foronce his sphinx-like features had relaxed and there was a warm humanityin his eyes. He strode up to Colonel Emsworth and shook him by the hand.
It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and seldom good, said he. Thisoccasion is the more welcome. It is not leprosy.
What?
A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a scale-likeaffection of the skin, unsightly, obstinate, but possibly curable, andcertainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coincidence is a remarkableone. But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces at work of whichwe know little? Are we assured that the apprehension from which thisyoung man has no doubt suffered terribly since his exposure to itscontagion may not produce a physical effect which simulates that which itfears? At any rate, I pledge my professional reputationC C But the ladyhas fainted! I think that Mr. Kent had better be with her until she recoversfrom this joyous shock.
David Soucek, 1998 The Mazarin StoneThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE MAZARIN STONEIT WAS pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidyroom of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the starting-point ofso many remarkable adventures. He looked round him at the scientificcharts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of chemicals, the violin-caseleaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old the pipesand tobacco. Finally, his eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face ofBilly, the young but very wise and tactful page, who had helped a little tofill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturninefigure of the great detective.
It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You dont change, either. I hopethe same can be said of him?
Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.
I think hes in bed and asleep, he said.
It was seven in the evening of a lovely summers day, but Dr. Watsonwas sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old friends hours tofeel no surprise at the idea.
That means a case, I suppose?
Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. Im frightened for his health.
He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. When will you be pleasedto dine, Mr. Holmes? Mrs. Hudson asked. Seven-thirty, the day after tomorrow,
said he. You know his way when he is keen on a case.
Yes, Billy, I know.
Hes following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman lookingfor a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and Iought to know his [1013] ways by now. Billy pointed with a grin to a verybaggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. Thats part of the oldwomans outfit, he said.
But what is it all about, Billy?
Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. Idont mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. Its this case of theCrown diamond.
WhatCthe hundred-thousand-pound burglary?
Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Ministerand the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes wasvery nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he woulddo all he could. Then there is Lord CantlemereC C
Ah!
Yes, sir, you know what that means. Hes a stiff un, sir, if I may sayso. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and Ive nothing against theHome Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but I cantstand his Lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir. You see, he dontbelieve in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. Hed rather hefailed.
And Mr. Holmes knows it?
Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know.
Well, well hope he wont fail and that Lord Cantlemere will beconfounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the window?
Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. Weve got somethingfunny behind it.
Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcoveof the bow window.
Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was afacsimile of his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turned threequarterstowards the window and downward, as though reading aninvisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billydetached the head and held it in the air.
We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. Iwouldnt dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when its up youcan see this from across the way.
We used something of the sort once before.
Before my time, said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart andlooked out into the street. There are folk who watch us from overyonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look for yourself.
Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, andthe long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but hisstep and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at thewindow, and had drawn the blind once more.
That will do, Billy, said he. You were in danger of your life then,my boy, and I cant do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good tosee you in your old quarters once again. You come at a critical moment.
So I gather.
You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am Ijustified in allowing him to be in danger?
Danger of what, Holmes?
Of sudden death. Im expecting something this evening.
Expecting what?
To be murdered, Watson.
[1014] No, no, you are joking, Holmes!
Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that.
But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is alcoholpermitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let me see youonce more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned todespise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take the place offood these days.
But why not eat?
Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why,surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what yourdigestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. Iam a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. Therefore, it is thebrain I must consider.
But this danger, Holmes?
Ah, yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well thatyou should burden your memory with the name and address of themurderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a partingblessing. Sylvius is the nameCCount Negretto Sylvius. Write it down,man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?
Watsons honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only toowell the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what hesaid was more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration. Watsonwas always the man of action, and he rose to the occasion.
Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two.
Your morals dont improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to yourother vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, with calls onhim every hour.
Not such important ones. But cant you have this fellow arrested?
Yes, Watson, I could. Thats what worries him so.
But why dont you?
Because I dont know where the diamond is.
Ah! Billy told meCthe missing Crown jewel!
Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. Ive cast my net and I have myfish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? We canmake the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that is notwhat I am out for. Its the stone I want.
And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?
Yes, and hes a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton, the boxer.
Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sams not a shark. Heis a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about in mynet all the same.
Where is this Count Sylvius?
Ive been at his very elbow all the morning. Youve seen me as an oldlady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up myparasol for me once. By your leave, madame, said heChalf-Italian, youknow, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, but adevil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical happenings,Watson.
It might have been tragedy.
Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzees workshopin the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gunCa very pretty bit of work,as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window at thepresent moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed itto you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any moment.
Ah, Billy, what is it?
[1015] The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray.
Holmes glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.
The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson!
A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter ofbig game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellentsporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that he feels mytoe very close behind his heel.
Send for the police.
I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out ofthe window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?
Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.
Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door.
That will be Sam MertonCthe faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Whereis this gentleman, Billy?
In the waiting-room, sir.
Show him up when I ring.
Yes, sir.
If I am not in the room, show him in all the same.
Yes, sir.
Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestlyto his companion.
Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate man,who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder you.
I should not be surprised.
I insist upon staying with you.
You would be horribly in the way.
In his way?
No, my dear fellowCin my way.
Well, I cant possibly leave you.
Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to playthe game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come for hisown purpose, but he may stay for mine. Holmes took out his notebookand scribbled a few lines. Take a cab to Scotland Yard and give this toYoughal of the C. I. D. Come back with the police. The fellows arrestwill follow.
Ill do that with joy.
Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where thestone is. He touched the bell. I think we will go out through thebedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see myshark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my ownway of doing it.
It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later,ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and manabout-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark moustacheshading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long, curvednose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his brilliantnecktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect.
As the door closed behind him he looked round him with fierce, startledeyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then he gave a violentstart as he saw the impassive head and the collar of the dressing-gownwhich projected above the armchair in the window. At first his expressionwas one of pure amazement. Then the light of a horrible hope gleamed inhis dark, [1016] murderous eyes. He took one more glance round to seethat there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick stick halfraised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for his finalspring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the openbedroom door:
Dont break it, Count! Dont break it!
The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For aninstant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turn hisviolence from the effigy to the original; but there was something in thatsteady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sink to hisside.
Its a pretty little thing, said Holmes, advancing towards the image.
Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good at waxworks asyour friend Straubenzee is at air-guns.
Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?
Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat.
Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if youprefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I wantedbadly to have a few minutes chat with you.
The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.
I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I amhere. I wont deny that I intended to assault you just now.
Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.
I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head, saidhe. But why these personal attentions?
Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because youhave put your creatures upon my track.
My creatures! I assure you no!
Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game,Holmes.
It is a small point, Count Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly giveme my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, with myroutine of work, I should find myself on familiar terms with half therogues gallery, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious.
Well, Mr. Holmes, then.
Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my alleged agents.
Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.
Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an oldsporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They held me in view allday.
Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the nightbefore he was hanged that in my case what the law had gained the stagehad lost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?
It was youCyou yourself?
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. You can see in the corner the parasolwhich you so politely handed to me in the Minories before you began tosuspect.
If I had known, you might neverC C
Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We allhave neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know,so here we are!
The Counts knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacingeyes. What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agentsbut your play-acting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me.
Why?
Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria.
[1017] Well?
But why?
Why? The sportCthe excitementCthe danger!
And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?
Exactly!
My reasons in a nutshell!
The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back tohis hip-pocket.
Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. Iwant that yellow diamond!
Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.
Upon my word! said he.
You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you arehere to-night is to find out how much I know about the matter and how farmy removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from yourpoint of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about it, save onlyone thing, which you are about to tell me.
Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?
Where the Crown diamond now is.
The Count looked sharply at his companion. Oh, you want to knowthat, do you? How the devil should I be able to tell you where it is?
You can, and you will.
Indeed!
You cant bluff me, Count Sylvius. Holmess eyes, as he gazed athim, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points ofsteel. You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of your mind.
Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!
Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisivefinger. Then you do know. You have admitted it!
I admit nothing.
Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, youwill get hurt.
Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. And you talk aboutbluff! said he.
Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player whomeditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer anddrew out a squat notebook.
Do you know what I keep in this book?
No, sir, I do not!
You!
Me!
Yes, sir, you! You are all hereCevery action of your vile anddangerous life.
Damn you, Holmes! cried the Count with blazing eyes. There arelimits to my patience!
Its all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Harold,who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly gambled away.
You are dreaming!
And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender.
Tut! You will make nothing of that!
[1018] Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxeto the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged check in the sameyear on the Credit Lyonnais.
No; youre wrong there.
Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player.
When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw downyour hand.
What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?
Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points inmy own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, Ihave a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case ofthe Crown diamond.
Indeed!
I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman whobrought you away. I have the commissionaire who saw you near the case.
I have Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached,and the game is up.
The veins stood out on the Counts forehead. His dark, hairy handswere clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak,but the words would not shape themselves.
Thats the hand I play from, said Holmes. I put it all upon the table.
But one card is missing. Its the king of diamonds. I dont know wherethe stone is.
You never shall know.
No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are goingto be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are yougoing to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand itoverCwell, Ill compound a felony. We dont want you or Sam. We wantthe stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free solong as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slipCwell,it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the stone, notyou.
But if I refuse?
Why, thenCalas!Cit must be you and not the stone.
Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.
I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at thisconference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy, you willsee a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to comeup.
If he wont come, sir?
No violence, Billy. Dont be rough with him. If you tell him thatCount Sylvius wants him he will certainly come.
What are you going to do now? asked the Count as Billy disappeared.
My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a sharkand a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they cometogether.
The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back.
Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his dressinggown.
You wont die in your bed, Holmes.
I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? After all,Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal.
But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselvesup to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?
A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of themaster criminal. Holmess figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tenseand ready.
It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend, he said in a quietvoice. [1019] You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if Igave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count. Betterstick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your estimablepartner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?
The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate,slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with apuzzled expression. Holmess debonair manner was a new experience,and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how tocounter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.
Whats the game now, Count? Whats this fellow want? Whats up?
His voice was deep and raucous.
The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.
If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up.
The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.
Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? Im not in the funny moodmyself.
No, I expect not, said Holmes. I think I can promise you that youwill feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here,Count Sylvius. Im a busy man and I cant waste time. Im going into thatbedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You canexplain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of mypresence. I shall try over the Hoffman Barcarole upon my violin. In fiveminutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp thealternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?
Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. Afew moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting oftunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.
What is it, then? asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned tohim. Does he know about the stone?
He knows a damned sight too much about it. Im not sure that hedoesnt know all about it.
Good Lord! The boxers sallow face turned a shade whiter.
Ikey Sanders has split on us.
He has, has he? Ill do him down a thick un for that if I swing for it.
That wont help us much. Weve got to make up our minds what todo.
Half a mo, said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door.
Hes a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose hes not listening?
How can he be listening with that music going?
Thats right. Maybe somebodys behind a curtain. Too many curtainsin this room. As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time theeffigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed forwords.
Tut! its only a dummy, said the Count.
A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud aint in it. Its theliving spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains, Count!
Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is nonetoo much. He can lag us over this stone.
The deuce he can!
But hell let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is.
What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?
Its one or the other.
Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.
[1020] Hes alone in there. Lets do him in. If his light were out weshould have nothing to fear.
The Count shook his head.
He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in aplace like this. Besides, its likely enough that the police know whateverevidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?
There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window.
Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figureseated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.
Something in the street, said Merton. Now look here, guvnor,youve got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging isno use then its up to you.
Ive fooled better men than he, the Count answered. The stone ishere in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be outof England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday.
He knows nothing of Van Seddar.
I thought Van Seddar was going next week.
He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of usmust slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him.
But the false bottom aint ready.
Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. Theres not a moment tolose. Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with thesportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surelyfrom the street that the faint sound had come.
As to Holmes, he continued, we can fool him easily enough. Yousee, the damned fool wont arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, wellpromise him the stone. Well put him on the wrong track about it, andbefore he finds that it is the wrong track it will be in Holland and we outof the country.
That sounds good to me! cried Sam Merton with a grin.
You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. Ill see thissucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. Ill tell him that the stoneis in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on my nerves! Bythe time he finds it isnt in Liverpool it will be in quarters and we on theblue water. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is thestone.
I wonder you dare carry it.
Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehallsomeone else could surely take it out of my lodgings.
Lets have a look at it.
Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate anddisregarded the unwashed hand which was extended towards him.
WhatCdye think Im going to snatch it off you? See here, mister, Imgetting a bit tired of your ways.
Well, well, no offence, Sam. We cant afford to quarrel. Come over tothe window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to thelight! Here!
Thank you!
With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummys chair andhad grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while hisother pointed a revolver at the Counts head. The two villains staggeredback in utter amazement. Before they had recovered Holmes had pressedthe electric bell.
[1021] No violence, gentlemenCno violence, I beg of you! Consider thefurniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossibleone. The police are waiting below.
The Counts bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.
But how the deuceC C? he gasped.
Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second doorfrom my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must haveheard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave mea chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have beenpainfully constrained had you been aware of my presence.
The Count gave a gesture of resignation.
We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself.
Not far from him, at any rate, Holmes answered with a polite smile.
Sam Mertons slow intellect had only gradually appreciated thesituation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs outside,he broke silence at last.
A fair cop! said he. But, I say, what about that bloomin fiddle! Ihear it yet.
Tut, tut! Holmes answered. You are perfectly right. Let it play!
These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention.
There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminalswere led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulatinghim upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more theirconversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy with his card-tray.
Lord Cantlemere, sir.
Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents the veryhighest interests, said Holmes. He is an excellent and loyal person, butrather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we ventureupon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what hasoccurred.
The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face anddrooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardlycorresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmesadvanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.
How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, butrather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?
No, I thank you; I will not take it off.
Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.
Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that thesechanges of temperature are most insidious.
His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.
I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simplylooked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing.
It is difficultCvery difficult.
I feared that you would find it so.
There was a distinct sneer in the old courtiers words and manner.
Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us ofthe weakness of self-satisfaction.
Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed.
No doubt.
Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?
[1022] You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought thatyou had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you.
You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against theactual thieves.
When you have caught them.
Exactly. But the question isChow shall we proceed against thereceiver?
Is this not rather premature?
It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard asfinal evidence against the receiver?
The actual possession of the stone.
You would arrest him upon that?
Most undoubtedly.
Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watsoncould remember.
In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity ofadvising your arrest.
Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered upinto his sallow cheeks.
You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official life Icannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon importantaffairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell youfrankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that Ihave always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the handsof the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. Ihave the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening.
Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer andthe door.
One moment, sir, said he. To actually go off with the Mazarin stonewould be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possessionof it.
Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass.
Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat.
What do you mean, sir?
ComeCcome, do what I ask.
An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking andstammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.
What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?
Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad! cried Holmes. My old friendhere will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking. Also thatI can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the libertyCthe very greatliberty, I admitCof putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning ofour interview.
The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.
Sir, I am bewildered. ButCyesCit is indeed the Mazarin stone. We aregreatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may, as youadmit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely,but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazingprofessional powers. But howC C
The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, LordCantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in the exaltedcircle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practicaljoke. Billy, you will show his Lordship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that Ishould be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible.
David Soucek, 1998 The Three GablesThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE THREE GABLESI DONT think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmesopened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associatewith The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for some days and had noidea of the new channel into which his activities had been directed. Hewas in a chatty mood that morning, however, and had just settled me intothe well-worn low armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curleddown with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when our visitorarrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearerimpression of what occurred.
The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room. Hewould have been a comic figure if he had not been terrific, for he wasdressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flowing salmon-coloured tie.
His broad face and flattened nose were thrust forward, as his sullen darkeyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, turned from one of usto the other.
Which of you genlmen is Masser Holmes? he asked.
Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile.
Oh! its you, is it? said our visitor, coming with an unpleasant,stealthy step round the angle of the table. See here, Masser Holmes, youkeep your hands out of other folks business. Leave folks to manage theirown affairs. Got that, Masser Holmes?
Keep on talking, said Holmes. Its fine.
Oh! its fine, is it? growled the savage. It wont be so damn fine if Ihave to trim you up a bit. Ive handled your kind before now, and theydidnt look fine when I was through with them. Look at that, MasserHolmes!
He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friends nose.
Holmes examined it closely with an air of great interest. Were you bornso? he asked. Or did it come by degrees?
It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may have been theslight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. In any case, ourvisitors manner became less flamboyant.
Well, Ive given you fair warnin, said he. Ive a friend thatsinterested out Harrow wayCyou know what Im meaningCand he dontintend to have no buttin in by you. Got that? You aint the law, and Iaint the law either, and if you come in Ill be on hand also. Dont youforget it.
Ive wanted to meet you for some time, said Holmes. I wont askyou to sit down, for I dont like the smell of you, but arent you SteveDixie, the bruiser?
Thats my name, Masser Holmes, and youll get put through it for sureif you give me any lip.
It is certainly the last thing you need, said Holmes, staring at ourvisitors hideous mouth. But it was the killing of young Perkins outsidethe Holborn BarC C What! youre not going?
The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. I wont listen tono such talk, said he. What have I to do with this ere Perkins, MasserHolmes? I was trainin at the Bull Ring in Birmingham when this boydone gone get into trouble.
[1024] Yes, youll tell the magistrate about it, Steve, said Holmes.
Ive been watching you and Barney StockdaleC C
So help me the Lord! Masser HolmesC C
Thats enough. Get out of it. Ill pick you up when I want you.
Good-mornin, Masser Holmes. I hope there aint no hard feelinsabout this ere visit?
There will be unless you tell me who sent you.
Why, there aint no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It was that samegenlman that you have just done gone mention.
And who set him on to it?
Selp me. I dont know, Masser Holmes. He just say, Steve, you gosee Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life aint safe if he go down Harrowway. Thats the whole truth. Without waiting for any furtherquestioning, our visitor bolted out of the room almost as precipitately ashe had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a quietchuckle.
I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson. Iobserved your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really rather aharmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, and easilycowed, as you have seen. He is one of the Spencer John gang and hastaken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear up when I havetime. His immediate principal, Barney, is a more astute person. Theyspecialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like. What I want to know is,who is at the back of them on this particular occasion?
But why do they want to intimidate you?
It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into the matter, forif it is worth anyones while to take so much trouble, there must besomething in it.
But what is it?
I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Here is Mrs.
Maberleys note. If you care to come with me we will wire her and go outat once.
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES [I read]:
I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me inconnection with this house, and I should much value your advice.
You would find me at home any time to-morrow. The house iswithin a short walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my latehusband, Mortimer Maberley, was one of your early clients.
Yours faithfully,MARY MABERLEY.
The address was The Three Gables, Harrow Weald.
So thats that! said Holmes. And now, if you can spare the time,Watson, we will get upon our way.
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the house, abrick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of undeveloped grassland.
Three small projections above the upper windows made a feeble attemptto justify its name. Behind was a grove of melancholy, half-grown pines,and the whole aspect of the place was poor and depressing. None the less,we found the house to be well furnished, and the lady who received uswas a most engaging elderly person, who bore every mark of refinementand culture.
I remember your husband well, madam, said Holmes, though it issome years since he used my services in some trifling matter.
[1025] Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my sonDouglas.
Holmes looked at her with great interest.
Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew himslightly. But of course all London knew him. What a magnificent creaturehe was! Where is he now?
Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he died thereof pneumonia last month.
I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have neverknown anyone so vitally alive. He lived intenselyCevery fibre of him!
Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You rememberhim as he wasCdebonair and splendid. You did not see the moody,morose, brooding creature into which he developed. His heart wasbroken. In a single month I seemed to see my gallant boy turn into a wornoutcynical man.
A love affairCa woman?
Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked you tocome, Mr. Holmes.
Dr. Watson and I are at your service.
There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in thishouse more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retired life I haveseen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from a man whosaid that he was a house agent. He said that this house would exactly suita client of his, and that if I would part with it money would be no object.
It seemed to me very strange as there are several empty houses on themarket which appear to be equally eligible, but naturally I was interestedin what he said. I therefore named a price which was five hundred poundsmore than I gave. He at once closed with the offer, but added that hisclient desired to buy the furniture as well and would I put a price upon it.
Some of this furniture is from my old home, and it is, as you see, verygood, so that I named a good round sum. To this also he at once agreed. Ihad always wanted to travel, and the bargain was so good a one that itreally seemed that I should be my own mistress for the rest of my life.
Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily Ishowed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to me,This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign it youcould not legally take anything out of the houseCnot even your ownprivate possessions? When the man came again in the evening I pointedthis out, and I said that I meant only to sell the furniture.
 No, no, everything, said he.
 But my clothes? My jewels?
 Well, well, some concession might be made for your personaleffects. But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My client is avery liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing things. Itis everything or nothing with him.
 Then it must be nothing, said I. And there the matter was left, butthe whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I thoughtC C
Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.
Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room,flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he hadseized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggle like some hugeawkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of its coop.
[1026] Leave me alone! What are you a-doin of? she screeched.
Why, Susan, what is this?
Well, maam, I was comin in to ask if the visitors was stayin forlunch when this man jumped out at me.
I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did not wishto interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a little wheezy, Susan,are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind of work.
Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. Who be you,anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin me about like this?
It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Didyou, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going to write tome and consult me?
No, Mr. Holmes, I did not.
Who posted your letter?
Susan did.
Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a messageto say that your mistress was asking advice from me?
Its a lie. I sent no message.
Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. Its awicked thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?
Susan! cried her mistress, I believe you are a bad, treacherouswoman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over thehedge.
That was my own business, said the woman sullenly.
Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?
said Holmes.
Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?
I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth tenpounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney.
Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten youhave in the world.
So, a rich man? No; you smiledCa rich woman. Now we have got sofar, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner.
Ill see you in hell first.
Oh, Susan! Language!
I am clearing out of here. Ive had enough of you all. Ill send for mybox to-morrow. She flounced for the door.
Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff. . . . Now, he continued,turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had closed behindthe flushed and angry woman, this gang means business. Look how closethey play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 P. M. postmark. And yetSusan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to go to his employerand get instructions; he or sheCI incline to the latter from Susans grinwhen she thought I had blunderedCforms a plan. Black Steve is called in,and I am warned off by eleven oclock next morning. Thats quick work,you know.
But what do they want?
Yes, thats the question. Who had the house before you?
A retired sea captain called Ferguson.
Anything remarkable about him?
Not that ever I heard of.
I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course,when [1027] people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the Post-Officebank. But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull worldwithout them. At first I thought of some buried valuable. But why, in thatcase, should they want your furniture? You dont happen to have aRaphael or a first folio Shakespeare without knowing it?
No, I dont think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set.
That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should theynot openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set, they cansurely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, and barrel.
No, as I read it, there is something which you do not know that you have,and which you would not give up if you did know.
That is how I read it, said I.
Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it.
Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?
Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to afiner point. You have been in this house a year.
Nearly two.
All the better. During this long period no one wants anything fromyou. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgent demands.
What would you gather from that?
It can only mean, said I, that the object, whatever it may be, hasonly just come into the house.
Settled once again, said Holmes. Now, Mrs. Maberley, has anyobject just arrived?
No, I have bought nothing new this year.
Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let mattersdevelop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that lawyer of yours acapable man?
Mr. Sutro is most capable.
Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just bangedyour front door, alone?
I have a young girl.
Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You mightpossibly want protection.
Against whom?
Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I cant find what theyare after, I must approach the matter from the other end and try to get atthe principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?
Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer andValuer.
I dont think we shall find him in the directory. Honest business mendont conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me know anyfresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely upon itthat I shall see it through.
As we passed through the hall Holmess eyes, which missed nothing,lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in a corner. Thelabels shone out upon them.
 Milano. Lucerne. These are from Italy.
They are poor Douglass things.
You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?
They arrived last week.
[1028] But you saidCwhy, surely this might be the missing link. Howdo we know that there is not something of value there?
There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only hispay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?
Holmes was lost in thought.
Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley, he said at last. Have these thingstaken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible andsee what they contain. I will come to-morrow and hear your report.
It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very closesurveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end of the lanethere was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. We came onhim quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure he looked in thatlonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.
Lookin for your gun, Masser Holmes?
No, for my scent-bottle, Steve.
You are funny, Masser Holmes, aint you?
It wont be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fairwarning this morning.
Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and Idont want no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins. Spose I canhelp you, Masser Holmes, I will.
Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this job.
So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes, I told you the truth before. Idont know. My boss Barney gives me orders and thats all.
Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house, andeverything under that roof, is under my protection. Dont forget it.
All right, Masser Holmes. Ill remember.
Ive got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Watson, Holmesremarked as we walked on. I think he would double-cross his employerif he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledge of theSpencer John crowd, and that Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, thisis a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now. When I getback I may be clearer in the matter.
I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imagine howhe spent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon allmatters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his wakinghours in the bow window of a St. Jamess Street club and was thereceiving-station as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of themetropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by the paragraphswhich he contributed every week to the garbage papers which cater to aninquisitive public. If ever, far down in the turbid depths of London life,there was some strange swirl or eddy, it was marked with automaticexactness by this human dial upon the surface. Holmes discreetly helpedLangdale to knowledge, and on occasion was helped in turn.
When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I was consciousfrom his bearing that all was well, but none the less a most unpleasantsurprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the following telegram:
Please come out at once. Clients house burgled in the night.
Police in possession.
SUTRO.
[1029] Holmes whistled. The drama has come to a crisis, and quickerthan I had expected. There is a great driving-power at the back of thisbusiness, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I have heard.
This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a mistake, I fear, in not askingyou to spend the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proved a brokenreed. Well, there is nothing for it but another journey to Harrow Weald.
We found The Three Gables a very different establishment to theorderly household of the previous day. A small group of idlers hadassembled at the garden gate, while a couple of constables wereexamining the windows and the geranium beds. Within we met a gray oldgentleman, who introduced himself as the lawyer, together with abustling, rubicund inspector, who greeted Holmes as an old friend.
Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, Im afraid. Just acommon, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity of the poor oldpolice. No experts need apply.
I am sure the case is in very good hands, said Holmes. Merely acommon burglary, you say?
Quite so. We know pretty well who the men are and where to findthem. It is that gang of Barney Stockdale, with the big nigger initCtheyve been seen about here.
Excellent! What did they get?
Well, they dont seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley waschloroformed and the house wasC C Ah! here is the lady herself.
Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had entered theroom, leaning upon a little maidservant.
You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes, said she, smiling ruefully.
Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro, and so I wasunprotected.
I only heard of it this morning, the lawyer explained.
Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. I neglectedhis advice, and I have paid for it.
You look wretchedly ill, said Holmes. Perhaps you are hardly equalto telling me what occurred.
It is all here, said the inspector, tapping a bulky notebook.
Still, if the lady is not too exhaustedC C
There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wicked Susan hadplanned an entrance for them. They must have known the house to aninch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroform rag which wasthrust over my mouth, but I have no notion how long I may have beensenseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedside and another wasrising with a bundle in his hand from among my sons baggage, whichwas partially opened and littered over the floor. Before he could get awayI sprang up and seized him.
You took a big risk, said the inspector.
I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the other may have struckme, for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard the noise andbegan screaming out of the window. That brought the police, but therascals had got away.
What did they take?
Well, I dont think there is anything of value missing. I am sure therewas nothing in my sons trunks.
Did the men leave no clue?
There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the man thatI [1030] grasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in my sonshandwriting.
Which means that it is not of much use, said the inspector. Now if ithad been in the burglarsC C
Exactly, said Holmes. What rugged common sense! None the less, Ishould be curious to see it.
The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from his pocketbook.
I never pass anything, however trifling, said he with some pomposity.
That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twenty-five years experience Ihave learned my lesson. There is always the chance of finger-marks orsomething.
Holmes inspected the sheet of paper.
What do you make of it, Inspector?
Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see.
It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale, said Holmes.
You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It is two hundredand forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and forty-four pages?
Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it do them!
It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to steal suchpapers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?
Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed at whatcame first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got.
Why should they go to my sons things? asked Mrs. Maberley.
Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luckupstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?
I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Watson. Then,as we stood together, he read over the fragment of paper. It began in themiddle of a sentence and ran like this:
... face bled considerably from the cuts and blows, but it wasnothing to the bleeding of his heart as he saw that lovely face, theface for which he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life,looking out at his agony and humiliation. She smiledCyes, byHeaven! she smiled, like the heartless fiend she was, as he lookedup at her. It was at that moment that love died and hate was born.
Man must live for something. If it is not for your embrace, mylady, then it shall surely be for your undoing and my completerevenge.
Queer grammar! said Holmes with a smile as he handed the paperback to the inspector. Did you notice how the he suddenly changed tomy? The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imaginedhimself at the supreme moment to be the hero.
It seemed mighty poor stuff, said the inspector as he replaced it in hisbook. What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?
I dont think there is anything more for me to do now that the case isin such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say youwished to travel?
It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes.
Where would you like to goCCairo, Madeira, the Riviera?
Oh, if I had the money I would go round the world.
Quite so. Round the world. Well, good-morning. I may drop you a linein the evening. As we passed the window I caught a glimpse of theinspectors smile and shake of the head. These clever fellows havealways a touch of madness. That was what I read in the inspectors smile.
[1031] Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey, saidHolmes when we were back in the roar of central London once more. Ithink we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be well thatyou should come with me, for it is safer to have a witness when you aredealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein.
We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in GrosvenorSquare. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he roused himself suddenly.
By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?
No, I cant say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see the ladywho is behind all this mischief.
Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you? Shewas, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to touchher. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterful Conquistadors,and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco for generations. Shemarried the aged German sugar king, Klein, and presently found herselfthe richest as well as the most lovely widow upon earth. Then there wasan interval of adventure when she pleased her own tastes. She had severallovers, and Douglas Maberley, one of the most striking men in London,was one of them. It was by all accounts more than an adventure with him.
He was not a society butterfly but a strong, proud man who gave andexpected all. But she is the belle dame sans merci of fiction. When hercaprice is satisfied the matter is ended, and if the other party in the mattercant take her word for it she knows how to bring it home to him.
Then that was his own storyC C
Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is about to marrythe young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. His Gracesma might overlook the age, but a big scandal would be a different matter,so it is imperativeC C Ah! here we are.
It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. A machine-likefootman took up our cards and returned with word that the lady was not athome. Then we shall wait until she is, said Holmes cheerfully.
The machine broke down.
Not at home means not at home to you, said the footman.
Good, Holmes answered. That means that we shall not have to wait.
Kindly give this note to your mistress.
He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook, foldedit, and handed it to the man.
What did you say, Holmes? I asked.
I simply wrote: Shall it be the police, then? I think that should passus in.
It didCwith amazing celerity. A minute later we were in an ArabianNights drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom, picked outwith an occasional pink electric light. The lady had come, I felt, to thattime of life when even the proudest beauty finds the half light morewelcome. She rose from a settee as we entered: tall, queenly, a perfectfigure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful Spanish eyes whichlooked murder at us both.
What is this intrusionCand this insulting message? she asked, holdingup the slip of paper.
I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for yourintelligence to do soCthough I confess that intelligence has beensurprisingly at fault of late.
How so, sir?
By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from my work.
Surely [1032] no man would take up my profession if it were not thatdanger attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine the caseof young Maberley.
I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to do withhired bullies?
Holmes turned away wearily.
Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, good-afternoon!
Stop! Where are you going?
To Scotland Yard.
We had not got halfway to the door before she had overtaken us andwas holding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel to velvet.
Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. I feel thatI may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of agentleman. How quick a womans instinct is to find it out. I will treat youas a friend.
I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, but Irepresent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready to listen, andthen I will tell you how I will act.
No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself.
What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placed yourself inthe power of a band of rascals who may blackmail or give you away.
No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank, I maysay that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have the leastidea who their employer is. As to them, well, it is not the firstC C Shesmiled and nodded with a charming coquettish intimacy.
I see. Youve tested them before.
They are good hounds who run silent.
Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feedsthem. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police are already afterthem.
They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paid for. Ishall not appear in the matter.
Unless I bring you into it.
No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a womans secret.
In the first place, you must give back this manuscript.
She broke into a ripple of laughter and walked to the fireplace. Therewas a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. Shall I give thisback? she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she look as she stoodbefore us with a challenging smile that I felt of all Holmess criminals thiswas the one whom he would find it hardest to face. However, he wasimmune from sentiment.
That seals your fate, he said coldly. You are very prompt in youractions, madame, but you have overdone it on this occasion.
She threw the poker down with a clatter.
How hard you are! she cried. May I tell you the whole story?
I fancy I could tell it to you.
But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You must realize itfrom the point of view of a woman who sees all her lifes ambition aboutto be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman to be blamed if sheprotects herself?
The original sin was yours.
Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it so chanced thathe could not fit into my plans. He wanted marriageCmarriage, Mr.
HolmesC with a penniless commoner. Nothing less would serve him.
Then he became pertinacious. [1033] Because I had given he seemed tothink that I still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable. At last Ihad to make him realize it.
By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own window.
You do indeed seem to know everything. Well, it is true. Barney andthe boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.
But what did he do then? Could I have believed that a gentleman woulddo such an act? He wrote a book in which he described his own story. I,of course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, under differentnames, of course; but who in all London would have failed to recognizeit? What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?
Well, he was within his rights.
It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought with itthe old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy of his bookthat I might have the torture of anticipation. There were two copies, hesaid Cone for me, one for his publisher.
How did you know the publishers had not reached him?
I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, you know. Ifound out that he had not heard from Italy. Then came Douglass suddendeath. So long as that other manuscript was in the world there was nosafety for me. Of course, it must be among his effects, and these would bereturned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One of them got into thehouse as servant. I wanted to do the thing honestly. I really and truly did.
I was ready to buy the house and everything in it. I offered any price shecared to ask. I only tried the other way when everything else had failed.
Now, Mr. Holmes, granting that I was too hard on DouglasCand, Godknows, I am sorry for it!Cwhat else could I do with my whole future atstake?
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
Well, well, said he, I suppose I shall have to compound a felony asusual. How much does it cost to go round the world in first-class style?
The lady stared in amazement.
Could it be done on five thousand pounds?
Well, I should think so, indeed!
Very good. I think you will sign me a check for that, and I will seethat it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air.
Meantime, lady Che wagged a cautionary forefingerChave a care! Havea care! You cant play with edged tools forever without cutting thosedainty hands.
David Soucek, 1998 The Sussex VampireThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE SUSSEX VAMPIREHOLMES had read carefully a note which the last post had brought him.
Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach to a laugh, hetossed it over to me.
For a mixture of the modern and the mediaeval, of the practical and ofthe wildly fanciful, I think this is surely the limit, said he. What do youmake of it, Watson?
I read as follows:
[1034] 46, OLD JEWRY,Nov. 19th.
Re VampiresSIR:
Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, teabrokers, of Mincing Lane, has made some inquiry from us in acommunication of even date concerning vampires. As our firmspecializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery the matterhardly comes within our purview, and we have thereforerecommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matterbefore you. We have not forgotten your successful action in thecase of Matilda Briggs.
We are, sir,Faithfully yours,MORRISON, MORRISON, AND DODD.
per E. J. C.
Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson, saidHolmes in a reminiscent voice. It was a ship which is associated with thegiant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared. Butwhat do we know about vampires? Does it come within our purvieweither? Anything is better than stagnation, but really we seem to havebeen switched on to a Grimms fairy tale. Make a long arm, Watson, andsee what V has to say.
I leaned back and took down the great index volume to which hereferred. Holmes balanced it on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly andlovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the accumulatedinformation of a lifetime.
Voyage of the Gloria Scott, he read. That was a bad business. I havesome recollection that you made a record of it, Watson, though I wasunable to congratulate you upon the result. Victor Lynch, the forger.
Venomous lizard or gila. Remarkable case, that! Vittoria, the circus belle.
Vanderbilt and the Yeggman. Vipers. Vigor, the Hammersmith wonder.
Hullo! Hullo! Good old index. You cant beat it. Listen to this, Watson.
Vampirism in Hungary. And again, Vampires in Transylvania. He turnedover the pages with eagerness, but after a short intent perusal he threwdown the great book with a snarl of disappointment.
Rubbish, Watson, rubbish! What have we to do with walking corpseswho can only be held in their grave by stakes driven through their hearts?
Its pure lunacy.
But surely, said I, the vampire was not necessarily a dead man? Aliving person might have the habit. I have read, for example, of the oldsucking the blood of the young in order to retain their youth.
You are right, Watson. It mentions the legend in one of thesereferences. But are we to give serious attention to such things? Thisagency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must remain. Theworld is big enough for us. No ghosts need apply. I fear that we cannottake Mr. Robert Ferguson very seriously. Possibly this note may be fromhim and may throw some light upon what is worrying him.
He took up a second letter which had lain unnoticed upon the tablewhile he had been absorbed with the first. This he began to read with asmile of amusement upon his face which gradually faded away into anexpression of intense interest and concentration. When he had finished hesat for some little time lost in thought [1035] with the letter dangling fromhis fingers. Finally, with a start, he aroused himself from his reverie.
Cheesemans, Lamberley. Where is Lamberley, Watson?
It is in Sussex, south of Horsham.
Not very far, eh? And Cheesemans?
I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old houses which are namedafter the men who built them centuries ago. You get Odleys andHarveys and CarritonsCthe folk are forgotten but their names live intheir houses.
Precisely, said Holmes coldly. It was one of the peculiarities of hisproud, self-contained nature that though he docketed any freshinformation very quietly and accurately in his brain, he seldom made anyacknowledgment to the giver. I rather fancy we shall know a good dealmore about Cheesemans, Lamberley, before we are through. The letteris, as I had hoped, from Robert Ferguson. By the way, he claimsacquaintance with you.
With me!
You had better read it.
He handed the letter across. It was headed with the address quoted.
DEAR MR. HOLMES [it said]:
I have been recommended to you by my lawyers, but indeed thematter is so extraordinarily delicate that it is most difficult todiscuss. It concerns a friend for whom I am acting. This gentlemanmarried some five years ago a Peruvian lady, the daughter of aPeruvian merchant, whom he had met in connection with theimportation of nitrates. The lady was very beautiful, but the fact ofher foreign birth and of her alien religion always caused aseparation of interests and of feelings between husband and wife,so that after a time his love may have cooled towards her and hemay have come to regard their union as a mistake. He felt therewere sides of her character which he could never explore orunderstand. This was the more painful as she was as loving a wifeas a man could haveCto all appearance absolutely devoted.
Now for the point which I will make more plain when we meet.
Indeed, this note is merely to give you a general idea of thesituation and to ascertain whether you would care to interestyourself in the matter. The lady began to show some curious traitsquite alien to her ordinarily sweet and gentle disposition. Thegentleman had been married twice and he had one son by the firstwife. This boy was now fifteen, a very charming and affectionateyouth, though unhappily injured through an accident in childhood.
Twice the wife was caught in the act of assaulting this poor lad inthe most unprovoked way. Once she struck him with a stick andleft a great weal on his arm.
This was a small matter, however, compared with her conduct toher own child, a dear boy just under one year of age. On oneoccasion about a month ago this child had been left by its nurse fora few minutes. A loud cry from the baby, as of pain, called thenurse back. As she ran into the room she saw her employer, thelady, leaning over the baby and apparently biting his neck. Therewas a small wound in the neck from which a stream of blood hadescaped. The nurse was so horrified that she wished to call thehusband, but the lady implored her not to do so and actually gaveher five pounds [1036] as a price for her silence. No explanationwas ever given, and for the moment the matter was passed over.
It left, however, a terrible impression upon the nurses mind,and from that time she began to watch her mistress closely and tokeep a closer guard upon the baby, whom she tenderly loved. Itseemed to her that even as she watched the mother, so the motherwatched her, and that every time she was compelled to leave thebaby alone the mother was waiting to get at it. Day and night thenurse covered the child, and day and night the silent, watchfulmother seemed to be lying in wait as a wolf waits for a lamb. Itmust read most incredible to you, and yet I beg you to take itseriously, for a childs life and a mans sanity may depend upon it.
At last there came one dreadful day when the facts could nolonger be concealed from the husband. The nurses nerve hadgiven way; she could stand the strain no longer, and she made aclean breast of it all to the man. To him it seemed as wild a tale asit may now seem to you. He knew his wife to be a loving wife,and, save for the assaults upon her stepson, a loving mother. Why,then, should she wound her own dear little baby? He told the nursethat she was dreaming, that her suspicions were those of a lunatic,and that such libels upon her mistress were not to be tolerated.
While they were talking a sudden cry of pain was heard. Nurse andmaster rushed together to the nursery. Imagine his feelings, Mr.
Holmes, as he saw his wife rise from a kneeling position besidethe cot and saw blood upon the childs exposed neck and upon thesheet. With a cry of horror, he turned his wifes face to the lightand saw blood all round her lips. It was sheCshe beyond allquestionCwho had drunk the poor babys blood.
So the matter stands. She is now confined to her room. Therehas been no explanation. The husband is half demented. Heknows, and I know, little of vampirism beyond the name. We hadthought it was some wild tale of foreign parts. And yet here in thevery heart of the English SussexCwell, all this can be discussedwith you in the morning. Will you see me? Will you use your greatpowers in aiding a distracted man? If so, kindly wire to Ferguson,Cheesemans, Lamberley, and I will be at your rooms by tenoclock.
Yours faithfully,ROBERT FERGUSON.
P. S. I believe your friend Watson played Rugby for Blackheathwhen I was three-quarter for Richmond. It is the only personalintroduction which I can give.
Of course I remembered him, said I as I laid down the letter. BigBob Ferguson, the finest three-quarter Richmond ever had. He wasalways a good-natured chap. Its like him to be so concerned over afriends case.
Holmes looked at me thoughtfully and shook his head.
I never get your limits, Watson, said he. There are unexploredpossibilities about you. Take a wire down, like a good fellow. Willexamine your case with pleasure. 
Your case!
We must not let him think that this agency is a home for the weakminded.
Of course it is his case. Send him that wire and let the matter resttill morning.
[1037] Promptly at ten oclock next morning Ferguson strode into ourroom. I had remembered him as a long, slab-sided man with loose limbsand a fine turn of speed which had carried him round many an opposingback. There is surely nothing in life more painful than to meet the wreckof a fine athlete whom one has known in his prime. His great frame hadfallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and his shoulders were bowed. I fearthat I roused corresponding emotions in him.
Hullo, Watson, said he, and his voice was still deep and hearty. Youdont look quite the man you did when I threw you over the ropes into thecrowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I have changed a bit also. But itsthis last day or two that has aged me. I see by your telegram, Mr. Holmes,that it is no use my pretending to be anyones deputy.
It is simpler to deal direct, said Holmes.
Of course it is. But you can imagine how difficult it is when you arespeaking of the one woman whom you are bound to protect and help.
What can I do? How am I to go to the police with such a story? And yetthe kiddies have got to be protected. Is it madness, Mr. Holmes? Is itsomething in the blood? Have you any similar case in your experience?
For Gods sake, give me some advice, for I am at my wits end.
Very naturally, Mr. Ferguson. Now sit here and pull yourself togetherand give me a few clear answers. I can assure you that I am very far frombeing at my wits end, and that I am confident we shall find somesolution. First of all, tell me what steps you have taken. Is your wife stillnear the children?
We had a dreadful scene. She is a most loving woman, Mr. Holmes. Ifever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul, she loves me. Shewas cut to the heart that I should have discovered this horrible, thisincredible, secret. She would not even speak. She gave no answer to myreproaches, save to gaze at me with a sort of wild, despairing look in hereyes. Then she rushed to her room and locked herself in. Since then shehas refused to see me. She has a maid who was with her before hermarriage, Dolores by nameCa friend rather than a servant. She takes herfood to her.
Then the child is in no immediate danger?
Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will not leave it night orday. I can absolutely trust her. I am more uneasy about poor little Jack,for, as I told you in my note, he has twice been assaulted by her.
But never wounded?
No, she struck him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is a poor littleinoffensive cripple. Fergusons gaunt features softened as he spoke ofhis boy. You would think that the dear lads condition would softenanyones heart. A fall in childhood and a twisted spine, Mr. Holmes. Butthe dearest, most loving heart within.
Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday and was reading it over.
What other inmates are there in your house, Mr. Ferguson?
Two servants who have not been long with us. One stable-hand,Michael, who sleeps in the house. My wife, myself, my boy Jack, baby,Dolores, and Mrs. Mason. That is all.
I gather that you did not know your wife well at the time of yourmarriage?
I had only known her a few weeks.
How long had this maid Dolores been with her?
Some years.
[1038] Then your wifes character would really be better known byDolores than by you?
Yes, you may say so.
Holmes made a note.
I fancy, said he, that I may be of more use at Lamberley than here. Itis eminently a case for personal investigation. If the lady remains in herroom, our presence could not annoy or inconvenience her. Of course, wewould stay at the inn.
Ferguson gave a gesture of relief.
It is what I hoped, Mr. Holmes. There is an excellent train at two fromVictoria if you could come.
Of course we could come. There is a lull at present. I can give you myundivided energies. Watson, of course, comes with us. But there are oneor two points upon which I wish to be very sure before I start. Thisunhappy lady, as I understand it, has appeared to assault both the children,her own baby and your little son?
That is so.
But the assaults take different forms, do they not? She has beaten yourson.
Once with a stick and once very savagely with her hands.
Did she give no explanation why she struck him?
None save that she hated him. Again and again she said so.
Well, that is not unknown among stepmothers. A posthumousjealousy, we will say. Is the lady jealous by nature?
Yes, she is very jealousCjealous with all the strength of her fierytropical love.
But the boyChe is fifteen, I understand, and probably very developedin mind, since his body has been circumscribed in action. Did he give youno explanation of these assaults?
No, he declared there was no reason.
Were they good friends at other times?
No, there was never any love between them.
Yet you say he is affectionate?
Never in the world could there be so devoted a son. My life is his life.
He is absorbed in what I say or do.
Once again Holmes made a note. For some time he sat lost in thought.
No doubt you and the boy were great comrades before this secondmarriage. You were thrown very close together, were you not?
Very much so.
And the boy, having so affectionate a nature, was devoted, no doubt,to the memory of his mother?
Most devoted.
He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad. There is oneother point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks upon the babyand the assaults upon your son at the same period?
In the first case it was so. It was as if some frenzy had seized her, andshe had vented her rage upon both. In the second case it was only Jackwho suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint to make about the baby.
That certainly complicates matters.
I dont quite follow you, Mr. Holmes.
Possibly not. One forms provisional theories and waits for time orfuller [1039] knowledge to explode them. A bad habit, Mr. Ferguson, buthuman nature is weak. I fear that your old friend here has given anexaggerated view of my scientific methods. However, I will only say atthe present stage that your problem does not appear to me to be insoluble,and that you may expect to find us at Victoria at two oclock.
It was evening of a dull, foggy November day when, having left ourbags at the Chequers, Lamberley, we drove through the Sussex clay of along winding lane and finally reached the isolated and ancient farmhousein which Ferguson dwelt. It was a large, straggling building, very old inthe centre, very new at the wings with towering Tudor chimneys and alichen-spotted, high-pitched roof of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps wereworn into curves, and the ancient tiles which lined the porch were markedwith the rebus of a cheese and a man after the original builder. Within, theceilings were corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and the uneven floorssagged into sharp curves. An odour of age and decay pervaded the wholecrumbling building.
There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us.
Here, in a huge old-fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it dated1670, there blazed and spluttered a splendid log fire.
The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture of dates andof places. The half-panelled walls may well have belonged to the originalyeoman farmer of the seventeenth century. They were ornamented,however, on the lower part by a line of well-chosen modern watercolours;while above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak, therewas hung a fine collection of South American utensils and weapons,which had been brought, no doubt, by the Peruvian lady upstairs. Holmesrose, with that quick curiosity which sprang from his eager mind, andexamined them with some care. He returned with his eyes full of thought.
Hullo! he cried. Hullo!
A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. It came slowly forwardtowards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hind legs movedirregularly and its tail was on the ground. It licked Fergusons hand.
What is it, Mr. Holmes?
The dog. Whats the matter with it?
Thats what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis, hethought. But it is passing. Hell be all right soonCwont you, Carlo?
A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dogsmournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that we werediscussing his case.
Did it come on suddenly?
In a single night.
How long ago?
It may have been four months ago.
Very remarkable. Very suggestive.
What do you see in it, Mr. Holmes?
A confirmation of what I had already thought.
For Gods sake, what do you think, Mr. Holmes? It may be a mereintellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me! My wife a wouldbemurdererCmy child in constant danger! Dont play with me, Mr.
Holmes. It is too terribly serious.
The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all over. Holmes put hishand soothingly upon his arm.
[1040] I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever thesolution may be, said he. I would spare you all I can. I cannot say morefor the instant, but before I leave this house I hope I may have somethingdefinite.
Please God you may! If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will go up tomy wifes room and see if there has been any change.
He was away some minutes, during which Holmes resumed hisexamination of the curiosities upon the wall. When our host returned itwas clear from his downcast face that he had made no progress. Hebrought with him a tall, slim, brown-faced girl.
The tea is ready, Dolores, said Ferguson. See that your mistress haseverything she can wish.
She verra ill, cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes at her master.
She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. I frightened stayalone with her without doctor.
Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes.
I should be so glad if I could be of use.
Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?
I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor.
Then Ill come with you at once.
I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotion, up thestaircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was an iron-clampedand massive door. It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson tried toforce his way to his wife he would find it no easy matter. The girl drew akey from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks creaked upon their oldhinges. I passed in and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her.
On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. Shewas only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair of frightenedbut beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger,she appeared to be relieved and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow. Istepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still while Itook her pulse and temperature. Both were high, and yet my impressionwas that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitementthan of any actual seizure.
She lie like that one day, two day. I fraid she die, said the girl.
The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me.
Where is my husband?
He is below and would wish to see you.
I will not see him. I will not see him. Then she seemed to wander offinto delirium. A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?
Can I help you in any way?
No. No one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do what I will,all is destroyed.
The woman must have some strange delusion. I could not see honestBob Ferguson in the character of fiend or devil.
Madame, I said, your husband loves you dearly. He is deeplygrieved at this happening.
Again she turned on me those glorious eyes.
He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even tosacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is how I love him.
And yet he could think of meChe could speak of me so.
[1041] He is full of grief, but he cannot understand.
No, he cannot understand. But he should trust.
Will you not see him? I suggested.
No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words nor the look upon his face.
I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me. Tell him only onething. I want my child. I have a right to my child. That is the onlymessage I can send him. She turned her face to the wall and would sayno more.
I returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmes still satby the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account of the interview.
How can I send her the child? he said. How do I know what strangeimpulse might come upon her? How can I ever forget how she rose frombeside it with its blood upon her lips? He shuddered at the recollection.
The child is safe with Mrs. Mason, and there he must remain.
A smart maid, the only modern thing which we had seen in the house,had brought in some tea. As she was serving it the door opened and ayouth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale-faced and fairhaired,with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame ofemotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward andthrew his arms round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl.
Oh, daddy, he cried, I did not know that you were due yet. I shouldhave been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to see you!
Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some littleshow of embarrassment.
Dear old chap, said he, patting the flaxen head with a very tenderhand. I came early because my friends, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,have been persuaded to come down and spend an evening with us.
Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?
Yes.
The youth looked at us with a very penetrating and, as it seemed to me,unfriendly gaze.
What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson? asked Holmes. Mightwe make the acquaintance of the baby?
Ask Mrs. Mason to bring baby down, said Ferguson. The boy wentoff with a curious, shambling gait which told my surgical eyes that he wassuffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, and behind him camea tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark-eyed,golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin. Fergusonwas evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled itmost tenderly.
Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him, he muttered as he glanceddown at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherub throat.
It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes and saw amost singular intentness in his expression. His face was as set as if it hadbeen carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which had glanced for amoment at father and child, were now fixed with eager curiosity uponsomething at the other side of the room. Following his gaze I could onlyguess that he was looking out through the window at the melancholy,dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closed outside andobstructed the view, but none the less it was certainly at the window thatHolmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then he smiled, and hiseyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this smallpuckered mark. Without [1042] speaking, Holmes examined it with care.
Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him.
Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse, Ishould wish to have a word with you in private.
He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heardthe last words, which were: Your anxiety will soon, I hope, be set atrest. The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind of creature,withdrew with the child.
What is Mrs. Mason like? asked Holmes.
Not very prepossessing externally, as you can see, but a heart of gold,and devoted to the child.
Do you like her, Jack? Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. Hisexpressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head.
Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes, said Ferguson, putting hisarm round the boy. Luckily I am one of his likes.
The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his fathers breast. Fergusongently disengaged him.
Run away, little Jacky, said he, and he watched his son with lovingeyes until he disappeared. Now, Mr. Holmes, he continued when theboy was gone, I really feel that I have brought you on a fools errand, forwhat can you possibly do save give me your sympathy? It must be anexceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of view.
It is certainly delicate, said my friend with an amused smile, but Ihave not been struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a case forintellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual deduction isconfirmed point by point by quite a number of independent incidents,then the subjective becomes objective and we can say confidently that wehave reached our goal. I had, in fact, reached it before we left BakerStreet, and the rest has merely been observation and confirmation.
Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.
For heavens sake, Holmes, he said hoarsely; if you can see the truthin this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand? What shall Ido? I care nothing as to how you have found your facts so long as youhave really got them.
Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. But you willpermit me to handle the matter in my own way? Is the lady capable ofseeing us, Watson?
She is ill, but she is quite rational.
Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter up.
Let us go up to her.
She will not see me, cried Ferguson.
Oh, yes, she will, said Holmes. He scribbled a few lines upon a sheetof paper. You at least have the entree, Watson. Will you have thegoodness to give the lady this note?
I ascended again and handed the note to Dolores, who cautiouslyopened the door. A minute later I heard a cry from within, a cry in whichjoy and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out.
She will see them. She will leesten, said she.
At my summons Ferguson and Holmes came up. As we entered theroom Ferguson took a step or two towards his wife, who had raisedherself in the bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. He sank intoan armchair, while Holmes seated [1043] himself beside him, after bowingto the lady, who looked at him with wide-eyed amazement.
I think we can dispense with Dolores, said Holmes. Oh, very well,madame, if you would rather she stayed I can see no objection. Now, Mr.
Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to beshort and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let me first saywhat will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a very loving, and avery ill-used woman.
Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy.
Prove that, Mr. Holmes, and I am your debtor forever.
I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in anotherdirection.
I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth isinsignificant compared to that.
Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning which passed through mymind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Suchthings do not happen in criminal practice in England. And yet yourobservation was precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside thechilds cot with the blood upon her lips.
I did.
Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for someother purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was there not a queen inEnglish history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?
Poison!
A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of thoseweapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have beenother poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that littleempty quiver beside the small bird-bow, it was just what I expected tosee. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in curare orsome other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were notsucked out.
And the dog! If one were to use such a poison, would one not try itfirst in order to see that it had not lost its power? I did not foresee the dog,but at least I understand him and he fitted into my reconstruction.
Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw itmade and saved the childs life, and yet she shrank from telling you allthe truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and feared lest it breakyour heart.
Jacky!
I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearlyreflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed abackground. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldom seenin a human face.
My Jacky!
You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painful because it is adistorted love, a maniacal exaggerated love for you, and possibly for hisdead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul is consumedwith hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beauty are a contrastto his own weakness.
Good God! It is incredible!
Have I spoken the truth, madame?
The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Now sheturned to her husband.
How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you. It wasbetter that I should wait and that it should come from some other lips thanmine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of magic, wrotethat he knew all, I was glad.
[1044] I think a year at sea would be my prescription for MasterJacky, said Holmes, rising from his chair. Only one thing is stillclouded, madame. We can quite understand your attacks upon MasterJacky. There is a limit to a mothers patience. But how did you dare toleave the child these last two days?
I had told Mrs. Mason. She knew.
Exactly. So I imagined.
Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his hands outstretched andquivering.
This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson, said Holmes in awhisper. If you will take one elbow of the too faithful Dolores, I willtake the other. There, now, he added as he closed the door behind him, Ithink we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves.
I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which Holmeswrote in final answer to that with which the narrative begins. It ran thus:
BAKER STREET,Nov. 21st.
Re VampiresSIR:
Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I havelooked into the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, ofFerguson and Muirhead, tea brokers, of Mincing Lane, and that thematter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanksfor your recommendation, I am, sir,Faithfully yours,SHERLOCK HOLMES.
David Soucek, 1998 The Three GarridebsThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE THREE GARRIDEBSIT MAY have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost oneman his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another man thepenalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy. Well,you shall judge for yourselves.
I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month thatHolmes refused a knighthood for services which may perhaps some daybe described. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position ofpartner and confidant I am obliged to be particularly careful to avoid anyindiscretion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix the date, whichwas the latter end of June, 1902, shortly after the conclusion of the SouthAfrican War. Holmes had spent several days in bed, as was his habit fromtime to time, but he emerged that morning with a long foolscap documentin his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his austere gray eyes.
There is a chance for you to make some money, friend Watson, saidhe. Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?
I admitted that I had not.
Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, theres money in it.
Why?
Ah, thats a long storyCrather a whimsical one, too. I dont think in allour explorations of human complexities we have ever come uponanything more [1045] singular. The fellow will be here presently for crossexamination,so I wont open the matter up till he comes. But, meanwhile,thats the name we want.
The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned overthe pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazement there was thisstrange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.
Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!
Holmes took the book from my hand.
 Garrideb, N.,  he read,  136 Little Ryder Street, W. Sorry todisappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself. That is theaddress upon his letter. We want another to match him.
Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up andglanced at it.
Why, here it is! I cried in amazement. This is a different initial. JohnGarrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U. S. A.
Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. I am afraid you must makeyet another effort, Watson, said he. This gentleman is also in the plotalready, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning.
However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which I want to know.
A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor atLaw, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven facecharacteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect waschubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression of quite ayoung man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, werearresting. Seldom in any human head have I seen a pair which bespoke amore intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive toevery change of thought. His accent was American, but was notaccompanied by any eccentricity of speech.
Mr. Holmes? he asked, glancing from one to the other. Ah, yes!
Your pictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so. I believe you havehad a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?
Pray sit down, said Sherlock Holmes. We shall, I fancy, have a gooddeal to discuss. He took up his sheets of foolscap. You are, of course,the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. But surely you havebeen in England some time?
Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes? I seemed to read suddensuspicion in those expressive eyes.
Your whole outfit is English.
Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. Ive read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, butI never thought I would be the subject of them. Where do you read that?
The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your bootsCcould anyonedoubt it?
Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. But businessbrought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit isnearly all London. However, I guess your time is of value, and we did notmeet to talk about the cut of my socks. What about getting down to thatpaper you hold in your hand?
Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby face hadassumed a far less amiable expression.
Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb! said my friend in a soothing voice.
Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of minesometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter. But whydid Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?
Why did he ever drag you into it at all? asked our visitor with asudden [1046] outflame of anger. What in thunder had you to do with it?
Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and oneof them must needs call in a detective! I saw him this morning, and hetold me this fool-trick he had played me, and thats why I am here. But Ifeel bad about it, all the same.
There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simply zealupon his part to gain your endCan end which is, I understand, equally vitalfor both of you. He knew that I had means of getting information, and,therefore, it was very natural that he should apply to me.
Our visitors angry face gradually cleared.
Well, that puts it different, said he. When I went to see him thismorning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just asked for youraddress and came right away. I dont want police butting into a privatematter. But if you are content just to help us find the man, there can be noharm in that.
Well, that is just how it stands, said Holmes. And now, sir, sinceyou are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. Myfriend here knows nothing of the details.
Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze.
Need he know? he asked.
We usually work together.
Well, theres no reason it should be kept a secret. Ill give you thefacts as short as I can make them. If you came from Kansas I would notneed to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was. He madehis money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago, buthe spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of yourcounties, lying along the Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge. Its grazinglandand lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, and justevery sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it.
He had no kith nor kinCor, if he had, I never heard of it. But he took akind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was what brought ustogether. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had a visit from theold man, and he was tickled to death to meet another man with his ownname. It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find out if there were anymore Garridebs in the world. Find me another! said he. I told him I wasa busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in searchof Garridebs. None the less, said he, that is just what you will do ifthings pan out as I planned them. I thought he was joking, but there wasa powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon to discover.
For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behindhim. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State ofKansas. His property was divided into three parts, and I was to have oneon condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the remainder.
Its five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we cant lay a finger onit until we all three stand in a row.
It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and I setforth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in the United States. I wentthrough it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a Garrideb could Icatch. Then I tried the old country. Sure enough there was the name in theLondon telephone directory. I went after him two days ago and explainedthe whole matter to him. But he is a lone man, like myself, with somewomen relations, but no men. It says three adult men in the will. So yousee we still have a vacancy, and if you can help to fill it we will be veryready to pay your charges.
[1047] Well, Watson, said Holmes with a smile, I said it was ratherwhimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your obvious waywas to advertise in the agony columns of the papers.
I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies.
Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem. I may takea glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curious that you should havecome from Topeka. I used to have a correspondentChe is dead nowColdDr. Lysander Starr, who was mayor in 1890.
Good old Dr. Starr! said our visitor. His name is still honoured.
Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to you and let youknow how we progress. I reckon you will hear within a day or two. Withthis assurance our American bowed and departed.
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smileupon his face.
Well? I asked at last.
I am wondering, WatsonCjust wondering!
At what?
Holmes took his pipe from his lips.
I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of thisman in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him soCfor thereare times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policyCbut I judged itbetter to let him think he had fooled us. Here is a man with an Englishcoat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the knee with a yearswear, and yet by this document and by his own account he is a provincialAmerican lately landed in London. There have been no advertisements inthe agony columns. You know that I miss nothing there. They are myfavourite covert for putting up a bird, and I would never have overlookedsuch a cock pheasant as that. I never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, ofTopeka. Touch him where you would he was false. I think the fellow isreally an American, but he has worn his accent smooth with years ofLondon. What is his game, then, and what motive lies behind thispreposterous search for Garridebs? Its worth our attention, for, grantingthat the man is a rascal, he is certainly a complex and ingenious one. Wemust now find out if our other correspondent is a fraud also. Just ring himup, Watson.
I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end of the line.
Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? I shouldvery much like to have a word with Mr. Holmes.
My friend took the instrument and I heard the usual syncopateddialogue.
Yes, he has been here. I understand that you dont know him. ... Howlong? ... Only two days! ... Yes, yes, of course, it is a most captivatingprospect. Will you be at home this evening? I suppose your namesake willnot be there? ... Very good, we will come then, for I would rather have achat without him. ... Dr. Watson will come with me. ... I understand fromyour note that you did not go out often. ... Well, we shall be round aboutsix. You need not mention it to the American lawyer. ... Very good. Goodbye!
It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little Ryder Street,one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within a stone-castof old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and wonderful in theslanting rays of the setting sun. The particular house to which we weredirected was a large, [1048] old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice, with aflat brick face broken only by two deep bay windows on the ground floor.
It was on this ground floor that our client lived, and, indeed, the lowwindows proved to be the front of the huge room in which he spent hiswaking hours. Holmes pointed as we passed to the small brass platewhich bore the curious name.
Up some years, Watson, he remarked, indicating its discolouredsurface. Its his real name, anyhow, and that is something to note.
The house had a common stair, and there were a number of namespainted in the hall, some indicating offices and some private chambers. Itwas not a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemianbachelors. Our client opened the door for us himself and apologized bysaying that the woman in charge left at four oclock. Mr. Nathan Garridebproved to be a very tall, loose-jointed, round-backed person, gaunt andbald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face, with the dulldead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Large roundspectacles and a small projecting goats beard combined with his stoopingattitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. The general effect,however, was amiable, though eccentric.
The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a smallmuseum. It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets allround, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical. Cases ofbutterflies and moths flanked each side of the entrance. A large table inthe centre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tube ofa powerful microscope bristled up among them. As I glanced round I wassurprised at the universality of the mans interests. Here was a case ofancient coins. There was a cabinet of flint instruments. Behind his centraltable was a large cupboard of fossil bones. Above was a line of plasterskulls with such names as Neanderthal, Heidelberg, Cro-Magnon
printed beneath them. It was clear that he was a student of many subjects.
As he stood in front of us now, he held a piece of chamois leather in hisright hand with which he was polishing a coin.
SyracusanCof the best period, he explained, holding it up. Theydegenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I hold them supreme,though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find a chair here,Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear these bones. And you, sirCah, yes,Dr. WatsonCif you would have the goodness to put the Japanese vase toone side. You see round me my little interests in life. My doctor lecturesme about never going out, but why should I go out when I have so muchto hold me here? I can assure you that the adequate cataloguing of one ofthose cabinets would take me three good months.
Holmes looked round him with curiosity.
But do you tell me that you never go out? he said.
Now and again I drive down to Sothebys or Christies. Otherwise Ivery seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and my researches arevery absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrificshockCpleasant but terrificCit was for me when I heard of thisunparalleled good fortune. It only needs one more Garrideb to completethe matter, and surely we can find one. I had a brother, but he is dead, andfemale relatives are disqualified. But there must surely be others in theworld. I had heard that you handled strange cases, and that was why I sentto you. Of course, this American gentleman is quite right, and I shouldhave taken his advice first, but I acted for the best.
[1049] I think you acted very wisely indeed, said Holmes. But areyou really anxious to acquire an estate in America?
Certainly not, sir. Nothing would induce me to leave my collection.
But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy me out as soon as wehave established our claim. Five million dollars was the sum named.
There are a dozen specimens in the market at the present moment whichfill gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to purchase for want ofa few hundred pounds. Just think what I could do with five milliondollars. Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection. I shall be theHans Sloane of my age.
His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. It was very clear that nopains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding a namesake.
I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason whyI should interrupt your studies, said Holmes. I prefer to establishpersonal touch with those with whom I do business. There are fewquestions I need ask, for I have your very clear narrative in my pocket,and I filled up the blanks when this American gentleman called. Iunderstand that up to this week you were unaware of his existence.
That is so. He called last Tuesday.
Did he tell you of our interview to-day?
Yes, he came straight back to me. He had been very angry.
Why should he be angry?
He seemed to think it was some reflection on his honour. But he wasquite cheerful again when he returned.
Did he suggest any course of action?
No, sir, he did not.
Has he had, or asked for, any money from you?
No, sir, never!
You see no possible object he has in view?
None, except what he states.
Did you tell him of our telephone appointment?
Yes, sir, I did.
Holmes was lost in thought. I could see that he was puzzled.
Have you any articles of great value in your collection?
No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good collection, but not a veryvaluable one.
You have no fear of burglars?
Not the least.
How long have you been in these rooms?
Nearly five years.
Holmess cross-examination was interrupted by an imperative knockingat the door. No sooner had our client unlatched it than the Americanlawyer burst excitedly into the room.
Here you are! he cried, waving a paper over his head. I thought Ishould be in time to get you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my congratulations!
You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happily finished and all is well.
As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only say we are sorry if we have givenyou any useless trouble.
He handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at a markedadvertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read it over his shoulder.
This is how it ran:
[1050] HOWARD GARRIDEBCONSTRUCTOR OF AGRICULTURAL MACHINERYBinders, reapers, steam and hand plows, drills, harrows, farmers
carts, buckboards, and all other appliances.
Estimates for Artesian WellsApply Grosvenor Buildings, AstonGlorious! gasped our host. That makes our third man.
I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham, said the American, andmy agent there has sent me this advertisement from a local paper. Wemust hustle and put the thing through. I have written to this man and toldhim that you will see him in his office to-morrow afternoon at fouroclock.
You want me to see him?
What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Dont you think it would be wiser?
Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale. Why should hebelieve what I tell him? But you are a Britisher with solid references, andhe is bound to take notice of what you say. I would go with you if youwished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always followyou if you are in any trouble.
Well, I have not made such a journey for years.
It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out our connections. Youleave at twelve and should be there soon after two. Then you can be backthe same night. All you have to do is to see this man, explain the matter,and get an affidavit of his existence. By the Lord! he added hotly,considering Ive come all the way from the centre of America, it issurely little enough if you go a hundred miles in order to put this matterthrough.
Quite so, said Holmes. I think what this gentleman says is very true.
Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolate air.
Well, if you insist I shall go, said he. It is certainly hard for me torefuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you have broughtinto my life.
Then that is agreed, said Holmes, and no doubt you will let me havea report as soon as you can.
Ill see to that, said the American. Well, he added, looking at hiswatch, Ill have to get on. Ill call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan, and see youoff to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes? Well, then, good-bye,and we may have good news for you to-morrow night.
I noticed that my friends face cleared when the American left theroom, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.
I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb, said he. Inmy profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room ofyours is a storehouse of it.
Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind hisbig glasses.
I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man, said he.
I could take you round now if you have the time.
Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelledand classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If I shouldbe able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objectionto my glancing over them?
None at all. You are most welcome. The place will, of course, be shutup, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four oclock and would letyou in with her key.
[1051] Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon. If you wouldsay a word to Mrs. Saunders it would be quite in order. By the way, whois your house-agent?
Our client was amazed at the sudden question.
Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. But why?
I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it comes to houses, saidHolmes, laughing. I was wondering if this was Queen Anne orGeorgian.
Georgian, beyond doubt.
Really. I should have thought a little earlier. However, it is easilyascertained. Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you have everysuccess in your Birmingham journey.
The house-agents was close by, but we found that it was closed for theday, so we made our way back to Baker Street. It was not till after dinnerthat Holmes reverted to the subject.
Our little problem draws to a close, said he. No doubt you haveoutlined the solution in your own mind.
I can make neither head nor tail of it.
The head is surely clear enough and the tail we should see to-morrow.
Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?
I saw that the word plough was misspelt.
Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve all thetime. Yes, it was bad English but good American. The printer had set it upas received. Then the buckboards. That is American also. And artesianwells are commoner with them than with us. It was a typical Americanadvertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm. What do youmake of that?
I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself. Whathis object was I fail to understand.
Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted to getthis good old fossil up to Birmingham. That is very clear. I might havetold him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose chase, but, on secondthoughts, it seemed better to clear the stage by letting him go. To-morrow,WatsonCwell, to-morrow will speak for itself.
Holmes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime I noticedthat his face was very grave.
This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson, said he.
It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reasonto you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson bynow. But there is danger, and you should know it.
Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it may not bethe last. What is the particular danger this time?
We are up against a very hard case. I have identified Mr. JohnGarrideb, Counsellor at Law. He is none other than Killer Evans, ofsinister and murderous reputation.
I fear I am none the wiser.
Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portable NewgateCalendar in your memory. I have been down to see friend Lestrade at theYard. There may be an occasional want of imaginative intuition downthere, but they lead the world for thoroughness and method. I had an ideathat we might get on the track of our American friend in their records.
Sure enough, I found his chubby face smiling up at me from the rogues
portrait gallery. James Winter, alias Morecroft, [1052] alias Killer Evans,
was the inscription below. Holmes drew an envelope from his pocket. Iscribbled down a few points from his dossier: Aged forty-four. Native ofChicago. Known to have shot three men in the States. Escaped frompenitentiary through political influence. Came to London in 1893. Shot aman over cards in a night-club in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895.
Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Deadman was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner inChicago. Killer Evans released in 1901. Has been under policesupervision since, but so far as known has led an honest life. Verydangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them. That isour bird, WatsonCa sporting bird, as you must admit.
But what is his game?
Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to the house-agents. Ourclient, as he told us, has been there five years. It was unlet for a yearbefore then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at large namedWaldron. Waldrons appearance was well remembered at the office. Hehad suddenly vanished and nothing more been heard of him. He was atall, bearded man with very dark features. Now, Prescott, the man whomKiller Evans had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark manwith a beard. As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it thatPrescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very room which ourinnocent friend now devotes to his museum. So at last we get a link, yousee.
And the next link?
Well, we must go now and look for that.
He took a revolver from the drawer and handed it to me.
I have my old favourite with me. If our Wild West friend tries to liveup to his nickname, we must be ready for him. Ill give you an hour for asiesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our Ryder Streetadventure.
It was just four oclock when we reached the curious apartment ofNathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was about to leave, butshe had no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shut with a spring lock,and Holmes promised to see that all was safe before we left. Shortlyafterwards the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bow window, andwe knew that we were alone in the lower floor of the house. Holmes madea rapid examination of the premises. There was one cupboard in a darkcorner which stood out a little from the wall. It was behind this that weeventually crouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined his intentions.
He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his roomCthat is very clear,and, as the collector never went out, it took some planning to do it. Thewhole of this Garrideb invention was apparently for no other end. I mustsay, Watson, that there is a certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if thequeer name of the tenant did give him an opening which he could hardlyhave expected. He wove his plot with remarkable cunning.
But what did he want?
Well, that is what we are here to find out. It has nothing whatever todo with our client, so far as I can read the situation. It is somethingconnected with the man he murderedCthe man who may have been hisconfederate in crime. There is some guilty secret in the room. That is howI read it. At first I thought our friend might have something in hiscollection more valuable than he knewCsomething worth the attention of abig criminal. But the fact that Rodger Prescott of evil memory [1053]
inhabited these rooms points to some deeper reason. Well, Watson, wecan but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may bring.
That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in the shadowas we heard the outer door open and shut. Then came the sharp, metallicsnap of a key, and the American was in the room. He closed the doorsoftly behind him, took a sharp glance around him to see that all was safe,threw off his overcoat, and walked up to the central table with the briskmanner of one who knows exactly what he has to do and how to do it. Hepushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet on which itrested, rolled it completely back, and then, drawing a jemmy from hisinside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigorously upon the floor.
Presently we heard the sound of sliding boards, and an instant later asquare had opened in the planks. Killer Evans struck a match, lit a stumpof candle, and vanished from our view.
Clearly our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal,and together we stole across to the open trap-door. Gently as we moved,however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the head ofour American, peering anxiously round, emerged suddenly from the openspace. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage, whichgradually softened into a rather shamefaced grin as he realized that twopistols were pointed at his head.
Well, well! said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. I guessyou have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through my game,I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well, sir, I hand it toyou; you have me beat andC C
In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and hadfired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had beenpressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmess pistol came down onthe mans head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with bloodrunning down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Thenmy friends wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.
Youre not hurt, Watson? For Gods sake, say that you are not hurt!
It was worth a woundCit was worth many woundsCto know the depth ofloyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyeswere dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the oneand only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a greatbrain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated inthat moment of revelation.
Its nothing, Holmes. Its a mere scratch.
He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.
You are right, he cried with an immense sigh of relief. It is quitesuperficial. His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who wassitting up with a dazed face. By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you hadkilled Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir,what have you to say for yourself?
He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. I leaned onHolmess arm, and together we looked down into the small cellar whichhad been disclosed by the secret flap. It was still illuminated by the candlewhich Evans had taken down with him. Our eyes fell upon a mass ofrusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and, neatlyarranged upon a small table, a number of neat little bundles.
A printing pressCa counterfeiters outfit, said Holmes.
Yes, sir, said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet and thensinking into [1054] the chair. The greatest counterfeiter London ever saw.
Thats Prescotts machine, and those bundles on the table are twothousand of Prescotts notes worth a hundred each and fit to passanywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it.
Holmes laughed.
We dont do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolt-hole for youin this country. You shot this man Prescott, did you not?
Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he who pulled on me.
Five yearsCwhen I should have had a medal the size of a soup plate. Noliving man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of England, and if I hadntput him out he would have flooded London with them. I was the only onein the world who knew where he made them. Can you wonder that Iwanted to get to the place? And can you wonder that when I found thiscrazy boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squatting right on the topof it, and never quitting his room, I had to do the best I could to shift him?
Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him away. It would havebeen easy enough, but Im a soft-hearted guy that cant begin shootingunless the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, what have Idone wrong, anyhow? Ive not used this plant. Ive not hurt this old stiff.
Where do you get me?
Only attempted murder, so far as I can see, said Holmes. But thatsnot our job. They take that at the next stage. What we wanted at presentwas just your sweet self. Please give the Yard a call, Watson. It wont beentirely unexpected.
So those were the facts about Killer Evans and his remarkableinvention of the three Garridebs. We heard later that our poor old friendnever got over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his castle in theair fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard of at anursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard when the Prescottoutfit was discovered, for, though they knew that it existed, they hadnever been able, after the death of the man, to find out where it was.
Evans had indeed done great service and caused several worthy C. I. D.
men to sleep the sounder, for the counterfeiter stands in a class by himselfas a public danger. They would willingly have subscribed to that soupplatemedal of which the criminal had spoken, but an unappreciativebench took a less favourable view, and the Killer returned to those shadesfrom which he had just emerged.
David Soucek, 1998 The Problem of Thor BridgeThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGESOMEWHERE in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross,there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch-box with my name, JohnH. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammedwith papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate thecurious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmes had at various times toexamine. Some, and not the least interesting, were complete failures, andas such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation isforthcoming. A problem without a solution may interest the student, butcan hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished tales isthat of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house toget his umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No less remarkable isthat of the cutter Alicia, [1055] which sailed one spring morning into asmall patch of mist from where she never again emerged, nor wasanything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third case worthyof note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist,who was found stark staring mad with a match box in front of him whichcontained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science. Apart fromthese unfathomed cases, there are some which involve the secrets ofprivate families to an extent which would mean consternation in manyexalted quarters if it were thought possible that they might find their wayinto print. I need not say that such a breach of confidence is unthinkable,and that these records will be separated and destroyed now that my friendhas time to turn his energies to the matter. There remain a considerableresidue of cases of greater or less interest which I might have editedbefore had I not feared to give the public a surfeit which might react uponthe reputation of the man whom above all others I revere. In some I wasmyself concerned and can speak as an eye-witness, while in others I waseither not present or played so small a part that they could only be told asby a third person. The following narrative is drawn from my ownexperience.
It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I was dressing howthe last remaining leaves were being whirled from the solitary plane treewhich graces the yard behind our house. I descended to breakfastprepared to find my companion in depressed spirits, for, like all greatartists, he was easily impressed by his surroundings. On the contrary, Ifound that he had nearly finished his meal, and that his mood wasparticularly bright and joyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulnesswhich was characteristic of his lighter moments.
You have a case, Holmes? I remarked.
The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson, heanswered. It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case.
After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move once more.
Might I share it?
There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you haveconsumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook hasfavoured us. Their condition may not be unconnected with the copy of theFamily Herald which I observed yesterday upon the hall-table. Even sotrivial a matter as cooking an egg demands an attention which isconscious of the passage of time and incompatible with the love romancein that excellent periodical.
A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and we were faceto face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.
You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King? he said.
You mean the American Senator?
Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is better knownas the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world.
Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for some time. Hisname is very familiar.
Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some five yearsago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of his wife?
Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But Ireally know nothing of the details.
Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. I had no ideathat the case was coming my way or I should have had my extractsready, said he. The fact is that the problem, though exceedinglysensational, appeared to present [1056] no difficulty. The interestingpersonality of the accused does not obscure the clearness of the evidence.
That was the view taken by the coroners jury and also in the police-courtproceedings. It is now referred to the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is athankless business. I can discover facts, Watson, but I cannot changethem. Unless some entirely new and unexpected ones come to light I donot see what my client can hope for.
Your client?
Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into your involved habit,Watson, of telling a story backward. You had best read this first.
The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterful hand, ranas follows:
CLARIDGES HOTEL,October 3rd.
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
I cant see the best woman God ever made go to her deathwithout doing all that is possible to save her. I cant explainthingsCI cant even try to explain them, but I know beyond alldoubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know the factsCwhodoesnt? It has been the gossip of the country. And never a voiceraised for her! Its the damned injustice of it all that makes mecrazy. That woman has a heart that wouldnt let her kill a fly.
Well, Ill come at eleven to-morrow and see if you can get someray of light in the dark. Maybe I have a clue and dont know it.
Anyhow, all I know and all I have and all I am are for your use ifonly you can save her. If ever in your life you showed yourpowers, put them now into this case.
Yours faithfully,J. NEIL GIBSON.
There you have it, said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out the ashes ofhis after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. That is the gentleman Iawait. As to the story, you have hardly time to master all these papers, soI must give it to you in a nutshell if you are to take an intelligent interestin the proceedings. This man is the greatest financial power in the world,and a man, as I understand, of most violent and formidable character. Hemarried a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing savethat she was past her prime, which was the more unfortunate as a veryattractive governess superintended the education of two young children.
These are the three people concerned, and the scene is a grand old manorhouse, the centre of a historical English state. Then as to the tragedy. Thewife was found in the grounds nearly half a mile from the house, late atnight, clad in her dinner dress, with a shawl over her shoulders and arevolver bullet through her brain. No weapon was found near her andthere was no local clue as to the murder. No weapon near her,WatsonCmark that! The crime seems to have been committed late in theevening, and the body was found by a game-keeper about eleven oclock,when it was examined by the police and by a doctor before being carriedup to the house. Is this too condensed, or can you follow it clearly?
It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?
Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. A revolverwith one discharged chamber and a calibre which corresponded with thebullet was found on the floor of her wardrobe. His eyes fixed and herepeated in broken words, OnCtheCfloorCofCherCwardrobe. Then hesank into silence, and I saw that some [1057] train of thought had been setmoving which I should be foolish to interrupt. Suddenly with a start heemerged into brisk life once more. Yes, Watson, it was found. Prettydamning, eh? So the two juries thought. Then the dead woman had a noteupon her making an appointment at that very place and signed by thegoverness. Hows that? Finally there is the motive. Senator Gibson is anattractive person. If his wife dies, who more likely to succeed her than theyoung lady who had already by all accounts received pressing attentionsfrom her employer? Love, fortune, power, all depending upon one middleagedlife. Ugly, WatsonCvery ugly!
Yes, indeed, Holmes.
Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit thatshe was down near Thor BridgeCthat was the scene of the tragedyCaboutthat hour. She couldnt deny it, for some passing villager had seen herthere.
That really seems final.
And yet, WatsonCand yet! This bridgeCa single broad span of stonewith balustraded sidesCcarries the drive over the narrowest part of a long,deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it is called. In the mouth of thebridge lay the dead woman. Such are the main facts. But here, if I mistakenot, is our client, considerably before his time.
Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced was anunexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to both of us. He was athin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and a twitching,hesitating mannerC a man whom my own professional eye would judge tobe on the brink of an absolute nervous breakdown.
You seem agitated, Mr. Bates, said Holmes. Pray sit down. I fear Ican only give you a short time, for I have an appointment at eleven.
I know you have, our visitor gasped, shooting out short sentences likea man who is out of breath. Mr. Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson is myemployer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villainCaninfernal villain.
Strong language, Mr. Bates.
I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited. I wouldnot have him find me here for the world. He is almost due now. But I wasso situated that I could not come earlier. His secretary, Mr. Ferguson,only told me this morning of his appointment with you.
And you are his manager?
I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall have shaken offhis accursed slavery. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to all about him.
Those public charities are a screen to cover his private iniquities. But hiswife was his chief victim. He was brutal to herCyes, sir, brutal! How shecame by her death I do not know, but I am sure that he had made her life amisery to her. She was a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as nodoubt you know.
No, it had escaped me.
Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and ofpassion. She had loved him as such women can love, but when her ownphysical charms had fadedCI am told that they once were greatCthere wasnothing to hold him. We all liked her and felt for her and hated him forthe way that he treated her. But he is plausible and cunning. That is all Ihave to say to you. Dont take him at his face value. There is morebehind. Now Ill go. No, no, dont detain me! He is almost due.
[1058] With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitor literallyran to the door and disappeared.
Well! Well! said Holmes after an interval of silence. Mr. Gibsonseems to have a nice loyal household. But the warning is a useful one, andnow we can only wait till the man himself appears.
Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon the stairs, and the famousmillionaire was shown into the room. As I looked upon him I understoodnot only the fears and dislike of his manager but also the execrationswhich so many business rivals have heaped upon his head. If I were asculptor and desired to idealize the successful man of affairs, iron ofnerve and leathery of conscience, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as mymodel. His tall, gaunt, craggy figure had a suggestion of hunger andrapacity. An Abraham Lincoln keyed to base uses instead of high oneswould give some idea of the man. His face might have been chiselled ingranite, hard-set, craggy, remorseless, with deep lines upon it, the scars ofmany a crisis. Cold gray eyes, looking shrewdly out from under bristlingbrows, surveyed us each in turn. He bowed in perfunctory fashion asHolmes mentioned my name, and then with a masterful air of possessionhe drew a chair up to my companion and seated himself with his bonyknees almost touching him.
Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes, he began, that money is nothingto me in this case. You can burn it if its any use in lighting you to thetruth. This woman is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, and itsup to you to do it. Name your figure!
My professional charges are upon a fixed scale, said Holmes coldly.
I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether.
Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation. Ifyou pull this off every paper in England and America will be boomingyou. Youll be the talk of two continents.
Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need of booming. Itmay surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that it isthe problem itself which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Let us getdown to the facts.
I think that you will find all the main ones in the press reports. I dontknow that I can add anything which will help you. But if there is anythingyou would wish more light uponCwell, I am here to give it.
Well, there is just one point.
What is it?
What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?
The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose from his chair. Thenhis massive calm came back to him.
I suppose you are within your rightsCand maybe doing your dutyCinasking such a question, Mr. Holmes.
We will agree to suppose so, said Holmes.
Then I can assure you that our relations were entirely and alwaysthose of an employer towards a young lady whom he never conversedwith, or ever saw, save when she was in the company of his children.
Holmes rose from his chair.
I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson, said he, and I have no time ortaste for aimless conversations. I wish you good-morning.
Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose figure towered aboveHolmes. [1059] There was an angry gleam from under those bristlingbrows and a tinge of colour in the sallow cheeks.
What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Holmes? Do you dismiss mycase?
Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I should have thought mywords were plain.
Plain enough, but whats at the back of it? Raising the price on me, orafraid to tackle it, or what? Ive a right to a plain answer.
Well, perhaps you have, said Holmes. Ill give you one. This case isquite sufficiently complicated to start with without the further difficultyof false information.
Meaning that I lie.
Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if youinsist upon the word I will not contradict you.
I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaires face wasfiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his great knotted fist. Holmessmiled languidly and reached his hand out for his pipe.
Dont be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after breakfast even thesmallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in the morning airand a little quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage.
With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not but admirehim, for by a supreme self-command he had turned in a minute from a hotflame of anger to a frigid and contemptuous indifference.
Well, its your choice. I guess you know how to run your ownbusiness. I cant make you touch the case against your will. Youve doneyourself no good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have broken strongermen than you. No man ever crossed me and was the better for it.
So many have said so, and yet here I am, said Holmes, smiling.
Well, good-morning, Mr. Gibson. You have a good deal yet to learn.
Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes smoked in imperturbablesilence with dreamy eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
Any views, Watson? he asked at last.
Well, Holmes, I must confess that when I consider that this is a manwho would certainly brush any obstacle from his path, and when Iremember that his wife may have been an obstacle and an object ofdislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it seems to meC C
Exactly. And to me also.
But what were his relations with the governess, and how did youdiscover them?
Bluff, Watson, bluff! When I considered the passionate,unconventional, unbusinesslike tone of his letter and contrasted it with hisself-contained manner and appearance, it was pretty clear that there wassome deep emotion which centred upon the accused woman rather thanupon the victim. Weve got to understand the exact relations of thosethree people if we are to reach the truth. You saw the frontal attack whichI made upon him, and how imperturbably he received it. Then I bluffedhim by giving him the impression that I was absolutely certain, when inreality I was only extremely suspicious.
Perhaps he will come back?
He is sure to come back. He must come back. He cant leave it whereit is. Ha! isnt that a ring? Yes, there is his footstep. Well, Mr. Gibson, Iwas just saying to Dr. Watson that you were somewhat overdue.
[1060] The Gold King had reentered the room in a more chastened moodthan he had left it. His wounded pride still showed in his resentful eyes,but his common sense had shown him that he must yield if he wouldattain his end.
Ive been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that I have beenhasty in taking your remarks amiss. You are justified in getting down tothe facts, whatever they may be, and I think the more of you for it. I canassure you, however, that the relations between Miss Dunbar and medont really touch this case.
That is for me to decide, is it not?
Yes, I guess that is so. Youre like a surgeon who wants everysymptom before he can give his diagnosis.
Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a patient who has an objectin deceiving his surgeon who would conceal the facts of his case.
That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. Holmes, that most men wouldshy off a bit when they are asked point-blank what their relations with awoman may beCif there is really some serious feeling in the case. I guessmost men have a little private reserve of their own in some corner of theirsouls where they dont welcome intruders. And you burst suddenly into it.
But the object excuses you, since it was to try and save her. Well, thestakes are down and the reserve open, and you can explore where youwill. What is it you want?
The truth.
The Gold King paused for a moment as one who marshals his thoughts.
His grim, deep-lined face had become even sadder and more grave.
I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes, said he at last.
There are some things that are painful as well as difficult to say, so Iwont go deeper than is needful. I met my wife when I was gold-huntingin Brazil. Maria Pinto was the daughter of a government official atManaos, and she was very beautiful. I was young and ardent in thosedays, but even now, as I look back with colder blood and a more criticaleye, I can see that she was rare and wonderful in her beauty. It was a deeprich nature, too, passionate, whole-hearted, tropical, ill-balanced, verydifferent from the American women whom I had known. Well, to make along story short, I loved her and I married her. It was only when theromance had passedCand it lingered for yearsC that I realized that we hadnothingCabsolutely nothingCin common. My love faded. If hers had fadedalso it might have been easier. But you know the wonderful way ofwomen! Do what I might, nothing could turn her from me. If I have beenharsh to her, even brutal as some have said, it has been because I knewthat if I could kill her love, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier forboth of us. But nothing changed her. She adored me in those Englishwoods as she had adored me twenty years ago on the banks of theAmazon. Do what I might, she was as devoted as ever.
Then came Miss Grace Dunbar. She answered our advertisement andbecame governess to our two children. Perhaps you have seen her portraitin the papers. The whole world has proclaimed that she also is a verybeautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be more moral than myneighbours, and I will admit to you that I could not live under the sameroof with such a woman and in daily contact with her without feeling apassionate regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?
I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressedit, since this young lady was in a sense under your protection.
Well, maybe so, said the millionaire, though for a moment thereproof had [1061] brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. Im notpretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life Ive been a manthat reached out his hand for what he wanted, and I never wantedanything more than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so.
Oh, you did, did you?
Holmes could look very formidable when he was moved.
I said to her that if I could marry her I would, but that it was out of mypower. I said that money was no object and that all I could do to make herhappy and comfortable would be done.
Very generous, I am sure, said Holmes with a sneer.
See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a question of evidence, not ona question of morals. Im not asking for your criticism.
It is only for the young ladys sake that I touch your case at all, saidHolmes sternly. I dont know that anything she is accused of is reallyworse than what you have yourself admitted, that you have tried to ruin adefenceless girl who was under your roof. Some of you rich men have tobe taught that all the world cannot be bribed into condoning youroffences.
To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof with equanimity.
Thats how I feel myself about it now. I thank God that my plans didnot work out as I intended. She would have none of it, and she wanted toleave the house instantly.
Why did she not?
Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, and it was nolight matter for her to let them all down by sacrificing her living. When Ihad swornCas I didCthat she should never be molested again, sheconsented to remain. But there was another reason. She knew theinfluence she had over me, and that it was stronger than any otherinfluence in the world. She wanted to use it for good.
How?
Well, she knew something of my affairs. They are large, Mr. HolmesClarge beyond the belief of an ordinary man. I can make or breakCand it isusually break. It wasnt individuals only. It was communities, cities, evennations. Business is a hard game, and the weak go to the wall. I played thegame for all it was worth. I never squealed myself, and I never cared ifthe other fellow squealed. But she saw it different. I guess she was right.
She believed and said that a fortune for one man that was more than heneeded should not be built on ten thousand ruined men who were leftwithout the means of life. That was how she saw it, and I guess she couldsee past the dollars to something that was more lasting. She found that Ilistened to what she said, and she believed she was serving the world byinfluencing my actions. So she stayedCand then this came along.
Can you throw any light upon that?
The Gold King paused for a minute or more, his head sunk in hishands, lost in deep thought.
Its very black against her. I cant deny that. And women lead aninward life and may do things beyond the judgment of a man. At first Iwas so rattled and taken aback that I was ready to think she had been ledaway in some extraordinary fashion that was clean against her usualnature. One explanation came into my head. I give it to you, Mr. Holmes,for what it is worth. There is no doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous.
There is a soul-jealousy that can be as frantic as any body-jealousy, andthough my wife had no causeCand I think she understood thisC[1062] forthe latter, she was aware that this English girl exerted an influence uponmy mind and my acts that she herself never had. It was an influence forgood, but that did not mend the matter. She was crazy with hatred, and theheat of the Amazon was always in her blood. She might have planned tomurder Miss DunbarCor we will say to threaten her with a gun and sofrighten her into leaving us. Then there might have been a scuffle and thegun gone off and shot the woman who held it.
That possibility had already occurred to me, said Holmes. Indeed, itis the only obvious alternative to deliberate murder.
But she utterly denies it.
Well, that is not finalCis it? One can understand that a woman placedin so awful a position might hurry home still in her bewilderment holdingthe revolver. She might even throw it down among her clothes, hardlyknowing what she was doing, and when it was found she might try to lieher way out by a total denial, since all explanation was impossible. Whatis against such a supposition?
Miss Dunbar herself.
Well, perhaps.
Holmes looked at his watch. I have no doubt we can get the necessarypermits this morning and reach Winchester by the evening train. When Ihave seen this young lady it is very possible that I may be of more use toyou in the matter, though I cannot promise that my conclusions willnecessarily be such as you desire.
There was some delay in the official pass, and instead of reachingWinchester that day we went down to Thor Place, the Hampshire estate ofMr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, but we had theaddress of Sergeant Coventry, of the local police, who had first examinedinto the affair. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, with a secretive andmysterious manner which conveyed the idea that he knew or suspected avery great deal more than he dared say. He had a trick, too, of suddenlysinking his voice to a whisper as if he had come upon something of vitalimportance, though the information was usually commonplace enough.
Behind these tricks of manner he soon showed himself to be a decent,honest fellow who was not too proud to admit that he was out of his depthand would welcome any help.
Anyhow, Id rather have you than Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes, saidhe. If the Yard gets called into a case, then the local loses all credit forsuccess and may be blamed for failure. Now, you play straight, so Iveheard.
I need not appear in the matter at all, said Holmes to the evidentrelief of our melancholy acquaintance. If I can clear it up I dont ask tohave my name mentioned.
Well, its very handsome of you, I am sure. And your friend, Dr.
Watson, can be trusted, I know. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we walk down tothe place there is one question I should like to ask you. Id breathe it to nosoul but you. He looked round as though he hardly dare utter the words.
Dont you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibson himself?
I have been considering that.
Youve not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonderful fine woman inevery way. He may well have wished his wife out of the road. And theseAmericans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It was his pistol, youknow.
Was that clearly made out?
Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had.
[1063] One of a pair? Where is the other?
Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of one sort and another. Wenever quite matched that particular pistolCbut the box was made for two.
If it was one of a pair you should surely be able to match it.
Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would care to lookthem over.
Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have a look atthe scene of the tragedy.
This conversation had taken place in the little front room of SergeantCoventrys humble cottage which served as the local police-station. Awalk of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all gold and bronzewith the fading ferns, brought us to a side-gate opening into the groundsof the Thor Place estate. A path led us through the pheasant preserves,and then from a clearing we saw the widespread, half-timbered house,half Tudor and half Georgian, upon the crest of the hill. Beside us therewas a long, reedy pool, constricted in the centre where the main carriagedrive passed over a stone bridge, but swelling into small lakes on eitherside. Our guide paused at the mouth of this bridge, and he pointed to theground.
That was where Mrs. Gibsons body lay. I marked it by that stone.
I understand that you were there before it was moved?
Yes, they sent for me at once.
Who did?
Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm was given and he hadrushed down with others from the house, he insisted that nothing shouldbe moved until the police should arrive.
That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report that the shotwas fired from close quarters.
Yes, sir, very close.
Near the right temple?
Just behind it, sir.
How did the body lie?
On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No marks. No weapon. Theshort note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand.
Clutched, you say?
Yes, sir, we could hardly open the fingers.
That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone couldhave placed the note there after death in order to furnish a false clue. Dearme! The note, as I remember, was quite short:
I will be at Thor Bridge at nine oclock.
G. DUNBAR.
Was that not so?
Yes, sir.
Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?
Yes, sir.
What was her explanation?
Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She would say nothing.
The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point of the letteris very obscure, is it not?
[1064] Well, sir, said the guide, it seemed, if I may be so bold as tosay so, the only really clear point in the whole case.
Holmes shook his head.
Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, it wascertainly received some time beforeCsay one hour or two. Why, then, wasthis lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should she carry it socarefully? She did not need to refer to it in the interview. Does it not seemremarkable?
Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does.
I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes and think it out.
He seated himself upon the stone ledge of the bridge, and I could see hisquick gray eyes darting their questioning glances in every direction.
Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across to the opposite parapet,whipped his lens from his pocket, and began to examine the stonework.
This is curious, said he.
Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect its been done by somepasser-by.
The stonework was gray, but at this one point it showed white for aspace not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely one could seethat the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.
It took some violence to do that, said Holmes thoughtfully. With hiscane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark. Yes, itwas a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above but frombelow, for you see that it is on the lower edge of the parapet.
But it is at least fifteen feet from the body.
Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may have nothing to do with thematter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not think that we have anythingmore to learn here. There were no footsteps, you say?
The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces at all.
Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over theseweapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on to Winchester, for Ishould desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go farther.
Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the housethe neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning. He showedus with a sinister relish the formidable array of firearms of various shapesand sizes which his employer had accumulated in the course of anadventurous life.
Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew himand his methods, said he. He sleeps with a loaded revolver in thedrawer beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are timeswhen all of us are afraid of him. I am sure that the poor lady who haspassed was often terrified.
Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?
No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearly asbadC words of cold, cutting contempt, even before the servants.
Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life, remarkedHolmes as we made our way to the station. Well, Watson, we have comeon a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet I seem some wayfrom my conclusion. In spite of the very evident dislike which Mr. Bateshas to his employer, I gather from him that when the alarm came he wasundoubtedly in his library. Dinner was over at 8:30 and all was normal upto then. It is true that the alarm was somewhat late in the evening, but thetragedy certainly occurred about the hour named in the note. There is noevidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out of doors [1065] since hisreturn from town at five oclock. On the other hand, Miss Dunbar, as Iunderstand it, admits that she had made an appointment to meet Mrs.
Gibson at the bridge. Beyond this she would say nothing, as her lawyerhad advised her to reserve her defence. We have several very vitalquestions to ask that young lady, and my mind will not be easy until wehave seen her. I must confess that the case would seem to me to be veryblack against her if it were not for one thing.
And what is that, Holmes?
The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe.
Dear me, Holmes! I cried, that seemed to me to be the mostdamning incident of all.
Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my first perfunctory readingas very strange, and now that I am in closer touch with the case it is myonly firm ground for hope. We must look for consistency. Where there isa want of it we must suspect deception.
I hardly follow you.
Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualize you in thecharacter of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated fashion, is about to getrid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has been written. The victimhas come. You have your weapon. The crime is done. It has beenworkmanlike and complete. Do you tell me that after carrying out socrafty a crime you would now ruin your reputation as a criminal byforgetting to fling your weapon into those adjacent reed-beds whichwould forever cover it, but you must needs carry it carefully home andput it in your own wardrobe, the very first place that would be searched?
Your best friends would hardly call you a schemer, Watson, and yet Icould not picture you doing anything so crude as that.
In the excitement of the momentC C
No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where a crime iscoolly premeditated, then the means of covering it are coollypremeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence of aserious misconception.
But there is so much to explain.
Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point of viewis changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clue to thetruth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar disclaims allknowledge of it. On our new theory she is speaking truth when she saysso. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there?
Someone who wished to incriminate her. Was not that person the actualcriminal? You see how we come at once upon a most fruitful line ofinquiry.
We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as the formalitieshad not yet been completed, but next morning, in the company of Mr.
Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was entrusted with the defence,we were allowed to see the young lady in her cell. I had expected from allthat we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I can never forget theeffect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me. It was no wonder that eventhe masterful millionaire had found in her something more powerful thanhimselfCsomething which could control and guide him. One felt, too, asone looked at the strong, clear-cut, and yet sensitive face, that even shouldshe be capable of some impetuous deed, none the less there was an innatenobility of character which would make her influence always for thegood. She was a brunette, tall, with a noble figure and commandingpresence, but her dark eyes had in them the appealing, helpless expressionof the hunted creature [1066] who feels the nets around it, but can see noway out from the toils. Now, as she realized the presence and the help ofmy famous friend, there came a touch of colour in her wan cheeks and alight of hope began to glimmer in the glance which she turned upon us.
Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you something of what occurredbetween us? she asked in a low, agitated voice.
Yes, Holmes answered, you need not pain yourself by entering intothat part of the story. After seeing you, I am prepared to accept Mr.
Gibsons statement both as to the influence which you had over him andas to the innocence of your relations with him. But why was the wholesituation not brought out in court?
It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could be sustained. Ithought that if we waited the whole thing must clear itself up without ourbeing compelled to enter into painful details of the inner life of thefamily. But I understand that far from clearing it has become even moreserious.
My dear young lady, cried Holmes earnestly, I beg you to have noillusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would assure you that all thecards are at present against us, and that we must do everything that ispossible if we are to win clear. It would be a cruel deception to pretendthat you are not in very great danger. Give me all the help you can, then,to get at the truth.
I will conceal nothing.
Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. Gibsons wife.
She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour of hertropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing by halves, andthe measure of her love for her husband was the measure also of herhatred for me. It is probable that she misunderstood our relations. I wouldnot wish to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physical sense thatshe could hardly understand the mental, and even spiritual, tie which heldher husband to me, or imagine that it was only my desire to influence hispower to good ends which kept me under his roof. I can see now that Iwas wrong. Nothing could justify me in remaining where I was a cause ofunhappiness, and yet it is certain that the unhappiness would haveremained even if I had left the house.
Now, Miss Dunbar, said Holmes, I beg you to tell us exactly whatoccurred that evening.
I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but I am in aposition to prove nothing, and there are pointsCthe most vital pointsCwhich I can neither explain nor can I imagine any explanation.
If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find the explanation.
With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night, I receiveda note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on the table of theschoolroom, and it may have been left there by her own hand. It imploredme to see her there after dinner, said she had something important to sayto me, and asked me to leave an answer on the sundial in the garden, asshe desired no one to be in our confidence. I saw no reason for suchsecrecy, but I did as she asked, accepting the appointment. She asked meto destroy her note and I burned it in the schoolroom grate. She was verymuch afraid of her husband, who treated her with a harshness for which Ifrequently reproached him, and I could only imagine that she acted in thisway because she did not wish him to know of our interview.
Yet she kept your reply very carefully?
Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand when she died.
[1067] Well, what happened then?
I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge she waswaiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how this poor creaturehated me. She was like a mad womanCindeed, I think she was a madwoman, subtly mad with the deep power of deception which insanepeople may have. How else could she have met me with unconcern everyday and yet had so raging a hatred of me in her heart? I will not say whatshe said. She poured her whole wild fury out in burning and horriblewords. I did not even answerCI could not. It was dreadful to see her. I putmy hands to my ears and rushed away. When I left her she was standing,still shrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge.
Where she was afterwards found?
Within a few yards from the spot.
And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after you left her,you heard no shot?
No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitated andhorrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get back to the peace ofmy own room, and I was incapable of noticing anything which happened.
You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it again beforenext morning?
Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met her death Iran out with the others.
Did you see Mr. Gibson?
Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. He had sentfor the doctor and the police.
Did he seem to you much perturbed?
Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not think that hewould ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, who knew him sowell, could see that he was deeply concerned.
Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that was found inyour room. Had you ever seen it before?
Never, I swear it.
When was it found?
Next morning, when the police made their search.
Among your clothes?
Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses.
You could not guess how long it had been there?
It had not been there the morning before.
How do you know?
Because I tidied out the wardrobe.
That is final. Then someone came into your room and placed the pistolthere in order to inculpate you.
It must have been so.
And when?
It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours when Iwould be in the schoolroom with the children.
As you were when you got the note?
Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning.
Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which could helpme in the investigation?
[1068] I can think of none.
There was some sign of violence on the stonework of the bridgeCaperfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could you suggest anypossible explanation of that?
Surely it must be a mere coincidence.
Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear at the verytime of the tragedy, and why at the very place?
But what could have caused it? Only great violence could have suchan effect.
Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenly assumed thattense, far-away expression which I had learned to associate with thesupreme manifestations of his genius. So evident was the crisis in hismind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat, barrister, prisoner, andmyself, watching him in a concentrated and absorbed silence. Suddenlyhe sprang from his chair, vibrating with nervous energy and the pressingneed for action.
Come, Watson, come! he cried.
What is it, Mr. Holmes?
Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr. Cummings.
With the help of the god of justice I will give you a case which will makeEngland ring. You will get news by to-morrow, Miss Dunbar, andmeanwhile take my assurance that the clouds are lifting and that I haveevery hope that the light of truth is breaking through.
It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but it waslong to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evident that itseemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, butpaced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon thecushions beside him. Suddenly, however, as we neared our destination heseated himself opposite to me Cwe had a first-class carriage toourselvesCand laying a hand upon each of my knees he looked into myeyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which was characteristic of hismore imp-like moods.
Watson, said he, I have some recollection that you go armed uponthese excursions of ours.
It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care for his ownsafety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem, so that more thanonce my revolver had been a good friend in need. I reminded him of thefact.
Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But have youyour revolver on you?
I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but very serviceablelittle weapon. He undid the catch, shook out the cartridges, and examinedit with care.
Its heavyCremarkably heavy, said he.
Yes, it is a solid bit of work.
He mused over it for a minute.
Do you know, Watson, said he, I believe your revolver is going tohave a very intimate connection with the mystery which we areinvestigating.
My dear Holmes, you are joking.
No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. If the testcomes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend upon the conduct ofthis little weapon. One cartridge out. Now we will replace the other fiveand put on the safety-catch. So! That increases the weight and makes it abetter reproduction.
I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlighten me, butsat [1069] lost in thought until we pulled up in the little Hampshire station.
We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarter of an hour were at thehouse of our confidential friend, the sergeant.
A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?
It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Watsons revolver, said myfriend. Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me ten yards of string?
The village shop provided a ball of stout twine.
I think that this is all we will need, said Holmes. Now, if you please,we will get off on what I hope is the last stage of our journey.
The sun was setting and turning the rolling Hampshire moor into awonderful autumnal panorama. The sergeant, with many critical andincredulous glances, which showed his deep doubts of the sanity of mycompanion, lurched along beside us. As we approached the scene of thecrime I could see that my friend under all his habitual coolness was intruth deeply agitated.
Yes, he said in answer to my remark, you have seen me miss mymark before, Watson. I have an instinct for such things, and yet it hassometimes played me false. It seemed a certainty when first it flashedacross my mind in the cell at Winchester, but one drawback of an activemind is that one can always conceive alternative explanations whichwould make our scent a false one. And yetCand yetC C Well, Watson, wecan but try.
As he walked he had firmly tied one end of the string to the handle ofthe revolver. We had now reached the scene of the tragedy. With greatcare he marked out under the guidance of the policeman the exact spotwhere the body had been stretched. He then hunted among the heatherand the ferns until he found a considerable stone. This he secured to theother end of his line of string, and he hung it over the parapet of thebridge so that it swung clear above the water. He then stood on the fatalspot, some distance from the edge of the bridge, with my revolver in hishand, the string being taut between the weapon and the heavy stone on thefarther side.
Now for it! he cried.
At the words he raised the pistol to his head, and then let go his grip. Inan instant it had been whisked away by the weight of the stone, had struckwith a sharp crack against the parapet, and had vanished over the side intothe water. It had hardly gone before Holmes was kneeling beside thestonework, and a joyous cry showed that he had found what he expected.
Was there ever a more exact demonstration? he cried. See, Watson,your revolver has solved the problem! As he spoke he pointed to asecond chip of the exact size and shape of the first which had appeared onthe under edge of the stone balustrade.
Well stay at the inn to-night, he continued as he rose and faced theastonished sergeant. You will, of course, get a grappling-hook and youwill easily restore my friends revolver. You will also find beside it therevolver, string and weight with which this vindictive woman attemptedto disguise her own crime and to fasten a charge of murder upon aninnocent victim. You can let Mr. Gibson know that I will see him in themorning, when steps can be taken for Miss Dunbars vindication.
Late that evening, as we sat together smoking our pipes in the villageinn, Holmes gave me a brief review of what had passed.
I fear, Watson, said he, that you will not improve any reputationwhich I [1070] may have acquired by adding the case of the Thor Bridgemystery to your annals. I have been sluggish in mind and wanting in thatmixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of my art. I confessthat the chip in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggest the truesolution, and that I blame myself for not having attained it sooner.
It must be admitted that the workings of this unhappy womans mindwere deep and subtle, so that it was no very simple matter to unravel herplot. I do not think that in our adventures we have ever come across astranger example of what perverted love can bring about. Whether MissDunbar was her rival in a physical or in a merely mental sense seems tohave been equally unforgivable in her eyes. No doubt she blamed thisinnocent lady for all those harsh dealings and unkind words with whichher husband tried to repel her too demonstrative affection. Her firstresolution was to end her own life. Her second was to do it in such a wayas to involve her victim in a fate which was worse far than any suddendeath could be.
We can follow the various steps quite clearly, and they show aremarkable subtlety of mind. A note was extracted very cleverly fromMiss Dunbar which would make it appear that she had chosen the sceneof the crime. In her anxiety that it should be discovered she somewhatoverdid it by holding it in her hand to the last. This alone should haveexcited my suspicions earlier than it did.
Then she took one of her husbands revolversCthere was, as you saw,an arsenal in the houseCand kept it for her own use. A similar one sheconcealed that morning in Miss Dunbars wardrobe after discharging onebarrel, which she could easily do in the woods without attractingattention. She then went down to the bridge where she had contrived thisexceedingly ingenious method for getting rid of her weapon. When MissDunbar appeared she used her last breath in pouring out her hatred, andthen, when she was out of hearing, carried out her terrible purpose. Everylink is now in its place and the chain is complete. The papers may askwhy the mere was not dragged in the first instance, but it is easy to bewise after the event, and in any case the expanse of a reed-filled lake is noeasy matter to drag unless you have a clear perception of what you arelooking for and where. Well, Watson, we have helped a remarkablewoman, and also a formidable man. Should they in the future join theirforces, as seems not unlikely, the financial world may find that Mr. NeilGibson has learned something in that schoolroom of sorrow where ourearthly lessons are taught.
David Soucek, 1998 The Creeping ManThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE CREEPING MANMR. SHERLOCK HOLMES was always of opinion that I should publish thesingular facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only to dispel oncefor all the ugly rumours which some twenty years ago agitated theuniversity and were echoed in the learned societies of London. Therewere, however, certain obstacles in the way, and the true history of thiscurious case remained entombed in the tin box which contains so manyrecords of my friends adventures. Now we have at last obtainedpermission to ventilate the facts which formed one of the very last caseshandled [1071] by Holmes before his retirement from practice. Even now acertain reticence and discretion have to be observed in laying the matterbefore the public.
It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 that Ireceived one of Holmess laconic messages:
Come at once if convenientCif inconvenient come all the same.
S. H.
The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was a manof habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them.
As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old blackpipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. When it was acase of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve hecould place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart from this I haduses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to thinkaloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made tomeCmany of them would have been as appropriately addressed to hisbedsteadCbut none the less, having formed the habit, it had become insome way helpful that I should register and interject. If I irritated him by acertain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only tomake his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the morevividly and swiftly. Such was my humble role in our alliance.
When I arrived at Baker Street I found him huddled up in his armchairwith updrawn knees, his pipe in his mouth and his brow furrowed withthought. It was clear that he was in the throes of some vexatious problem.
With a wave of his hand he indicated my old armchair, but otherwise forhalf an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of my presence. Then witha start he seemed to come from his reverie, and with his usual whimsicalsmile he greeted me back to what had once been my home.
You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind, my dear Watson, saidhe. Some curious facts have been submitted to me within the last twentyfourhours, and they in turn have given rise to some speculations of amore general character. I have serious thoughts of writing a smallmonograph upon the uses of dogs in the work of the detective.
But surely, Holmes, this has been explored, said I. BloodhoundsCsleuth-houndsC C
No, no, Watson, that side of the matter is, of course, obvious. Butthere is another which is far more subtle. You may recollect that in thecase which you, in your sensational way, coupled with the CopperBeeches, I was able, by watching the mind of the child, to form adeduction as to the criminal habits of the very smug and respectablefather.
Yes, I remember it well.
My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. A dog reflects the familylife. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in ahappy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people havedangerous ones. And their passing moods may reflect the passing moodsof others.
I shook my head. Surely, Holmes, this is a little far-fetched, said I.
He had refilled his pipe and resumed his seat, taking no notice of mycomment.
The practical application of what I have said is very close to theproblem which I am investigating. It is a tangled skein, you understand,and I am looking for a [1072] loose end. One possible loose end lies in thequestion: Why does Professor Presburys wolfhound, Roy, endeavour tobite him?
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial aquestion as this that I had been summoned from my work? Holmesglanced across at me.
The same old Watson! said he. You never learn that the gravestissues may depend upon the smallest things. But is it not on the face of itstrange that a staid, elderly philosopherCyouve heard of Presbury, ofcourse, the famous Camford physiologist?Cthat such a man, whose friendhas been his devoted wolfhound, should now have been twice attacked byhis own dog? What do you make of it?
The dog is ill.
Well, that has to be considered. But he attacks no one else, nor does heapparently molest his master, save on very special occasions. Curious,Watson Cvery curious. But young Mr. Bennett is before his time if that ishis ring. I had hoped to have a longer chat with you before he came.
There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the door, and amoment later the new client presented himself. He was a tall, handsomeyouth about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but with something in hisbearing which suggested the shyness of the student rather than the selfpossessionof the man of the world. He shook hands with Holmes, andthen looked with some surprise at me.
This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes, he said. Consider therelation in which I stand to Professor Presbury both privately andpublicly. I really can hardly justify myself if I speak before any thirdperson.
Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion,and I can assure you that this is a matter in which I am very likely to needan assistant.
As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure, understand my havingsome reserves in the matter.
You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you that this gentleman,Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional assistant to the great scientist, livesunder his roof, and is engaged to his only daughter. Certainly we mustagree that the professor has every claim upon his loyalty and devotion.
But it may best be shown by taking the necessary steps to clear up thisstrange mystery.
I hope so, Mr. Holmes. That is my one object. Does Dr. Watson knowthe situation?
I have not had time to explain it.
Then perhaps I had better go over the ground again before explainingsome fresh developments.
I will do so myself, said Holmes, in order to show that I have theevents in their due order. The professor, Watson, is a man of Europeanreputation. His life has been academic. There has never been a breath ofscandal. He is a widower with one daughter, Edith. He is, I gather, a manof very virile and positive, one might almost say combative, character. Sothe matter stood until a very few months ago.
Then the current of his life was broken. He is sixty-one years of age,but he became engaged to the daughter of Professor Morphy, hiscolleague in the chair of comparative anatomy. It was not, as Iunderstand, the reasoned courting of an elderly man but rather thepassionate frenzy of youth, for no one could have shown himself a moredevoted lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a very perfect girl both inmind and body, so that there was every excuse for the professorsinfatuation. None the less, it did not meet with full approval in his ownfamily.
[1073] We thought it rather excessive, said our visitor.
Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and unnatural. ProfessorPresbury was rich, however, and there was no objection upon the part ofthe father. The daughter, however, had other views, and there werealready several candidates for her hand, who, if they were less eligiblefrom a worldly point of view, were at least more of an age. The girlseemed to like the professor in spite of his eccentricities. It was only agewhich stood in the way.
About this time a little mystery suddenly clouded the normal routineof the professors life. He did what he had never done before. He lefthome and gave no indication where he was going. He was away afortnight and returned looking rather travel-worn. He made no allusion towhere he had been, although he was usually the frankest of men. Itchanced, however, that our client here, Mr. Bennett, received a letter froma fellow-student in Prague, who said that he was glad to have seenProfessor Presbury there, although he had not been able to talk to him.
Only in this way did his own household learn where he had been.
Now comes the point. From that time onward a curious change cameover the professor. He became furtive and sly. Those around him hadalways the feeling that he was not the man that they had known, but thathe was under some shadow which had darkened his higher qualities. Hisintellect was not affected. His lectures were as brilliant as ever. Butalways there was something new, something sinister and unexpected. Hisdaughter, who was devoted to him, tried again and again to resume theold relations and to penetrate this mask which her father seemed to haveput on. You, sir, as I understand, did the sameCbut all was in vain. Andnow, Mr. Bennett, tell in your own words the incident of the letters.
You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the professor had no secretsfrom me. If I were his son or his younger brother I could not have morecompletely enjoyed his confidence. As his secretary I handled every paperwhich came to him, and I opened and subdivided his letters. Shortly afterhis return all this was changed. He told me that certain letters might cometo him from London which would be marked by a cross under the stamp.
These were to be set aside for his own eyes only. I may say that several ofthese did pass through my hands, that they had the E. C. mark, and werein an illiterate handwriting. If he answered them at all the answers did notpass through my hands nor into the letter-basket in which ourcorrespondence was collected.
And the box, said Holmes.
Ah, yes, the box. The professor brought back a little wooden box fromhis travels. It was the one thing which suggested a Continental tour, for itwas one of those quaint carved things which one associates withGermany. This he placed in his instrument cupboard. One day, in lookingfor a canula, I took up the box. To my surprise he was very angry, andreproved me in words which were quite savage for my curiosity. It wasthe first time such a thing had happened, and I was deeply hurt. Iendeavoured to explain that it was a mere accident that I had touched thebox, but all the evening I was conscious that he looked at me harshly andthat the incident was rankling in his mind. Mr. Bennett drew a little diarybook from his pocket. That was on July 2d, said he.
You are certainly an admirable witness, said Holmes. I may needsome of these dates which you have noted.
I learned method among other things from my great teacher. From thetime that I observed abnormality in his behaviour I felt that it was myduty to study his [1074] case. Thus I have it here that it was on that veryday, July 2d, that Roy attacked the professor as he came from his studyinto the hall. Again, on July 11th, there was a scene of the same sort, andthen I have a note of yet another upon July 20th. After that we had tobanish Roy to the stables. He was a dear, affectionate animalCbut I fear Iweary you.
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clear thatHolmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyes gazedabstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.
Singular! Most singular! he murmured. These details were new tome, Mr. Bennett. I think we have now fairly gone over the old ground,have we not? But you spoke of some fresh developments.
The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded over, shadowed by somegrim remembrance. What I speak of occurred the night before last, saidhe. I was lying awake about two in the morning, when I was aware of adull muffled sound coming from the passage. I opened my door andpeeped out. I should explain that the professor sleeps at the end of thepassageC C
The date beingC C? asked Holmes.
Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant an interruption.
I have said, sir, that it was the night before lastCthat is, September 4th.
Holmes nodded and smiled.
Pray continue, said he.
He sleeps at the end of the passage and would have to pass my door inorder to reach the staircase. It was a really terrifying experience, Mr.
Holmes. I think that I am as strong-nerved as my neighbours, but I wasshaken by what I saw. The passage was dark save that one windowhalfway along it threw a patch of light. I could see that something wascoming along the passage, something dark and crouching. Then suddenlyit emerged into the light, and I saw that it was he. He was crawling, Mr.
HolmesCcrawling! He was not quite on his hands and knees. I shouldrather say on his hands and feet, with his face sunk between his hands.
Yet he seemed to move with ease. I was so paralyzed by the sight that itwas not until he had reached my door that I was able to step forward andask if I could assist him. His answer was extraordinary. He sprang up,spat out some atrocious word at me, and hurried on past me, and down thestaircase. I waited about for an hour, but he did not come back. It musthave been daylight before he regained his room.
Well, Watson, what make you of that? asked Holmes with the air ofthe pathologist who presents a rare specimen.
Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe attack make a man walk injust such a way, and nothing would be more trying to the temper.
Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground. But wecan hardly accept lumbago, since he was able to stand erect in a moment.
He was never better in health, said Bennett. In fact, he is strongerthan I have known him for years. But there are the facts, Mr. Holmes. It isnot a case in which we can consult the police, and yet we are utterly at ourwits end as to what to do, and we feel in some strange way that we aredrifting towards disaster. EdithCMiss PresburyCfeels as I do, that wecannot wait passively any longer.
It is certainly a very curious and suggestive case. What do you think,Watson?
Speaking as a medical man, said I, it appears to be a case for analienist. The old gentlemans cerebral processes were disturbed by thelove affair. He made a journey abroad in the hope of breaking himself ofthe passion. His letters and the [1075] box may be connected with someother private transactionCa loan, perhaps, or share certificates, which arein the box.
And the wolfhound no doubt disapproved of the financial bargain. No,no, Watson, there is more in it than this. Now, I can only suggestC C
What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest will never be known, forat this moment the door opened and a young lady was shown into theroom. As she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up with a cry and ran forwardwith his hands out to meet those which she had herself outstretched.
Edith, dear! Nothing the matter, I hope?
I felt I must follow you. Oh, Jack, I have been so dreadfullyfrightened! It is awful to be there alone.
Mr. Holmes, this is the young lady I spoke of. This is my fiancee.
We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?
Holmes answered with a smile. I take it, Miss Presbury, that there issome fresh development in the case, and that you thought we shouldknow?
Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a conventional English type,smiled back at Holmes as she seated herself beside Mr. Bennett.
When I found Mr. Bennett had left his hotel I thought I shouldprobably find him here. Of course, he had told me that he would consultyou. But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my poor father?
I have hopes, Miss Presbury, but the case is still obscure. Perhapswhat you have to say may throw some fresh light upon it.
It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been very strange all day. I amsure that there are times when he has no recollection of what he does. Helives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such a day. It was not myfather with whom I lived. His outward shell was there, but it was notreally he.
Tell me what happened.
I was awakened in the night by the dog barking most furiously. PoorRoy, he is chained now near the stable. I may say that I always sleep withmy door locked; for, as JackCas Mr. BennettCwill tell you, we all have afeeling of impending danger. My room is on the second floor. It happenedthat the blind was up in my window, and there was bright moonlightoutside. As I lay with my eyes fixed upon the square of light, listening tothe frenzied barkings of the dog, I was amazed to see my fathers facelooking in at me. Mr. Holmes, I nearly died of surprise and horror. Thereit was pressed against the window-pane, and one hand seemed to beraised as if to push up the window. If that window had opened, I think Ishould have gone mad. It was no delusion, Mr. Holmes. Dont deceiveyourself by thinking so. I dare say it was twenty seconds or so that I layparalyzed and watched the face. Then it vanished, but I could notCI couldnot spring out of bed and look out after it. I lay cold and shivering tillmorning. At breakfast he was sharp and fierce in manner, and made noallusion to the adventure of the night. Neither did I, but I gave an excusefor coming to townCand here I am.
Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss Presburys narrative.
My dear young lady, you say that your room is on the second floor. Isthere a long ladder in the garden?
No, Mr. Holmes, that is the amazing part of it. There is no possibleway of reaching the windowCand yet he was there.
The date being September 5th, said Holmes. That certainlycomplicates matters.
[1076] It was the young ladys turn to look surprised. This is the secondtime that you have alluded to the date, Mr. Holmes, said Bennett. Is itpossible that it has any bearing upon the case?
It is possibleCvery possibleCand yet I have not my full material atpresent.
Possibly you are thinking of the connection between insanity andphases of the moon?
No, I assure you. It was quite a different line of thought. Possibly youcan leave your notebook with me, and I will check the dates. Now I think,Watson, that our line of action is perfectly clear. This young lady hasinformed usCand I have the greatest confidence in her intuitionCthat herfather remembers little or nothing which occurs upon certain dates. Wewill therefore call upon him as if he had given us an appointment uponsuch a date. He will put it down to his own lack of memory. Thus we willopen our campaign by having a good close view of him.
That is excellent, said Mr. Bennett. I warn you, however, that theprofessor is irascible and violent at times.
Holmes smiled. There are reasons why we should come at onceCverycogent reasons if my theories hold good. To-morrow, Mr. Bennett, willcertainly see us in Camford. There is, if I remember right, an inn calledthe Chequers where the port used to be above mediocrity and the linenwas above reproach. I think, Watson, that our lot for the next few daysmight lie in less pleasant places.
Monday morning found us on our way to the famous universitytownCan easy effort on the part of Holmes, who had no roots to pull up,but one which involved frantic planning and hurrying on my part, as mypractice was by this time not inconsiderable. Holmes made no allusion tothe case until after we had deposited our suitcases at the ancient hostel ofwhich he had spoken.
I think, Watson, that we can catch the professor just before lunch. Helectures at eleven and should have an interval at home.
What possible excuse have we for calling?
Holmes glanced at his notebook.
There was a period of excitement upon August 26th. We will assumethat he is a little hazy as to what he does at such times. If we insist that weare there by appointment I think he will hardly venture to contradict us.
Have you the effrontery necessary to put it through?
We can but try.
Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. We canbut tryCthe motto of the firm. A friendly native will surely guide us.
Such a one on the back of a smart hansom swept us past a row ofancient colleges and, finally turning into a tree-lined drive, pulled up atthe door of a charming house, girt round with lawns and covered withpurple wisteria. Professor Presbury was certainly surrounded with everysign not only of comfort but of luxury. Even as we pulled up, a grizzledhead appeared at the front window, and we were aware of a pair of keeneyes from under shaggy brows which surveyed us through large hornglasses. A moment later we were actually in his sanctum, and themysterious scientist, whose vagaries had brought us from London, wasstanding before us. There was certainly no sign of eccentricity either inhis manner or appearance, for he was a portly, large-featured man, grave,tall, and frock-coated, with the dignity of bearing which a lecturer needs.
His eyes were his most remarkable feature, keen, observant, and clever tothe verge of cunning.
He looked at our cards. Pray sit down, gentlemen. What can I do foryou?
[1077] Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.
It was the question which I was about to put to you, Professor.
To me, sir!
Possibly there is some mistake. I heard through a second person thatProfessor Presbury of Camford had need of my services.
Oh, indeed! It seemed to me that there was a malicious sparkle in theintense gray eyes. You heard that, did you? May I ask the name of yourinformant?
I am sorry, Professor, but the matter was rather confidential. If I havemade a mistake there is no harm done. I can only express my regret.
Not at all. I should wish to go further into this matter. It interests me.
Have you any scrap of writing, any letter or telegram, to bear out yourassertion?
No, I have not.
I presume that you do not go so far as to assert that I summoned you?
I would rather answer no questions, said Holmes.
No, I dare say not, said the professor with asperity. However, thatparticular one can be answered very easily without your aid.
He walked across the room to the bell. Our London friend, Mr. Bennett,answered the call.
Come in, Mr. Bennett. These two gentlemen have come from Londonunder the impression that they have been summoned. You handle all mycorrespondence. Have you a note of anything going to a person namedHolmes?
No, sir, Bennett answered with a flush.
That is conclusive, said the professor, glaring angrily at mycompanion. Now, sirChe leaned forward with his two hands upon thetableCit seems to me that your position is a very questionable one.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
I can only repeat that I am sorry that we have made a needlessintrusion.
Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes! the old man cried in a high screamingvoice, with extraordinary malignancy upon his face. He got between usand the door as he spoke, and he shook his two hands at us with furiouspassion. You can hardly get out of it so easily as that. His face wasconvulsed, and he grinned and gibbered at us in his senseless rage. I amconvinced that we should have had to fight our way out of the room if Mr.
Bennett had not intervened.
My dear Professor, he cried, consider your position! Consider thescandal at the university! Mr. Holmes is a well-known man. You cannotpossibly treat him with such discourtesy.
Sulkily our hostCif I may call him soCcleared the path to the door. Wewere glad to find ourselves outside the house and in the quiet of the treelineddrive. Holmes seemed greatly amused by the episode.
Our learned friends nerves are somewhat out of order, said he.
Perhaps our intrusion was a little crude, and yet we have gained thatpersonal contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson, he is surely at ourheels. The villain still pursues us.
There were the sounds of running feet behind, but it was, to my relief,not the formidable professor but his assistant who appeared round thecurve of the drive. He came panting up to us.
I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I wished to apologize.
My dear sir, there is no need. It is all in the way of professionalexperience.
I have never seen him in a more dangerous mood. But he grows moresinister. [1078] You can understand now why his daughter and I arealarmed. And yet his mind is perfectly clear.
Too clear! said Holmes. That was my miscalculation. It is evidentthat his memory is much more reliable than I had thought. By the way,can we, before we go, see the window of Miss Presburys room?
Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some shrubs, and we had a viewof the side of the house.
It is there. The second on the left.
Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet you will observe thatthere is a creeper below and a water-pipe above which give somefoothold.
I could not climb it myself, said Mr. Bennett.
Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous exploit for any normalman.
There was one other thing I wish to tell you, Mr. Holmes. I have theaddress of the man in London to whom the professor writes. He seems tohave written this morning, and I got it from his blotting-paper. It is anignoble position for a trusted secretary, but what else can I do?
Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his pocket.
DorakCa curious name. Slavonic, I imagine. Well, it is an importantlink in the chain. We return to London this afternoon, Mr. Bennett. I seeno good purpose to be served by our remaining. We cannot arrest theprofessor because he has done no crime, nor can we place him underconstraint, for he cannot be proved to be mad. No action is as yetpossible.
Then what on earth are we to do?
A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will soon develop. Unless I ammistaken, next Tuesday may mark a crisis. Certainly we shall be inCamford on that day. Meanwhile, the general position is undeniablyunpleasant, and if Miss Presbury can prolong her visitC C
That is easy.
Then let her stay till we can assure her that all danger is past.
Meanwhile, let him have his way and do not cross him. So long as he is ina good humour all is well.
There he is! said Bennett in a startled whisper. Looking between thebranches we saw the tall, erect figure emerge from the hall door and lookaround him. He stood leaning forward, his hands swinging straight beforehim, his head turning from side to side. The secretary with a last waveslipped off among the trees, and we saw him presently rejoin hisemployer, the two entering the house together in what seemed to beanimated and even excited conversation.
I expect the old gentleman has been putting two and two together,
said Holmes as we walked hotelward. He struck me as having aparticularly clear and logical brain from the little I saw of him. Explosive,no doubt, but then from his point of view he has something to explodeabout if detectives are put on his track and he suspects his own householdof doing it. I rather fancy that friend Bennett is in for an uncomfortabletime.
Holmes stopped at a post-office and sent off a telegram on our way.
The answer reached us in the evening, and he tossed it across to me.
Have visited the Commercial Road and seen Dorak. Suaveperson, Bohemian, elderly. Keeps large general store.
MERCER.
[1079] Mercer is since your time, said Holmes. He is my generalutility man who looks up routine business. It was important to knowsomething of the man with whom our professor was so secretlycorresponding. His nationality connects up with the Prague visit.
Thank goodness that something connects with something, said I. Atpresent we seem to be faced by a long series of inexplicable incidentswith no bearing upon each other. For example, what possible connectioncan there be between an angry wolfhound and a visit to Bohemia, oreither of them with a man crawling down a passage at night? As to yourdates, that is the biggest mystification of all.
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We were, I may say, seated in theold sitting-room of the ancient hotel, with a bottle of the famous vintageof which Holmes had spoken on the table between us.
Well, now, let us take the dates first, said he, his finger-tips togetherand his manner as if he were addressing a class. This excellent youngmans diary shows that there was trouble upon July 2d, and from thenonward it seems to have been at nine-day intervals, with, so far as Iremember, only one exception. Thus the last outbreak upon Friday was onSeptember 3d, which also falls into the series, as did August 26th, whichpreceded it. The thing is beyond coincidence.
I was forced to agree.
Let us, then, form the provisional theory that every nine days theprofessor takes some strong drug which has a passing but highlypoisonous effect. His naturally violent nature is intensified by it. Helearned to take this drug while he was in Prague, and is now supplied withit by a Bohemian intermediary in London. This all hangs together,Watson!
But the dog, the face at the window, the creeping man in the passage?
Well, well, we have made a beginning. I should not expect any freshdevelopments until next Tuesday. In the meantime we can only keep intouch with friend Bennett and enjoy the amenities of this charming town.
In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to bring us the latest report.
As Holmes had imagined, times had not been easy with him. Withoutexactly accusing him of being responsible for our presence, the professorhad been very rough and rude in his speech, and evidently felt somestrong grievance. This morning he was quite himself again, however, andhad delivered his usual brilliant lecture to a crowded class. Apart fromhis queer fits, said Bennett, he has actually more energy and vitalitythan I can ever remember, nor was his brain ever clearer. But its notheCits never the man whom we have known.
I dont think you have anything to fear now for a week at least,
Holmes answered. I am a busy man, and Dr. Watson has his patients toattend to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hour next Tuesday, and Ishall be surprised if before we leave you again we are not able to explain,even if we cannot perhaps put an end to, your troubles. Meanwhile, keepus posted in what occurs.
I saw nothing of my friend for the next few days, but on the followingMonday evening I had a short note asking me to meet him next day at thetrain. From what he told me as we travelled up to Camford all was well,the peace of the professors house had been unruffled, and his ownconduct perfectly normal. This also was the report which was given us byMr. Bennett himself when he called upon us that evening at our oldquarters in the Chequers. He heard from his London correspondent today.
There was a letter and there was a small packet, [1080] each with thecross under the stamp which warned me not to touch them. There hasbeen nothing else.
That may prove quite enough, said Holmes grimly. Now, Mr.
Bennett, we shall, I think, come to some conclusion to-night. If mydeductions are correct we should have an opportunity of bringing mattersto a head. In order to do so it is necessary to hold the professor underobservation. I would suggest, therefore, that you remain awake and on thelookout. Should you hear him pass your door, do not interrupt him, butfollow him as discreetly as you can. Dr. Watson and I will not be far off.
By the way, where is the key of that little box of which you spoke?
Upon his watch-chain.
I fancy our researches must lie in that direction. At the worst the lockshould not be very formidable. Have you any other able-bodied man onthe premises?
There is the coachman, Macphail.
Where does he sleep?
Over the stables.
We might possibly want him. Well, we can do no more until we seehow things develop. Good-byeCbut I expect that we shall see you beforemorning.
It was nearly midnight before we took our station among some bushesimmediately opposite the hall door of the professor. It was a fine night,but chilly, and we were glad of our warm overcoats. There was a breeze,and clouds were scudding across the sky, obscuring from time to time thehalf-moon. It would have been a dismal vigil were it not for theexpectation and excitement which carried us along, and the assurance ofmy comrade that we had probably reached the end of the strangesequence of events which had engaged our attention.
If the cycle of nine days holds good then we shall have the professorat his worst to-night, said Holmes. The fact that these strange symptomsbegan after his visit to Prague, that he is in secret correspondence with aBohemian dealer in London, who presumably represents someone inPrague, and that he received a packet from him this very day, all point inone direction. What he takes and why he takes it are still beyond our ken,but that it emanates in some way from Prague is clear enough. He takes itunder definite directions which regulate this ninth-day system, which wasthe first point which attracted my attention. But his symptoms are mostremarkable. Did you observe his knuckles?
I had to confess that I did not.
Thick and horny in a way which is quite new in my experience.
Always look at the hands first, Watson. Then cuffs, trouser-knees, andboots. Very curious knuckles which can only be explained by the mode ofprogression observed byC C Holmes paused and suddenly clapped hishand to his forehead. Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been! Itseems incredible, and yet it must be true. All points in one direction. Howcould I miss seeing the connection of ideas? Those knucklesChow could Ihave passed those knuckles? And the dog! And the ivy! Its surely timethat I disappeared into that little farm of my dreams. Look out, Watson!
Here he is! We shall have the chance of seeing for ourselves.
The hall door had slowly opened, and against the lamplit backgroundwe saw the tall figure of Professor Presbury. He was clad in his dressinggown.
As he stood outlined in the doorway he was erect but leaningforward with dangling arms, as when we saw him last.
Now he stepped forward into the drive, and an extraordinary changecame over him. He sank down into a crouching position and moved alongupon his hands [1081] and feet, skipping every now and then as if he wereoverflowing with energy and vitality. He moved along the face of thehouse and then round the corner. As he disappeared Bennett slippedthrough the hall door and softly followed him.
Come, Watson, come! cried Holmes, and we stole as softly as wecould through the bushes until we had gained a spot whence we could seethe other side of the house, which was bathed in the light of the halfmoon.
The professor was clearly visible crouching at the foot of the ivycoveredwall. As we watched him he suddenly began with incredibleagility to ascend it. From branch to branch he sprang, sure of foot andfirm of grasp, climbing apparently in mere joy at his own powers, with nodefinite object in view. With his dressing-gown flapping on each side ofhim, he looked like some huge bat glued against the side of his ownhouse, a great square dark patch upon the moonlit wall. Presently he tiredof this amusement, and, dropping from branch to branch, he squatteddown into the old attitude and moved towards the stables, creeping alongin the same strange way as before. The wolfhound was out now, barkingfuriously, and more excited than ever when it actually caught sight of itsmaster. It was straining on its chain and quivering with eagerness andrage. The professor squatted down very deliberately just out of reach ofthe hound and began to provoke it in every possible way. He tookhandfuls of pebbles from the drive and threw them in the dogs face,prodded him with a stick which he had picked up, flicked his hands aboutonly a few inches from the gaping mouth, and endeavoured in every wayto increase the animals fury, which was already beyond all control. In allour adventures I do not know that I have ever seen a more strange sightthan this impassive and still dignified figure crouching frog-like upon theground and goading to a wilder exhibition of passion the maddenedhound, which ramped and raged in front of him, by all manner ofingenious and calculated cruelty.
And then in a moment it happened! It was not the chain that broke, butit was the collar that slipped, for it had been made for a thick-neckedNewfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal, and the next instantdog and man were rolling on the ground together, the one roaring in rage,the other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto of terror. It was a verynarrow thing for the professors life. The savage creature had him fairlyby the throat, its fangs had bitten deep, and he was senseless before wecould reach them and drag the two apart. It might have been a dangeroustask for us, but Bennetts voice and presence brought the great wolfhoundinstantly to reason. The uproar had brought the sleepy and astonishedcoachman from his room above the stables. Im not surprised, said he,shaking his head. Ive seen him at it before. I knew the dog would gethim sooner or later.
The hound was secured, and together we carried the professor up to hisroom, where Bennett, who had a medical degree, helped me to dress historn throat. The sharp teeth had passed dangerously near the carotidartery, and the haemorrhage was serious. In half an hour the danger waspast, I had given the patient an injection of morphia, and he had sunk intodeep sleep. Then, and only then, were we able to look at each other and totake stock of the situation.
I think a first-class surgeon should see him, said I.
For Gods sake, no! cried Bennett. At present the scandal isconfined to our own household. It is safe with us. If it gets beyond thesewalls it will never stop. Consider his position at the university, hisEuropean reputation, the feelings of his daughter.
[1082] Quite so, said Holmes. I think it may be quite possible to keepthe matter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrence now that wehave a free hand. The key from the watch-chain, Mr. Bennett. Macphailwill guard the patient and let us know if there is any change. Let us seewhat we can find in the professors mysterious box.
There was not much, but there was enoughCan empty phial, anothernearly full, a hypodermic syringe, several letters in a crabbed, foreignhand. The marks on the envelopes showed that they were those which haddisturbed the routine of the secretary, and each was dated from theCommercial Road and signed A. Dorak. They were mere invoices tosay that a fresh bottle was being sent to Professor Presbury, or receipt toacknowledge money. There was one other envelope, however, in a moreeducated hand and bearing the Austrian stamp with the postmark ofPrague. Here we have our material! cried Holmes as he tore out theenclosure.
HONOURED COLLEAGUE [it ran]:
Since your esteemed visit I have thought much of your case, andthough in your circumstances there are some special reasons forthe treatment, I would none the less enjoin caution, as my resultshave shown that it is not without danger of a kind.
It is possible that the serum of anthropoid would have beenbetter. I have, as I explained to you, used black-faced langurbecause a specimen was accessible. Langur is, of course, a crawlerand climber, while anthropoid walks erect and is in all ways nearer.
I beg you to take every possible precaution that there be nopremature revelation of the process. I have one other client inEngland, and Dorak is my agent for both.
Weekly reports will oblige.
Yours with high esteem,H. LOWENSTEIN.
Lowenstein! The name brought back to me the memory of somesnippet from a newspaper which spoke of an obscure scientist who wasstriving in some unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescence and theelixir of life. Lowenstein of Prague! Lowenstein with the wondrousstrength-giving serum, tabooed by the profession because he refused toreveal its source. In a few words I said what I remembered. Bennett hadtaken a manual of zoology from the shelves.  Langur,  he read,  thegreat black-faced monkey of the Himalayan slopes, biggest and mosthuman of climbing monkeys. Many details are added. Well, thanks toyou, Mr. Holmes, it is very clear that we have traced the evil to itssource.
The real source, said Holmes, lies, of course, in that untimely loveaffair which gave our impetuous professor the idea that he could onlygain his wish by turning himself into a younger man. When one tries torise above Nature one is liable to fall below it. The highest type of manmay revert to the animal if he leaves the straight road of destiny. He satmusing for a little with the phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquidwithin. When I have written to this man and told him that I hold himcriminally responsible for the poisons which he circulates, we will haveno more trouble. But it may recur. Others may find a better way. There isdanger thereCa very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that thematerial, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives.
[1083] The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It wouldbe the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poorworld become? Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the manof action, sprang from his chair. I think there is nothing more to be said,Mr. Bennett. The various incidents will now fit themselves easily into thegeneral scheme. The dog, of course, was aware of the change far morequickly than you. His smell would insure that. It was the monkey, not theprofessor, whom Roy attacked, just as it was the monkey who teased Roy.
Climbing was a joy to the creature, and it was a mere chance, I take it,that the pastime brought him to the young ladys window. There is anearly train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cupof tea at the Chequers before we catch it.
David Soucek, 1998 The Lions ManeThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE LIONS MANEIT IS a most singular thing that a problem which was certainly as abstruseand unusual as any which I have faced in my long professional careershould have come to me after my retirement, and be brought, as it were,to my very door. It occurred after my withdrawal to my little Sussexhome, when I had given myself up entirely to that soothing life of Naturefor which I had so often yearned during the long years spent amid thegloom of London. At this period of my life the good Watson had passedalmost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end visit was the most that Iever saw of him. Thus I must act as my own chronicler. Ah! had he butbeen with me, how much he might have made of so wonderful ahappening and of my eventual triumph against every difficulty! As it is,however, I must needs tell my tale in my own plain way, showing by mywords each step upon the difficult road which lay before me as I searchedfor the mystery of the Lions Mane.
My villa is situated upon the southern slope of the downs, commandinga great view of the Channel. At this point the coast-line is entirely ofchalk cliffs, which can only be descended by a single, long, tortuous path,which is steep and slippery. At the bottom of the path lie a hundred yardsof pebbles and shingle, even when the tide is at full. Here and there,however, there are curves and hollows which make splendid swimmingpoolsfilled afresh with each flow. This admirable beach extends for somemiles in each direction, save only at one point where the little cove andvillage of Fulworth break the line.
My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have the estateall to ourselves. Half a mile off, however, is Harold Stackhursts wellknowncoaching establishment, The Gables, quite a large place, whichcontains some score of young fellows preparing for various professions,with a staff of several masters. Stackhurst himself was a well-knownrowing Blue in his day, and an excellent all-round scholar. He and I werealways friendly from the day I came to the coast, and he was the one manwho was on such terms with me that we could drop in on each other in theevenings without an invitation.
Towards the end of July, 1907, there was a severe gale, the windblowing up-channel, heaping the seas to the base of the cliffs and leavinga lagoon at the turn of the tide. On the morning of which I speak the windhad abated, and all Nature was newly washed and fresh. It was impossibleto work upon so delightful a day, [1084] and I strolled out before breakfastto enjoy the exquisite air. I walked along the cliff path which led to thesteep descent to the beach. As I walked I heard a shout behind me, andthere was Harold Stackhurst waving his hand in cheery greeting.
What a morning, Mr. Holmes! I thought I should see you out.
Going for a swim, I see.
At your old tricks again, he laughed, patting his bulging pocket.
Yes. McPherson started early, and I expect I may find him there.
Fitzroy McPherson was the science master, a fine upstanding youngfellow whose life had been crippled by heart trouble following rheumaticfever. He was a natural athlete, however, and excelled in every gamewhich did not throw too great a strain upon him. Summer and winter hewent for his swim, and, as I am a swimmer myself, I have often joinedhim.
At this moment we saw the man himself. His head showed above theedge of the cliff where the path ends. Then his whole figure appeared atthe top, staggering like a drunken man. The next instant he threw up hishands and, with a terrible cry, fell upon his face. Stackhurst and I rushedforwardCit may have been fifty yardsCand turned him on his back. He wasobviously dying. Those glazed sunken eyes and dreadful livid cheekscould mean nothing else. One glimmer of life came into his face for aninstant, and he uttered two or three words with an eager air of warning.
They were slurred and indistinct, but to my ear the last of them, whichburst in a shriek from his lips, were the Lions Mane. It was utterlyirrelevant and unintelligible, and yet I could twist the sound into no othersense. Then he half raised himself from the ground, threw his arms intothe air, and fell forward on his side. He was dead.
My companion was paralyzed by the sudden horror of it, but I, as maywell be imagined, had every sense on the alert. And I had need, for it wasspeedily evident that we were in the presence of an extraordinary case.
The man was dressed only in his Burberry overcoat, his trousers, and anunlaced pair of canvas shoes. As he fell over, his Burberry, which hadbeen simply thrown round his shoulders, slipped off, exposing his trunk.
We stared at it in amazement. His back was covered with dark red lines asthough he had been terribly flogged by a thin wire scourge. Theinstrument with which this punishment had been inflicted was clearlyflexible, for the long, angry weals curved round his shoulders and ribs.
There was blood dripping down his chin, for he had bitten through hislower lip in the paroxysm of his agony. His drawn and distorted face toldhow terrible that agony had been.
I was kneeling and Stackhurst standing by the body when a shadow fellacross us, and we found that Ian Murdoch was by our side. Murdoch wasthe mathematical coach at the establishment, a tall, dark, thin man, sotaciturn and aloof that none can be said to have been his friend. Heseemed to live in some high, abstract region of surds and conic sections,with little to connect him with ordinary life. He was looked upon as anoddity by the students, and would have been their butt, but there wassome strange outlandish blood in the man, which showed itself not only inhis coal-black eyes and swarthy face but also in occasional outbreaks oftemper, which could only be described as ferocious. On one occasion,being plagued by a little dog belonging to McPherson, he had caught thecreature up and hurled it through the plate-glass window, an action forwhich Stackhurst would certainly have given him his dismissal had he notbeen a very valuable teacher. Such was the strange complex man whonow appeared beside us. He seemed to be [1085] honestly shocked at thesight before him, though the incident of the dog may show that there wasno great sympathy between the dead man and himself.
Poor fellow! Poor fellow! What can I do? How can I help?
Were you with him? Can you tell us what has happened?
No, no, I was late this morning. I was not on the beach at all. I havecome straight from The Gables. What can I do?
You can hurry to the police-station at Fulworth. Report the matter atonce.
Without a word he made off at top speed, and I proceeded to take thematter in hand, while Stackhurst, dazed at this tragedy, remained by thebody. My first task naturally was to note who was on the beach. From thetop of the path I could see the whole sweep of it, and it was absolutelydeserted save that two or three dark figures could be seen far awaymoving towards the village of Fulworth. Having satisfied myself uponthis point, I walked slowly down the path. There was clay or soft marlmixed with the chalk, and every here and there I saw the same footstep,both ascending and descending. No one else had gone down to the beachby this track that morning. At one place I observed the print of an openhand with the fingers towards the incline. This could only mean that poorMcPherson had fallen as he ascended. There were rounded depressions,too, which suggested that he had come down upon his knees more thanonce. At the bottom of the path was the considerable lagoon left by theretreating tide. At the side of it McPherson had undressed, for there layhis towel on a rock. It was folded and dry, so that it would seem that, afterall, he had never entered the water. Once or twice as I hunted round amidthe hard shingle I came on little patches of sand where the print of hiscanvas shoe, and also of his naked foot, could be seen. The latter factproved that he had made all ready to bathe, though the towel indicatedthat he had not actually done so.
And here was the problem clearly definedCas strange a one as had everconfronted me. The man had not been on the beach more than a quarter ofan hour at the most. Stackhurst had followed him from The Gables, sothere could be no doubt about that. He had gone to bathe and hadstripped, as the naked footsteps showed. Then he had suddenly huddledon his clothes againCthey were all dishevelled and unfastenedCand he hadreturned without bathing, or at any rate without drying himself. And thereason for his change of purpose had been that he had been scourged insome savage, inhuman fashion, tortured until he bit his lip through in hisagony, and was left with only strength enough to crawl away and to die.
Who had done this barbarous deed? There were, it is true, small grottosand caves in the base of the cliffs, but the low sun shone directly intothem, and there was no place for concealment. Then, again, there werethose distant figures on the beach. They seemed too far away to have beenconnected with the crime, and the broad lagoon in which McPherson hadintended to bathe lay between him and them, lapping up to the rocks. Onthe sea two or three fishing-boats were at no great distance. Theiroccupants might be examined at our leisure. There were several roads forinquiry, but none which led to any very obvious goal.
When I at last returned to the body I found that a little group ofwondering folk had gathered round it. Stackhurst was, of course, stillthere, and Ian Murdoch had just arrived with Anderson, the villageconstable, a big, ginger-moustached man of the slow, solid SussexbreedCa breed which covers much good sense under a heavy, silentexterior. He listened to everything, took note of all we said, and finallydrew me aside.
[1086] Id be glad of your advice, Mr. Holmes. This is a big thing forme to handle, and Ill hear of it from Lewes if I go wrong.
I advised him to send for his immediate superior, and for a doctor; alsoto allow nothing to be moved, and as few fresh footmarks as possible tobe made, until they came. In the meantime I searched the dead manspockets. There were his handkerchief, a large knife, and a small foldingcard-case. From this projected a slip of paper, which I unfolded andhanded to the constable. There was written on it in a scrawling, femininehand:
I will be there, you may be sure.
MAUDIE.
It read like a love affair, an assignation, though when and where were ablank. The constable replaced it in the card-case and returned it with theother things to the pockets of the Burberry. Then, as nothing moresuggested itself, I walked back to my house for breakfast, having firstarranged that the base of the cliffs should be thoroughly searched.
Stackhurst was round in an hour or two to tell me that the body hadbeen removed to The Gables, where the inquest would be held. Hebrought with him some serious and definite news. As I expected, nothinghad been found in the small caves below the cliff, but he had examinedthe papers in McPhersons desk, and there were several which showed anintimate correspondence with a certain Miss Maud Bellamy, of Fulworth.
We had then established the identity of the writer of the note.
The police have the letters, he explained. I could not bring them.
But there is no doubt that it was a serious love affair. I see no reason,however, to connect it with that horrible happening save, indeed, that thelady had made an appointment with him.
But hardly at a bathing-pool which all of you were in the habit ofusing, I remarked.
It is mere chance, said he, that several of the students were not withMcPherson.
Was it mere chance?
Stackhurst knit his brows in thought.
Ian Murdoch held them back, said he. He would insist upon somealgebraic demonstration before breakfast. Poor chap, he is dreadfully cutup about it all.
And yet I gather that they were not friends.
At one time they were not. But for a year or more Murdoch has beenas near to McPherson as he ever could be to anyone. He is not of a verysympathetic disposition by nature.
So I understand. I seem to remember your telling me once about aquarrel over the ill-usage of a dog.
That blew over all right.
But left some vindictive feeling, perhaps.
No, no, I am sure they were real friends.
Well, then, we must explore the matter of the girl. Do you know her?
Everyone knows her. She is the beauty of the neighbourhoodCa realbeauty, Holmes, who would draw attention everywhere. I knew thatMcPherson was attracted by her, but I had no notion that it had gone sofar as these letters would seem to indicate.
[1087] But who is she?
She is the daughter of old Tom Bellamy, who owns all the boats andbathing-cots at Fulworth. He was a fisherman to start with, but is now aman of some substance. He and his son William run the business.
Shall we walk into Fulworth and see them?
On what pretext?
Oh, we can easily find a pretext. After all, this poor man did not ill-usehimself in this outrageous way. Some human hand was on the handle ofthat scourge, if indeed it was a scourge which inflicted the injuries. Hiscircle of acquaintances in this lonely place was surely limited. Let usfollow it up in every direction and we can hardly fail to come upon themotive, which in turn should lead us to the criminal.
It would have been a pleasant walk across the thyme-scented downshad our minds not been poisoned by the tragedy we had witnessed. Thevillage of Fulworth lies in a hollow curving in a semicircle round the bay.
Behind the old-fashioned hamlet several modern houses have been builtupon the rising ground. It was to one of these that Stackhurst guided me.
Thats The Haven, as Bellamy called it. The one with the corner towerand slate roof. Not bad for a man who started with nothing butC C ByJove, look at that!
The garden gate of The Haven had opened and a man had emerged.
There was no mistaking that tall, angular, straggling figure. It was IanMurdoch, the mathematician. A moment later we confronted him uponthe road.
Hullo! said Stackhurst. The man nodded, gave us a sideways glancefrom his curious dark eyes, and would have passed us, but his principalpulled him up.
What were you doing there? he asked.
Murdochs face flushed with anger. I am your subordinate, sir, underyour roof. I am not aware that I owe you any account of my privateactions.
Stackhursts nerves were near the surface after all he had endured.
Otherwise, perhaps, he would have waited. Now he lost his tempercompletely.
In the circumstances your answer is pure impertinence, Mr. Murdoch.
Your own question might perhaps come under the same heading.
This is not the first time that I have had to overlook your insubordinateways. It will certainly be the last. You will kindly make fresharrangements for your future as speedily as you can.
I had intended to do so. I have lost to-day the only person who madeThe Gables habitable.
He strode off upon his way, while Stackhurst, with angry eyes, stoodglaring after him. Is he not an impossible, intolerable man? he cried.
The one thing that impressed itself forcibly upon my mind was that Mr.
Ian Murdoch was taking the first chance to open a path of escape from thescene of the crime. Suspicion, vague and nebulous, was now beginning totake outline in my mind. Perhaps the visit to the Bellamys might throwsome further light upon the matter. Stackhurst pulled himself together,and we went forward to the house.
Mr. Bellamy proved to be a middle-aged man with a flaming red beard.
He seemed to be in a very angry mood, and his face was soon as florid ashis hair.
No, sir, I do not desire any particulars. My son hereCindicating apowerful young man, with a heavy, sullen face, in the corner of the sittingroomCis of one mind with me that Mr. McPhersons attentions to Maudwere insulting. Yes, sir, [1088] the word marriage was never mentioned,and yet there were letters and meetings, and a great deal more of whichneither of us could approve. She has no mother, and we are her onlyguardians. We are determinedC C
But the words were taken from his mouth by the appearance of the ladyherself. There was no gainsaying that she would have graced anyassembly in the world. Who could have imagined that so rare a flowerwould grow from such a root and in such an atmosphere? Women haveseldom been an attraction to me, for my brain has always governed myheart, but I could not look upon her perfect clear-cut face, with all the softfreshness of the downlands in her delicate colouring, without realizingthat no young man would cross her path unscathed. Such was the girl whohad pushed open the door and stood now, wide-eyed and intense, in frontof Harold Stackhurst.
I know already that Fitzroy is dead, she said. Do not be afraid to tellme the particulars.
This other gentleman of yours let us know the news, explained thefather.
There is no reason why my sister should be brought into the matter,
growled the younger man.
The sister turned a sharp, fierce look upon him. This is my business,William. Kindly leave me to manage it in my own way. By all accountsthere has been a crime committed. If I can help to show who did it, it isthe least I can do for him who is gone.
She listened to a short account from my companion, with a composedconcentration which showed me that she possessed strong character aswell as great beauty. Maud Bellamy will always remain in my memory asa most complete and remarkable woman. It seems that she already knewme by sight, for she turned to me at the end.
Bring them to justice, Mr. Holmes. You have my sympathy and myhelp, whoever they may be. It seemed to me that she glanced defiantly ather father and brother as she spoke.
Thank you, said I. I value a womans instinct in such matters. Youuse the word they. You think that more than one was concerned?
I knew Mr. McPherson well enough to be aware that he was a braveand a strong man. No single person could ever have inflicted such anoutrage upon him.
Might I have one word with you alone?
I tell you, Maud, not to mix yourself up in the matter, cried her fatherangrily.
She looked at me helplessly. What can I do?
The whole world will know the facts presently, so there can be noharm if I discuss them here, said I. I should have preferred privacy, butif your father will not allow it he must share the deliberations. Then Ispoke of the note which had been found in the dead mans pocket. It issure to be produced at the inquest. May I ask you to throw any light uponit that you can?
I see no reason for mystery, she answered. We were engaged to bemarried, and we only kept it secret because Fitzroys uncle, who is veryold and said to be dying, might have disinherited him if he had marriedagainst his wish. There was no other reason.
You could have told us, growled Mr. Bellamy.
So I would, father, if you had ever shown sympathy.
I object to my girl picking up with men outside her own station.
[1089] It was your prejudice against him which prevented us fromtelling you. As to this appointmentCshe fumbled in her dress andproduced a crumpled noteC it was in answer to this.
DEAREST [ran the message]:
The old place on the beach just after sunset on Tuesday. It is theonly time I can get away.
F. M.
Tuesday was to-day, and I had meant to meet him to-night.
I turned over the paper. This never came by post. How did you get it?
I would rather not answer that question. It has really nothing to dowith the matter which you are investigating. But anything which bearsupon that I will most freely answer.
She was as good as her word, but there was nothing which was helpfulin our investigation. She had no reason to think that her fiance had anyhidden enemy, but she admitted that she had had several warm admirers.
May I ask if Mr. Ian Murdoch was one of them?
She blushed and seemed confused.
There was a time when I thought he was. But that was all changedwhen he understood the relations between Fitzroy and myself.
Again the shadow round this strange man seemed to me to be takingmore definite shape. His record must be examined. His rooms must beprivately searched. Stackhurst was a willing collaborator, for in his mindalso suspicions were forming. We returned from our visit to The Havenwith the hope that one free end of this tangled skein was already in ourhands.
A week passed. The inquest had thrown no light upon the matter andhad been adjourned for further evidence. Stackhurst had made discreetinquiry about his subordinate, and there had been a superficial search ofhis room, but without result. Personally, I had gone over the wholeground again, both physically and mentally, but with no new conclusions.
In all my chronicles the reader will find no case which brought me socompletely to the limit of my powers. Even my imagination couldconceive no solution to the mystery. And then there came the incident ofthe dog.
It was my old housekeeper who heard of it first by that strange wirelessby which such people collect the news of the countryside.
Sad story this, sir, about Mr. McPhersons dog, said she one evening.
I do not encourage such conversations, but the words arrested myattention.
What of Mr. McPhersons dog?
Dead, sir. Died of grief for its master.
Who told you this?
Why, sir, everyone is talking of it. It took on terrible, and has eatennothing for a week. Then to-day two of the young gentlemen from TheGables found it deadCdown on the beach, sir, at the very place where itsmaster met his end.
At the very place. The words stood out clear in my memory. Somedim perception that the matter was vital rose in my mind. That the dogshould die was after the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs. But in the veryplace! Why should this lonely beach be fatal to it? Was it possible that italso had been sacrificed to some revengeful feud? Was it possibleC C?
Yes, the perception was dim, but already something was building up inmy mind. In a few minutes I was on my way [1090] to The Gables, where Ifound Stackhurst in his study. At my request he sent for Sudbury andBlount, the two students who had found the dog.
Yes, it lay on the very edge of the pool, said one of them. It musthave followed the trail of its dead master.
I saw the faithful little creature, an Airedale terrier, laid out upon themat in the hall. The body was stiff and rigid, the eyes projecting, and thelimbs contorted. There was agony in every line of it.
From The Gables I walked down to the bathing-pool. The sun had sunkand the shadow of the great cliff lay black across the water, whichglimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The place was deserted and therewas no sign of life save for two sea-birds circling and screamingoverhead. In the fading light I could dimly make out the little dogs spoorupon the sand round the very rock on which his masters towel had beenlaid. For a long time I stood in deep meditation while the shadows grewdarker around me. My mind was filled with racing thoughts. You haveknown what it was to be in a nightmare in which you feel that there issome all-important thing for which you search and which you know isthere, though it remains forever just beyond your reach. That was how Ifelt that evening as I stood alone by that place of death. Then at last Iturned and walked slowly homeward.
I had just reached the top of the path when it came to me. Like a flash, Iremembered the thing for which I had so eagerly and vainly grasped. Youwill know, or Watson has written in vain, that I hold a vast store of out-ofthe-way knowledge without scientific system, but very available for theneeds of my work. My mind is like a crowded box-room with packets ofall sorts stowed away thereinCso many that I may well have but a vagueperception of what was there. I had known that there was somethingwhich might bear upon this matter. It was still vague, but at least I knewhow I could make it clear. It was monstrous, incredible, and yet it wasalways a possibility. I would test it to the full.
There is a great garret in my little house which is stuffed with books. Itwas into this that I plunged and rummaged for an hour. At the end of thattime I emerged with a little chocolate and silver volume. Eagerly I turnedup the chapter of which I had a dim remembrance. Yes, it was indeed afar-fetched and unlikely proposition, and yet I could not be at rest until Ihad made sure if it might, indeed, be so. It was late when I retired, withmy mind eagerly awaiting the work of the morrow.
But that work met with an annoying interruption. I had hardlyswallowed my early cup of tea and was starting for the beach when I hada call from Inspector Bardle of the Sussex ConstabularyCa steady, solid,bovine man with thoughtful eyes, which looked at me now with a verytroubled expression.
I know your immense experience, sir, said he. This is quiteunofficial, of course, and need go no farther. But I am fairly up against itin this McPherson case. The question is, shall I make an arrest, or shall Inot?
Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?
Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you come to think of it.
Thats the advantage of this solitude. We narrow it down to a very smallcompass. If he did not do it, then who did?
What have you against him?
He had gleaned along the same furrows as I had. There was Murdochscharacter and the mystery which seemed to hang round the man. Hisfurious bursts of temper, [1091] as shown in the incident of the dog. Thefact that he had quarrelled with McPherson in the past, and that there wassome reason to think that he might have resented his attentions to MissBellamy. He had all my points, but no fresh ones, save that Murdochseemed to be making every preparation for departure.
What would my position be if I let him slip away with all thisevidence against him? The burly, phlegmatic man was sorely troubled inhis mind.
Consider, I said, all the essential gaps in your case. On the morningof the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had been with his scholarstill the last moment, and within a few minutes of McPhersons appearancehe came upon us from behind. Then bear in mind the absoluteimpossibility that he could single-handed have inflicted this outrage upona man quite as strong as himself. Finally, there is this question of theinstrument with which these injuries were inflicted.
What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of some sort?
Have you examined the marks? I asked.
I have seen them. So has the doctor.
But I have examined them very carefully with a lens. They havepeculiarities.
What are they, Mr. Holmes?
I stepped to my bureau and brought out an enlarged photograph. Thisis my method in such cases, I explained.
You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. Holmes.
I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now let us consider this wealwhich extends round the right shoulder. Do you observe nothingremarkable?
I cant say I do.
Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. There is a dot ofextravasated blood here, and another there. There are similar indicationsin this other weal down here. What can that mean?
I have no idea. Have you?
Perhaps I have. Perhaps I havent. I may be able to say more soon.
Anything which will define what made that mark will bring us a long waytowards the criminal.
It is, of course, an absurd idea, said the policeman, but if a red-hotnet of wire had been laid across the back, then these better marked pointswould represent where the meshes crossed each other.
A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiff cat-o-ninetailswith small hard knots upon it?
By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it.
Or there may be some very different cause, Mr. Bardle. But your caseis far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those last wordsCtheLions Mane. 
I have wondered whether IanC C
Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne anyresemblance to MurdochCbut it did not. He gave it almost in a shriek. Iam sure that it was Mane. 
Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?
Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there is somethingmore solid to discuss.
And when will that be?
In an hourCpossibly less.
The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubious eyes.
[1092] I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhapsits those fishing-boats.
No, no, they were too far out.
Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of his? They were not toosweet upon Mr. McPherson. Could they have done him a mischief?
No, no, you wont draw me until I am ready, said I with a smile.
Now, Inspector, we each have our own work to do. Perhaps if you wereto meet me here at middayC C
So far we had got when there came the tremendous interruption whichwas the beginning of the end.
My outer door was flung open, there were blundering footsteps in thepassage, and Ian Murdoch staggered into the room, pallid, dishevelled, hisclothes in wild disorder, clawing with his bony hands at the furniture tohold himself erect. Brandy! Brandy! he gasped, and fell groaning uponthe sofa.
He was not alone. Behind him came Stackhurst, hatless and panting,almost as distrait as his companion.
Yes, yes, brandy! he cried. The man is at his last gasp. It was all Icould do to bring him here. He fainted twice upon the way.
Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about a wondrous change. Hepushed himself up on one arm and swung his coat from his shoulders.
For Gods sake, oil, opium, morphia! he cried. Anything to ease thisinfernal agony!
The inspector and I cried out at the sight. There, crisscrossed upon themans naked shoulder, was the same strange reticulated pattern of red,inflamed lines which had been the death-mark of Fitzroy McPherson.
The pain was evidently terrible and was more than local, for thesufferers breathing would stop for a time, his face would turn black, andthen with loud gasps he would clap his hand to his heart, while his browdropped beads of sweat. At any moment he might die. More and morebrandy was poured down his throat, each fresh dose bringing him back tolife. Pads of cotton-wool soaked in salad-oil seemed to take the agonyfrom the strange wounds. At last his head fell heavily upon the cushion.
Exhausted Nature had taken refuge in its last storehouse of vitality. It washalf a sleep and half a faint, but at least it was ease from pain.
To question him had been impossible, but the moment we were assuredof his condition Stackhurst turned upon me.
My God! he cried, what is it, Holmes? What is it?
Where did you find him?
Down on the beach. Exactly where poor McPherson met his end. Ifthis mans heart had been weak as McPhersons was, he would not behere now. More than once I thought he was gone as I brought him up. Itwas too far to The Gables, so I made for you.
Did you see him on the beach?
I was walking on the cliff when I heard his cry. He was at the edge ofthe water, reeling about like a drunken man. I ran down, threw someclothes about him, and brought him up. For heavens sake, Holmes, useall the powers you have and spare no pains to lift the curse from thisplace, for life is becoming unendurable. Can you, with all your worldwidereputation, do nothing for us?
I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! And you, Inspector,come along! We will see if we cannot deliver this murderer into yourhands.
Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of my housekeeper, we allthree [1093] went down to the deadly lagoon. On the shingle there waspiled a little heap of towels and clothes left by the stricken man. Slowly Iwalked round the edge of the water, my comrades in Indian file behindme. Most of the pool was quite shallow, but under the cliff where thebeach was hollowed out it was four or five feet deep. It was to this partthat a swimmer would naturally go, for it formed a beautiful pellucidgreen pool as clear as crystal. A line of rocks lay above it at the base ofthe cliff, and along this I led the way, peering eagerly into the depthsbeneath me. I had reached the deepest and stillest pool when my eyescaught that for which they were searching, and I burst into a shout oftriumph.
Cyanea! I cried. Cyanea! Behold the Lions Mane!
The strange object at which I pointed did indeed look like a tangledmass torn from the mane of a lion. It lay upon a rocky shelf some threefeet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating, hairy creature withstreaks of silver among its yellow tresses. It pulsated with a slow, heavydilation and contraction.
It has done mischief enough. Its day is over! I cried. Help me,Stackhurst! Let us end the murderer forever.
There was a big boulder just above the ledge, and we pushed it until itfell with a tremendous splash into the water. When the ripples had clearedwe saw that it had settled upon the ledge below. One flapping edge ofyellow membrane showed that our victim was beneath it. A thick oilyscum oozed out from below the stone and stained the water round, risingslowly to the surface.
Well, this gets me! cried the inspector. What was it, Mr. Holmes?
Im born and bred in these parts, but I never saw such a thing. It dontbelong to Sussex.
Just as well for Sussex, I remarked. It may have been the southwestgale that brought it up. Come back to my house, both of you, and I willgive you the terrible experience of one who has good reason to rememberhis own meeting with the same peril of the seas.
When we reached my study we found that Murdoch was so farrecovered that he could sit up. He was dazed in mind, and every now andthen was shaken by a paroxysm of pain. In broken words he explainedthat he had no notion what had occurred to him, save that terrific pangshad suddenly shot through him, and that it had taken all his fortitude toreach the bank.
Here is a book, I said, taking up the little volume, which firstbrought light into what might have been forever dark. It is Out of Doors,by the famous observer, J. G. Wood. Wood himself very nearly perishedfrom contact with this vile creature, so he wrote with a very fullknowledge. Cyanea capillata is the miscreants full name, and he can beas dangerous to life as, and far more painful than, the bite of the cobra.
Let me briefly give this extract.
If the bather should see a loose roundish mass of tawnymembranes and fibres, something like very large handfuls of lionsmane and silver paper, let him beware, for this is the fearfulstinger, Cyanea capillata.
Could our sinister acquaintance be more clearly described?
He goes on to tell of his own encounter with one when swimming offthe coast of Kent. He found that the creature radiated almost invisiblefilaments to the distance of fifty feet, and that anyone within thatcircumference from the deadly centre was in danger of death. Even at adistance the effect upon Wood was almost fatal.
[1094] The multitudinous threads caused light scarlet lines uponthe skin which on closer examination resolved into minute dots orpustules, each dot charged as it were with a red-hot needle makingits way through the nerves.
The local pain was, as he explains, the least part of the exquisitetorment.
Pangs shot through the chest, causing me to fall as if struck bya bullet. The pulsation would cease, and then the heart would givesix or seven leaps as if it would force its way through the chest.
It nearly killed him, although he had only been exposed to it in thedisturbed ocean and not in the narrow calm waters of a bathing-pool. Hesays that he could hardly recognize himself afterwards, so white, wrinkledand shrivelled was his face. He gulped down brandy, a whole bottleful,and it seems to have saved his life. There is the book, Inspector. I leave itwith you, and you cannot doubt that it contains a full explanation of thetragedy of poor McPherson.
And incidentally exonerates me, remarked Ian Murdoch with a wrysmile. I do not blame you, Inspector, nor you, Mr. Holmes, for yoursuspicions were natural. I feel that on the very eve of my arrest I haveonly cleared myself by sharing the fate of my poor friend.
No, Mr. Murdoch. I was already upon the track, and had I been out asearly as I intended I might well have saved you from this terrificexperience.
But how did you know, Mr. Holmes?
I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory fortrifles. That phrase the Lions Mane haunted my mind. I knew that I hadseen it somewhere in an unexpected context. You have seen that it doesdescribe the creature. I have no doubt that it was floating on the waterwhen McPherson saw it, and that this phrase was the only one by whichhe could convey to us a warning as to the creature which had been hisdeath.
Then I, at least, am cleared, said Murdoch, rising slowly to his feet.
There are one or two words of explanation which I should give, for Iknow the direction in which your inquiries have run. It is true that I lovedthis lady, but from the day when she chose my friend McPherson my onedesire was to help her to happiness. I was well content to stand aside andact as their go-between. Often I carried their messages, and it was becauseI was in their confidence and because she was so dear to me that Ihastened to tell her of my friends death, lest someone should forestall mein a more sudden and heartless manner. She would not tell you, sir, of ourrelations lest you should disapprove and I might suffer. But with yourleave I must try to get back to The Gables, for my bed will be verywelcome.
Stackhurst held out his hand. Our nerves have all been at concertpitch,
said he. Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shall understand eachother better in the future. They passed out together with their arms linkedin friendly fashion. The inspector remained, staring at me in silence withhis ox-like eyes.
Well, youve done it! he cried at last. I had read of you, but I neverbelieved it. Its wonderful!
I was forced to shake my head. To accept such praise was to lowerones own standards.
I was slow at the outsetCculpably slow. Had the body been found inthe water I could hardly have missed it. It was the towel which misled me.
The poor fellow had never thought to dry himself, and so I in turn was ledto believe that he had [1095] never been in the water. Why, then, shouldthe attack of any water creature suggest itself to me? That was where Iwent astray. Well, well, Inspector, I often ventured to chaff yougentlemen of the police force, but Cyanea capillata very nearly avengedScotland Yard.
David Soucek, 1998 The Veiled LodgerThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE VEILED LODGERWHEN one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice fortwenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed tocooperate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear that Ihave a mass of material at my command. The problem has always beennot to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-books which fill ashelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfectquarry for the student not only of crime but of the social and officialscandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I may say thatthe writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honour of their familiesor the reputation of famous forebears may not be touched, have nothing tofear. The discretion and high sense of professional honour which havealways distinguished my friend are still at work in the choice of thesememoirs, and no confidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in thestrongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and todestroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if theyare repeated I have Mr. Holmess authority for saying that the whole storyconcerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant willbe given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand.
It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gaveHolmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct andobservation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs.
Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it felleasily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were ofteninvolved in those cases which brought him the fewest personalopportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. Intelling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but otherwisethe facts are as stated.
One forenoonCit was late in 1896CI received a hurried note fromHolmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found him seated in asmoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxomlandlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.
This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton, said my friend with a waveof the hand. Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if youwish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting storyto tell which may well lead to further developments in which yourpresence may be useful.
Anything I can doC C
You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder Ishould prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that beforewe arrive.
Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes, said our visitor, she is that anxious tosee you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!
Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have ourfacts [1096] correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr.
Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has beenyour lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face.
And I wish to God I had not! said Mrs. Merrilow.
It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.
Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. Thatshow it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of theupper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the frontgarden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw herCI happened on herunawaresCshe covered up quick, and then she said, Now, Mrs. Merrilow,you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil. 
Do you know anything about her history?
Nothing at all.
Did she give references when she came?
No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarters rent rightdown on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times apoor woman like me cant afford to turn down a chance like that.
Did she give any reason for choosing your house?
Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most.
Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. Ireckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. Itsprivacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.
You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on theone accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, mostremarkable, and I dont wonder that you want it examined.
I dont, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. Youcould not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.
Then what has brought matters to a head?
Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And theressomething terrible on her mind. Murder! she cries. Murder! And onceI heard her: You cruel beast! You monster! she cried. It was in the night,and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So Iwent to her in the morning. Mrs. Ronder, I says, if you have anythingthat is troubling your soul, theres the clergy, I says, and theres thepolice. Between them you should get some help. For Gods sake, not thepolice! says she, and the clergy cant change what is past. And yet, shesays, it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.
Well, says I, if you wont have the regulars, there is this detective manwhat we read aboutC beggin your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fairjumped at it. Thats the man, says she. I wonder I never thought of itbefore. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he wont come, tell him Iam the wife of Ronders wild beast show. Say that, and give him thename Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. That willbring him if hes the man I think he is. 
And it will, too, remarked Holmes. Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. Ishould like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us tilllunch-time. About three oclock you may expect to see us at your housein Brixton.
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the roomCno other verb candescribe Mrs. Merrilows method of progressionCthan Sherlock Holmesthrew himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books inthe corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves,and then with a grunt of satisfaction he [1097] came upon what he sought.
So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like somestrange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and oneopen upon his knees.
The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notesto prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I wasconvinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of theAbbas Parva tragedy?
None, Holmes.
And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression wasvery superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none of the partieshad engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the papers?
Could you not give me the points?
That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memoryas I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival ofWombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. Thereis evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his showwere on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The caravan hadhalted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire,when this horror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon,travelling by road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, asthe place is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open.
They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. SaharaKing was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, togive exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of theperformance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge porcineperson and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed atthe inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was dangerous,but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of thefact.
It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night.
Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone elseto do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriers hewould regard them as benefactors and would never molest them. On thisparticular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a very terriblehappening followed, the details of which have never been made clear.
It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars ofthe animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms andemployees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by their light anawful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his head crushed inand deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage,which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon herback, with the creature squatting and snarling above her. It had torn herface in such a fashion that it was never thought that she could live.
Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, andGriggs, the clown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprangback into the cage and was at once locked in. How it had got loose was amystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended to enter the cage, butthat when the door was loosed the creature bounded out upon them. Therewas no other point of interest in the evidence save that the woman in adelirium of agony kept screaming, Coward! Coward! as she was carriedback to the van in which they lived. It was six months before she was fitto give evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdictof death from misadventure.
[1098] What alternative could be conceived? said I.
You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points whichworried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad that!
He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the matter, forhe dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it.
A thin, yellow-haired man?
Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.
But what worried him?
Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult to reconstructthe affair. Look at it from the lions point of view. He is liberated. Whatdoes he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward, which brings him toRonder. Ronder turns to flyCthe claw-marks were on the back of hisheadCbut the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on andescaping, he returns to the woman, who was close to the cage, and heknocks her over and chews her face up. Then, again, those cries of herswould seem to imply that her husband had in some way failed her. Whatcould the poor devil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?
Quite.
And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as I thinkit over. There was some evidence that just at the time the lion roared andthe woman screamed, a man began shouting in terror.
This man Ronder, no doubt.
Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect to hearfrom him again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke of the criesof a man being mingled with those of a woman.
I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the otherpoints, I think I could suggest a solution.
I should be glad to consider it.
The two were together, ten yards from the cage, when the lion gotloose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived theidea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was her only refuge.
She made for it, and just as she reached it the beast bounded after her andknocked her over. She was angry with her husband for having encouragedthe beasts rage by turning. If they had faced it they might have cowed it.
Hence her cries of Coward! 
Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your diamond.
What is the flaw, Holmes?
If they were both ten paces from the cage, how came the beast to getloose?
Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?
And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habit ofplaying with them, and doing tricks with them inside the cage?
Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it.
Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for some moments.
Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronder was aman of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he was horrible.
A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyone who came inhis way. I expect those cries about a monster, of which our visitor hasspoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear departed. However, ourspeculations are futile until we have all the facts. There is a cold partridgeon the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. Let us renew ourenergies before we make a fresh call upon them.
When our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, wefound that [1099] plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble butretired abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation was lest sheshould lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, before showing us up,to say and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then,having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly carpetedstaircase and were shown into the room of the mysterious lodger.
It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might be expected, sinceits inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in a cage, the womanseemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in acage. She sat now in a broken armchair in the shadowy corner of theroom. Long years of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but atsome period it must have been beautiful, and was still full andvoluptuous. A thick dark veil covered her face, but it was cut off close ather upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicatelyrounded chin. I could well conceive that she had indeed been a veryremarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.
My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes, said she. I thoughtthat it would bring you.
That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware that Iwas interested in your case.
I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined by Mr.
Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would havebeen wiser had I told the truth.
It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?
Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that hewas a very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction uponmy conscience. We had been so closeCso close!
But has this impediment been removed?
Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead.
Then why should you not now tell the police anything you know?
Because there is another person to be considered. That other person ismyself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity which would comefrom a police examination. I have not long to live, but I wish to dieundisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man of judgment to whom Icould tell my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might beunderstood.
You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsibleperson. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myselfthink it my duty to refer the case to the police.
I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods too well,for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is the onlypleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in theworld. But in any case, I will take my chance of the use which you maymake of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it.
My friend and I would be glad to hear it.
The woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man. Hewas clearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, takenwith his huge arms folded across his swollen chest and a smile breakingfrom under his heavy moustacheCthe self-satisfied smile of the man ofmany conquests.
That is Leonardo, she said.
Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?
[1100] The same. And thisCthis is my husband.
It was a dreadful faceCa human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for itwas formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouthchamping and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small,vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon the world.
Ruffian, bully, beastCit was all written on that heavy-jowled face.
Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. Iwas a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, and doing springsthrough the hoop before I was ten. When I became a woman this manloved me, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment Ibecame his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil whotormented me. There was no one in the show who did not know of histreatment. He deserted me for others. He tied me down and lashed mewith his riding-whip when I complained. They all pitied me and they allloathed him, but what could they do? They feared him, one and all. For hewas terrible at all times, and murderous when he was drunk. Again andagain he was had up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, but he hadplenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best men all leftus, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardo and I whokept it upC with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poor devil, he had notmuch to be funny about, but he did what he could to hold things together.
Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what hewas like. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendidbody, but compared to my husband he seemed like the angel Gabriel. Hepitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to loveCdeep,deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped tofeel. My husband suspected it, but I think that he was a coward as well asa bully, and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. He tookrevenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. One night mycries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy thatnight, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided.
My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.
Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I donot say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with him every inch ofthe way. But I should never have had the wit to think of such a plan. Wemade a clubC Leonardo made itCand in the leaden head he fastened fivelong steel nails, the points outward, with just such a spread as the lionspaw. This was to give my husband his death-blow, and yet to leave theevidence that it was the lion which we would loose who had done thedeed.
It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, as wasour custom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zincpail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van which we shouldhave to pass before we reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walkedpast him before he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe and I heardthe crash as the club smashed my husbands skull. My heart leaped withjoy at the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch which held thedoor of the great lions cage.
And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard how quickthese creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excites them. Somestrange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a human being hadbeen slain. As I slipped the bars it bounded out and was on me in aninstant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward andstruck the beast with his club he might have [1101] cowed it. But the manlost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him turn andfly. At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthybreath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. Withthe palms of my hands I tried to push the great steaming, blood-stainedjaws away from me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious that thecamp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered a group of men.
Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under the creaturespaws. That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many a weary month.
When I came to myself and saw myself in the mirror, I cursed thatlionCoh, how I cursed him! Cnot because he had torn away my beauty butbecause he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire, Mr. Holmes,and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I should cover myself sothat my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell wherenone whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left tome to doCand that is what I have done. A poor wounded beast that hascrawled into its hole to dieCthat is the end of Eugenia Ronder.
We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had told herstory. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted her hand withsuch a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.
Poor girl! he said. Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeed hard tounderstand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the world isa cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?
I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrongto feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of thefreaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lion hadleft. But a womans love is not so easily set aside. He had left me underthe beasts claws, he had deserted me in my need, and yet I could notbring myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I cared nothing whatbecame of me. What could be more dreadful than my actual life? But Istood between Leonardo and his fate.
And he is dead?
He was drowned last month when bathing near Margate. I saw hisdeath in the paper.
And what did he do with this five-clawed club, which is the mostsingular and ingenious part of all your story?
I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp, with adeep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths of that poolC C
Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case is closed.
Yes, said the woman, the case is closed.
We had risen to go, but there was something in the womans voicewhich arrested Holmess attention. He turned swiftly upon her.
Your life is not your own, he said. Keep your hands off it.
What use is it to anyone?
How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself themost precious of all lessons to an impatient world.
The womans answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil and steppedforward into the light.
I wonder if you would bear it, she said.
It was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a face whenthe face itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadlyout from that [1102] grisly ruin did but make the view more awful. Holmesheld up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest, and together we left theroom.
Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with somepride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. Therewas a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when I opened it.
Prussic acid? said I.
Exactly. It came by post. I send you my temptation. I will follow youradvice. That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name ofthe brave woman who sent it.
David Soucek, 1998 Shoscombe Old PlaceThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesSHOSCOMBE OLD PLACESHERLOCK HOLMES had been bending for a long time over a low-powermicroscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me intriumph.
It is glue, Watson, said he. Unquestionably it is glue. Have a look atthese scattered objects in the field!
I stooped to the eyepiece and focussed for my vision.
Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat. The irregular gray massesare dust. There are epithelial scales on the left. Those brown blobs in thecentre are undoubtedly glue.
Well, I said, laughing, I am prepared to take your word for it. Doesanything depend upon it?
It is a very fine demonstration, he answered. In the St. Pancras caseyou may remember that a cap was found beside the dead policeman. Theaccused man denies that it is his. But he is a picture-frame maker whohabitually handles glue.
Is it one of your cases?
No; my friend, Merivale, of the Yard, asked me to look into the case.
Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam ofhis cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope. Helooked impatiently at his watch. I had a new client calling, but he isoverdue. By the way, Watson, you know something of racing?
I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension.
Then Ill make you my Handy Guide to the Turf. What about SirRobert Norberton? Does the name recall anything?
Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe Old Place, and I know itwell, for my summer quarters were down there once. Norberton nearlycame within your province once.
How was that?
It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known CurzonStreet money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man.
Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?
Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man. He is about the mostdaredevil rider in EnglandCsecond in the Grand National a few yearsback. He is one of those men who have overshot their true generation. Heshould have been a [1103] buck in the days of the RegencyCa boxer, anathlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, sofar down Queer Street that he may never find his way back again.
Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem to know the man. Now,can you give me some idea of Shoscombe Old Place?
Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, and that the famousShoscombe stud and training quarters are to be found there.
And the head trainer, said Holmes, is John Mason. You need notlook surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letter from himwhich I am unfolding. But let us have some more about Shoscombe. Iseem to have struck a rich vein.
There are the Shoscombe spaniels, said I. You hear of them at everydog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the specialpride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.
Sir Robert Norbertons wife, I presume!
Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think, considering hisprospects. He lives with his widowed sister, Lady Beatrice Falder.
You mean that she lives with him?
No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James. Norbertonhas no claim on it at all. It is only a life interest and reverts to herhusbands brother. Meantime, she draws the rents every year.
And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents?
That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow and must lead hera most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she is devoted to him. But whatis amiss at Shoscombe?
Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, is the manwho can tell us.
The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, clean-shavenman with the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those whohave to control horses or boys. Mr. John Mason had many of both underhis sway, and he looked equal to the task. He bowed with cold selfpossessionand seated himself upon the chair to which Holmes had wavedhim.
You had my note, Mr. Holmes?
Yes, but it explained nothing.
It was too delicate a thing for me to put the details on paper. And toocomplicated. It was only face to face I could do it.
Well, we are at your disposal.
First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, hasgone mad.
Holmes raised his eyebrows. This is Baker Street, not Harley Street,
said he. But why do you say so?
Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, theremay be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then youbegin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince and the Derby have turnedhis brain.
That is a colt you are running?
The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyone does.
Now, Ill be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemen of honour andthat it wont go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to win this Derby.
Hes up to the neck, and its his last chance. Everything he could raise orborrow is on the horse Cand at fine odds, [1104] too! You can get fortiesnow, but it was nearer the hundred when he began to back him.
But how is that if the horse is so good?
The public dont know how good he is. Sir Robert has been too cleverfor the touts. He has the Princes half-brother out for spins. You cant tellem apart. But there are two lengths in a furlong between them when itcomes to a gallop. He thinks of nothing but the horse and the race. Hiswhole life is on it. Hes holding off the Jews till then. If the Prince failshim he is done.
It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does the madness comein?
Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I dont believe hesleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours. His eyes are wild. Ithas all been too much for his nerves. Then there is his conduct to LadyBeatrice!
Ah! What is that?
They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes,the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as he did. Every day atthe same hour she would drive down to see themCand, above all, sheloved the Prince. He would prick up his ears when he heard the wheels onthe gravel, and he would trot out each morning to the carriage to get hislump of sugar. But thats all over now.
Why?
Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses. For a week nowshe has driven past the stables with never so much as Good-morning!
You think there has been a quarrel?
And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he giveaway her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child? He gave it afew days ago to old Barnes, what keeps the Green Dragon, three milesoff, at Crendall.
That certainly did seem strange.
Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy one couldnt expect thatshe could get about with him, but he spent two hours every evening in herroom. He might well do what he could, for she has been a rare goodfriend to him. But thats all over, too. He never goes near her. And shetakes it to heart. She is brooding and sulky and drinking, Mr.
HolmesCdrinking like a fish.
Did she drink before this estrangement?
Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle of anevening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. Its all changed, Mr. Holmes,and there is something damned rotten about it. But then, again, what ismaster doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the manthat meets him there?
Holmes rubbed his hands.
Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more interesting.
It was the butler who saw him go. Twelve oclock at night and raininghard. So next night I was up at the house and, sure enough, master was offagain. Stephens and I went after him, but it was jumpy work, for it wouldhave been a bad job if he had seen us. Hes a terrible man with his fists ifhe gets started, and no respecter of persons. So we were shy of getting toonear, but we marked him down all right. It was the haunted crypt that hewas making for, and there was a man waiting for him there.
What is this haunted crypt?
Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the park. It is so old thatnobody could fix its date. And under it theres a crypt which has a badname among us. Its a dark, damp, lonely place by day, but there are fewin that county that would [1105] have the nerve to go near it at night. Butmasters not afraid. He never feared anything in his life. But what is hedoing there in the night-time?
Wait a bit! said Holmes. You say there is another man there. It mustbe one of your own stablemen, or someone from the house! Surely youhave only to spot who it is and question him?
Its no one I know.
How can you say that?
Because I have seen him, Mr. Holmes. It was on that second night. SirRobert turned and passed usCme and Stephens, quaking in the bushes liketwo bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon that night. But we couldhear the other moving about behind. We were not afraid of him. So we upwhen Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk likein the moonlight, and so we came right on him as casual and innocent asyou please. Hullo, mate! who may you be? says I. I guess he had notheard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he hadseen the devil coming out of hell. He let out a yell, and away he went ashard as he could lick it in the darkness. He could run!CIll give him that.
In a minute he was out of sight and hearing, and who he was, or what hewas, we never found.
But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?
Yes, I would swear to his yellow faceCa mean dog, I should say. Whatcould he have in common with Sir Robert?
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
Who keeps Lady Beatrice Falder company? he asked at last.
There is her maid, Carrie Evans. She has been with her this five years.
And is, no doubt, devoted?
Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably.
Shes devoted enough, he answered at last. But I wont say towhom.
Ah! said Holmes.
I cant tell tales out of school.
I quite understand, Mr. Mason. Of course, the situation is clearenough. From Dr. Watsons description of Sir Robert I can realize that nowoman is safe from him. Dont you think the quarrel between brother andsister may lie there?
Well, the scandal has been pretty clear for a long time.
But she may not have seen it before. Let us suppose that she hassuddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the woman. Her brother willnot permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart and inability to get about,has no means of enforcing her will. The hated maid is still tied to her. Thelady refuses to speak, sulks, takes to drink. Sir Robert in his anger takesher pet spaniel away from her. Does not all this hang together?
Well, it might doCso far as it goes.
Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that bear upon the visits bynight to the old crypt? We cant fit that into our plot.
No, sir, and there is something more that I cant fit in. Why should SirRobert want to dig up a dead body?
Holmes sat up abruptly.
We only found it out yesterdayCafter I had written to you. YesterdaySir Robert had gone to London, so Stephens and I went down to the crypt.
It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was a bit of a humanbody.
You informed the police, I suppose?
[1106] Our visitor smiled grimly.
Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. It was just the head anda few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old. But itwasnt there before. That Ill swear, and so will Stephens. It had beenstowed away in a corner and covered over with a board, but that cornerhad always been empty before.
What did you do with it?
Well, we just left it there.
That was wise. You say Sir Robert was away yesterday. Has hereturned?
We expect him back to-day.
When did Sir Robert give away his sisters dog?
It was just a week ago to-day. The creature was howling outside theold well-house, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning.
He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave it toSandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at theGreen Dragon, for he never wished to see it again.
Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He had lit the oldest andfoulest of his pipes.
I am not clear yet what you want me to do in this matter, Mr. Mason,
he said at last. Cant you make it more definite?
Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. Holmes, said our visitor.
He took a paper from his pocket, and, unwrapping it carefully, heexposed a charred fragment of bone.
Holmes examined it with interest.
Where did you get it?
There is a central heating furnace in the cellar under Lady Beatricesroom. Its been off for some time, but Sir Robert complained of cold andhad it on again. Harvey runs itChes one of my lads. This very morning hecame to me with this which he found raking out the cinders. He didntlike the look of it.
Nor do I, said Holmes. What do you make of it, Watson?
It was burned to a black cinder, but there could be no question as to itsanatomical significance.
Its the upper condyle of a human femur, said I.
Exactly! Holmes had become very serious. When does this lad tendto the furnace?
He makes it up every evening and then leaves it.
Then anyone could visit it during the night?
Yes, sir.
Can you enter it from outside?
There is one door from outside. There is another which leads up by astair to the passage in which Lady Beatrices room is situated.
These are deep waters, Mr. Mason; deep and rather dirty. You say thatSir Robert was not at home last night?
No, sir.
Then, whoever was burning bones, it was not he.
Thats true, sir.
What is the name of that inn you spoke of?
The Green Dragon.
Is there good fishing in that part of Berkshire? The honest trainershowed [1107] very clearly upon his face that he was convinced that yetanother lunatic had come into his harassed life.
Well, sir, Ive heard there are trout in the mill-stream and pike in theHall lake.
Thats good enough. Watson and I are famous fishermenCare we not,Watson? You may address us in future at the Green Dragon. We shouldreach it to-night. I need not say that we dont want to see you, Mr. Mason,but a note will reach us, and no doubt I could find you if I want you.
When we have gone a little farther into the matter I will let you have aconsidered opinion.
Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I found ourselvesalone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little halt-on-demand
station of Shoscombe. The rack above us was covered with a formidablelitter of rods, reels, and baskets. On reaching our destination a short drivetook us to an old-fashioned tavern, where a sporting host, Josiah Barnes,entered eagerly into our plans for the extirpation of the fish of theneighbourhood.
What about the Hall lake and the chance of a pike? said Holmes.
The face of the innkeeper clouded.
That wouldnt do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in the lakebefore you were through.
Hows that, then?
Its Sir Robert, sir. Hes terrible jealous of touts. If you two strangerswere as near his training quarters as that hed be after you as sure as fate.
He aint taking no chances, Sir Robert aint.
Ive heard he has a horse entered for the Derby.
Yes, and a good colt, too. He carries all our money for the race, and allSir Roberts into the bargain. By the wayChe looked at us withthoughtful eyesCI suppose you aint on the turf yourselves?
No, indeed. Just two weary Londoners who badly need some goodBerkshire air.
Well, you are in the right place for that. There is a deal of it lyingabout. But mind what I have told you about Sir Robert. Hes the sort thatstrikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the park.
Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall. By the way, that was a mostbeautiful spaniel that was whining in the hall.
I should say it was. That was the real Shoscombe breed. There aint abetter in England.
I am a dog-fancier myself, said Holmes. Now, if it is a fair question,what would a prize dog like that cost?
More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert himself who gave me thisone. Thats why I have to keep it on a lead. It would be off to the Hall in ajiffy if I gave it its head.
We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson, said Holmes whenthe landlord had left us. Its not an easy one to play, but we may see ourway in a day or two. By the way, Sir Robert is still in London, I hear. Wemight, perhaps, enter the sacred domain to-night without fear of bodilyassault. There are one or two points on which I should like reassurance.
Have you any theory, Holmes?
Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or so ago whichhas cut deep into the life of the Shoscombe household. What is thatsomething? We can [1108] only guess at it from its effects. They seem tobe of a curiously mixed character. But that should surely help us. It isonly the colourless, uneventful case which is hopeless.
Let us consider our data. The brother no longer visits the belovedinvalid sister. He gives away her favourite dog. Her dog, Watson! Doesthat suggest nothing to you?
Nothing but the brothers spite.
Well, it might be so. OrCwell, there is an alternative. Now to continueour review of the situation from the time that the quarrel, if there is aquarrel, began. The lady keeps her room, alters her habits, is not seen savewhen she drives out with her maid, refuses to stop at the stables to greether favourite horse, and apparently takes to drink. That covers the case,does it not?
Save for the business in the crypt.
That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg you will nottangle them. Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguely sinisterflavour, has it not?
I can make nothing of it.
Well, now, let us take up line B, which concerns Sir Robert. He is madkeen upon winning the Derby. He is in the hands of the Jews, and may atany moment be sold up and his racing stables seized by his creditors. Heis a daring and desperate man. He derives his income from his sister. Hissisters maid is his willing tool. So far we seem to be on fairly safeground, do we not?
But the crypt?
Ah, yes, the crypt! Let us suppose, WatsonCit is merely a scandaloussupposition, a hypothesis put forward for arguments sakeCthat Sir Roberthas done away with his sister.
My dear Holmes, it is out of the question.
Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock.
But you do occasionally find a carrion crow among the eagles. Let us fora moment argue upon this supposition. He could not fly the country untilhe had realized his fortune, and that fortune could only be realized bybringing off this coup with Shoscombe Prince. Therefore, he has still tostand his ground. To do this he would have to dispose of the body of hisvictim, and he would also have to find a substitute who wouldimpersonate her. With the maid as his confidante that would not beimpossible. The womans body might be conveyed to the crypt, which isa place so seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night inthe furnace, leaving behind it such evidence as we have already seen.
What say you to that, Watson?
Well, it is all possible if you grant the original monstrous supposition.
I think that there is a small experiment which we may try to-morrow,Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter. Meanwhile, if wemean to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have our host in for aglass of his own wine and hold some high converse upon eels and dace,which seems to be the straight road to his affections. We may chance tocome upon some useful local gossip in the process.
In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come without our spoonbaitfor jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day. About elevenoclock we started for a walk, and he obtained leave to take the blackspaniel with us.
This is the place, said he as we came to two high park gates withheraldic griffins towering above them. About midday, Mr. Barnesinforms me, the old [1109] lady takes a drive, and the carriage must slowdown while the gates are opened. When it comes through, and before itgathers speed, I want you, Watson, to stop the coachman with somequestion. Never mind me. I shall stand behind this holly-bush and seewhat I can see.
It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw the big openyellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with two splendid, highsteppinggray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes crouched behind hisbush with the dog. I stood unconcernedly swinging a cane in the roadway.
A keeper ran out and the gates swung open.
The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look atthe occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair andimpudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly person withrounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face and shoulders whichproclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached the highroad I held upmy hand with an authoritative gesture, and as the coachman pulled up Iinquired if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place.
At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the spaniel. Witha joyous cry it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the step.
Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to furious rage, and itsnapped at the black skirt above it.
Drive on! Drive on! shrieked a harsh voice. The coachman lashed thehorses, and we were left standing in the roadway.
Well, Watson, thats done it, said Holmes as he fastened the lead tothe neck of the excited spaniel. He thought it was his mistress, and hefound it was a stranger. Dogs dont make mistakes.
But it was the voice of a man! I cried.
Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but it needscareful playing, all the same.
My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we didactually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream, with the result that wehad a dish of trout for our supper. It was only after that meal that Holmesshowed signs of renewed activity. Once more we found ourselves uponthe same road as in the morning, which led us to the park gates. A tall,dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our Londonacquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer.
Good-evening, gentlemen, said he. I got your note, Mr. Holmes. SirRobert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected to-night.
How far is this crypt from the house? asked Holmes.
A good quarter of a mile.
Then I think we can disregard him altogether.
I cant afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arrives he willwant to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince.
I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. You canshow us the crypt and then leave us.
It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us over the grasslands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us which proved to be theancient chapel. We entered the broken gap which was once the porch, andour guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry, picked his way tothe corner of the building, where a steep stair led down into the crypt.
Striking a match, he illuminated the melancholy placeCdismal and evilsmelling,with ancient crumbling walls of rough-hewn stone, and piles ofcoffins, some of lead and some of stone, extending upon one [1110] sideright up to the arched and groined roof which lost itself in the shadowsabove our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel ofvivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays were reflected backfrom the coffin-plates, many of them adorned with the griffin and coronetof this old family which carried its honours even to the gate of Death.
You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them beforeyou go?
They are here in this corner. The trainer strode across and then stoodin silent surprise as our light was turned upon the place. They are gone,
said he.
So I expected, said Holmes, chuckling. I fancy the ashes of themmight even now be found in that oven which had already consumed apart.
But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a manwho has been dead a thousand years? asked John Mason.
That is what we are here to find out, said Holmes. It may mean along search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get oursolution before morning.
When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work making a verycareful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, whichappeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line of Norman Hugosand Odos, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denis Falder of theeighteenth century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came to aleaden coffin standing on end before the entrance to the vault. I heard hislittle cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried but purposefulmovements that he had reached a goal. With his lens he was eagerlyexamining the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket ashort jemmy, a box-opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering backthe whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps.
There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardlyhinged back and partly revealed the contents before we had an unforeseeninterruption.
Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapid stepof one who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground uponwhich he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant laterthe man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a terriblefigure, huge in stature and fierce in manner. A large stable-lantern whichhe held in front of him shone upward upon a strong, heavily moustachedface and angry eyes, which glared round him into every recess of thevault, finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare upon my companionand myself.
Who the devil are you? he thundered. And what are you doing uponmy property? Then, as Holmes returned no answer, he took a couple ofsteps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. Do you hearme? he cried. Who are you? What are you doing here? His cudgelquivered in the air.
But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to meet him.
I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert, he said in his sternesttone. Who is this? And what is it doing here?
He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glare of thelantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot, with dreadful,witch-like features, all nose and chin, projecting at one end, the dim,glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumbling face.
The baronet had staggered back with a cry and supported himselfagainst a stone sarcophagus.
How came you to know of this? he cried. And then, with some returnof his truculent manner: What business is it of yours?
[1111] My name is Sherlock Holmes, said my companion. Possibly itis familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other goodcitizenCto uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to answerfor.
Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmess quiet voice and cool,assured manner had their effect.
 Fore God, Mr. Holmes, its all right, said he. Appearances areagainst me, Ill admit, but I could act no otherwise.
I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must bebefore the police.
Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.
Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you can judgefor yourself how the matter stands.
A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge, from thelines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun-room of theold house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert left us for afew moments. When he returned he had two companions with him; theone, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the carriage; the other,a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner. These two worean appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed that the baronet hadnot yet had time to explain to them the turn events had taken.
There, said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, are Mr. and Mrs.
Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for someyears been my sisters confidential maid. I have brought them herebecause I feel that my best course is to explain the true position to you,and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what I say.
Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are doing?
cried the woman.
As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility, said her husband.
Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. I will take allresponsibility, said he. Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain statement ofthe facts.
You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I should nothave found you where I did. Therefore, you know already, in allprobability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby and thateverything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I loseCwell, Idare not think of that!
I understand the position, said Holmes.
I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But it iswell known that her interest in the estate is for her own life only. Formyself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always known that ifmy sister were to die my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock ofvultures. Everything would be seizedCmy stables, my horsesCeverything.
Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die just a week ago.
And you told no one!
What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things offfor three weeks all would be well. Her maids husbandCthis man hereCisan actor. It came into our headsCit came into my headCthat he could forthat short period personate my sister. It was but a case of appearing dailyin the carriage, for no one need enter her room save the maid. It was notdifficult to arrange. My sister died of the dropsy which had long afflictedher.
That will be for a coroner to decide.
[1112] Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms havethreatened such an end.
Well, what did you do?
The body could not remain there. On the first night Norlett and Icarried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. We werefollowed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at thedoor, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the spaniel, andwe carried the body to the crypt of the church. There was no indignity orirreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I have wronged the dead.
Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert.
The baronet shook his head impatiently. It is easy to preach, said he.
Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in my position.
One cannot see all ones hopes and all ones plans shattered at the lastmoment and make no effort to save them. It seemed to me that it wouldbe no unworthy resting-place if we put her for the time in one of thecoffins of her husbands ancestors lying in what is still consecratedground. We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her asyou have seen her. As to the old relics which we took out, we could notleave them on the floor of the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and hedescended at night and burned them in the central furnace. There is mystory, Mr. Holmes, though how you forced my hand so that I have to tellit is more than I can say.
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert, he said at last. Yourbets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future, would hold goodeven if your creditors seized your estate.
The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for my bets?
As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief creditor is,unhappily, my most bitter enemyCa rascally fellow, Sam Brewer, whom Iwas once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do you supposethat he would try to save me?
Well, Sir Robert, said Holmes, rising, this matter must, of course, bereferred to the police. It was my duty to bring the facts to light, and there Imust leave it. As to the morality or decency of your conduct, it is not forme to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight, Watson, and I think wemay make our way back to our humble abode.
It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon ahappier note than Sir Roberts actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince didwin the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousand pounds in bets,and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over, when theywere paid in full, and enough was left to reestablish Sir Robert in a fairposition in life. Both police and coroner took a lenient view of thetransaction, and beyond a mild censure for the delay in registering theladys decease, the lucky owner got away scatheless from this strangeincident in a career which has now outlived its shadows and promises toend in an honoured old age.
David Soucek, 1998 The Retired ColourmanThe Case-Book of Sherlock HolmesTHE RETIRED COLOURMANSHERLOCK HOLMES was in a melancholy and philosophic mood thatmorning. His alert practical nature was subject to such reactions.
Did you see him? he asked.
You mean the old fellow who has just gone out?
Precisely.
Yes, I met him at the door.
What did you think of him?
A pathetic, futile, broken creature.
Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic andfutile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp.
And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than ashadowC misery.
Is he one of your clients?
Well, I suppose I may call him so. He has been sent on by the Yard.
Just as medical men occasionally send their incurables to a quack. Theyargue that they can do nothing more, and that whatever happens thepatient can be no worse than he is.
What is the matter?
Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. Josiah Amberley. Hesays he was junior partner of Brickfall and Amberley, who aremanufacturers of artistic materials. You will see their names upon paintboxes.
He made his little pile, retired from business at the age of sixtyone,bought a house at Lewisham, and settled down to rest after a life ofceaseless grind. One would think his future was tolerably assured.
Yes, indeed.
Holmes glanced over some notes which he had scribbled upon the backof an envelope.
Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he married a woman twentyyears younger than himselfCa good-looking woman, too, if thephotograph does not flatter. A competence, a wife, leisureCit seemed astraight road which lay before him. And yet within two years he is, as youhave seen, as broken and miserable a creature as crawls beneath the sun.
But what has happened?
The old story, Watson. A treacherous friend and a fickle wife. Itwould appear that Amberley has one hobby in life, and it is chess. Not farfrom him at Lewisham there lives a young doctor who is also a chessplayer.
I have noted his name as Dr. Ray Ernest. Ernest was frequently inthe house, and an intimacy between him and Mrs. Amberley was a naturalsequence, for you must admit that our unfortunate client has few outwardgraces, whatever his inner virtues may be. The couple went off togetherlast weekCdestination untraced. What is more, the faithless spouse carriedoff the old mans deed-box as her personal luggage with a good part ofhis lifes savings within. Can we find the lady? Can we save the money?
A commonplace problem so far as it has developed, and yet a vital one forJosiah Amberley.
[1114] What will you do about it?
Well, the immediate question, my dear Watson, happens to be, Whatwill you do?Cif you will be good enough to understudy me. You knowthat I am preoccupied with this case of the two Coptic Patriarchs, whichshould come to a head to-day. I really have not time to go out toLewisham, and yet evidence taken on the spot has a special value. The oldfellow was quite insistent that I should go, but I explained my difficulty.
He is prepared to meet a representative.
By all means, I answered. I confess I dont see that I can be of muchservice, but I am willing to do my best. And so it was that on a summerafternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreaming that within a week theaffair in which I was engaging would be the eager debate of all England.
It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street and gave anaccount of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figure stretched in hisdeep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths of acrid tobacco, while hiseyelids drooped over his eyes so lazily that he might almost have beenasleep were it not that at any halt or questionable passage of my narrativethey half lifted, and two gray eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers,transfixed me with their searching glance.
The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberleys house, I explained.
I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious patricianwho has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that particularquarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways.
Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort,lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled withlichens and topped with moss, the sort of wallC C
Cut out the poetry, Watson, said Holmes severely. I note that it wasa high brick wall.
Exactly. I should not have known which was The Haven had I notasked a lounger who was smoking in the street. I have a reason formentioning him. He was a tall, dark, heavily moustached, rather militarylookingman. He nodded in answer to my inquiry and gave me a curiouslyquestioning glance, which came back to my memory a little later.
I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw Mr. Amberley comingdown the drive. I only had a glimpse of him this morning, and hecertainly gave me the impression of a strange creature, but when I sawhim in full light his appearance was even more abnormal.
I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interested to have yourimpression, said Holmes.
He seemed to me like a man who was literally bowed down by care.
His back was curved as though he carried a heavy burden. Yet he was notthe weakling that I had at first imagined, for his shoulders and chest havethe framework of a giant, though his figure tapers away into a pair ofspindled legs.
Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth.
I did not observe that.
No, you wouldnt. I spotted his artificial limb. But proceed.
I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curled fromunder his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eager expression andthe deeply lined features.
Very good, Watson. What did he say?
He began pouring out the story of his grievances. We walked downthe drive [1115] together, and of course I took a good look round. I havenever seen a worse-kept place. The garden was all running to seed, givingme an impression of wild neglect in which the plants had been allowed tofind the way of Nature rather than of art. How any decent woman couldhave tolerated such a state of things, I dont know. The house, too, wasslatternly to the last degree, but the poor man seemed himself to be awareof it and to be trying to remedy it, for a great pot of green paint stood inthe centre of the hall, and he was carrying a thick brush in his left hand.
He had been working on the woodwork.
He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat. Of course,he was disappointed that you had not come yourself. I hardly expected,
he said, that so humble an individual as myself, especially after myheavy financial loss, could obtain the complete attention of so famous aman as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
I assured him that the financial question did not arise. No, of course,it is art for arts sake with him, said he, but even on the artistic side ofcrime he might have found something here to study. And human nature,Dr. Watson Cthe black ingratitude of it all! When did I ever refuse one ofher requests? Was ever a woman so pampered? And that young manChemight have been my own son. He had the run of my house. And yet seehow they have treated me! Oh, Dr. Watson, it is a dreadful, dreadfulworld!
That was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had, it seems,no suspicion of an intrigue. They lived alone save for a woman whocomes in by the day and leaves every evening at six. On that particularevening old Amberley, wishing to give his wife a treat, had taken twoupper circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre. At the last moment she hadcomplained of a headache and had refused to go. He had gone alone.
There seemed to be no doubt about the fact, for he produced the unusedticket which he had taken for his wife.
That is remarkableCmost remarkable, said Holmes, whose interest inthe case seemed to be rising. Pray continue, Watson. I find yournarrative most arresting. Did you personally examine this ticket? You didnot, perchance, take the number?
It so happens that I did, I answered with some pride. It chanced tobe my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head.
Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either thirty or thirty-two.
Quite so, I answered with some mystification. And on B row.
That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell you?
He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is a strongroomClike a bankCwith iron door and shutterCburglar-proof, as heclaimed. However, the woman seems to have had a duplicate key, andbetween them they had carried off some seven thousand pounds worth ofcash and securities.
Securities! How could they dispose of those?
He said that he had given the police a list and that he hoped theywould be unsaleable. He had got back from the theatre about midnightand found the place plundered, the door and window open, and thefugitives gone. There was no letter or message, nor has he heard a wordsince. He at once gave the alarm to the police.
Holmes brooded for some minutes.
You say he was painting. What was he painting?
Well, he was painting the passage. But he had already painted the doorand woodwork of this room I spoke of.
Does it not strike you as a strange occupation in the circumstances?
[1116]  One must do something to ease an aching heart. That was hisown explanation. It was eccentric, no doubt, but he is clearly an eccentricman. He tore up one of his wifes photographs in my presenceCtore it upfuriously in a tempest of passion. I never wish to see her damned faceagain, he shrieked.
Anything more, Watson?
Yes, one thing which struck me more than anything else. I had drivento the Blackheath Station and had caught my train there when, just as itwas starting, I saw a man dart into the carriage next to my own. Youknow that I have a quick eye for faces, Holmes. It was undoubtedly thetall, dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I saw him once more atLondon Bridge, and then I lost him in the crowd. But I am convinced thathe was following me.
No doubt! No doubt! said Holmes. A tall, dark, heavily moustachedman, you say, with gray-tinted sun-glasses?
Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he had gray-tinted sunglasses.
And a Masonic tie-pin?
Holmes!
Quite simple, my dear Watson. But let us get down to what ispractical. I must admit to you that the case, which seemed to me to be soabsurdly simple as to be hardly worth my notice, is rapidly assuming avery different aspect. It is true that though in your mission you havemissed everything of importance, yet even those things which haveobtruded themselves upon your notice give rise to serious thought.
What have I missed?
Dont be hurt, my dear fellow. You know that I am quite impersonal.
No one else would have done better. Some possibly not so well. Butclearly you have missed some vital points. What is the opinion of theneighbours about this man Amberley and his wife? That surely is ofimportance. What of Dr. Ernest? Was he the gay Lothario one wouldexpect? With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helperand accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife of thegreengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with the younglady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. Allthis you have left undone.
It can still be done.
It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of the Yard, Ican usually get my essentials without leaving this room. As a matter offact, my information confirms the mans story. He has the local repute ofbeing a miser as well as a harsh and exacting husband. That he had a largesum of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So also is it that youngDr. Ernest, an unmarried man, played chess with Amberley, and probablyplayed the fool with his wife. All this seems plain sailing, and one wouldthink that there was no more to be saidCand yet!Cand yet!
Where lies the difficulty?
In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Let usescape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music. Carinasings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time to dress, dine, andenjoy.
In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two emptyegg-shells told me that my companion was earlier still. I found a scribblednote upon the table.
[1117] DEAR WATSON:
There are one or two points of contact which I should wish toestablish with Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we candismiss the caseCor not. I would only ask you to be on hand aboutthree oclock, as I conceive it possible that I may want you.
S. H.
I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named he returned,grave, preoccupied, and aloof. At such times it was wiser to leave him tohimself.
Has Amberley been here yet?
No.
Ah! I am expecting him.
He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived with avery worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face.
Ive had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make nothing of it. Hehanded it over, and Holmes read it aloud.
Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to yourrecent loss.
ELMAN.
The Vicarage.
Dispatched at 2:10 from Little Purlington, said Holmes. LittlePurlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton. Well, of course youwill start at once. This is evidently from a responsible person, the vicar ofthe place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here we have him: J. C. Elman,M. A., Living of Moosmoor cum Little Purlington. Look up the trains,Watson.
There is one at 5:20 from Liverpool Street.
Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help oradvice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair.
But our client seemed by no means eager to start.
Its perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes, he said. What can this manpossibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and money.
He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.
Wire at once that you are coming.
I dont think I shall go.
Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.
It would make the worst possible impression both on the police andupon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you shouldrefuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really in earnestin this investigation.
Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.
Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way, said he. Onthe face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parson knows anything,but if you thinkC C
I do think, said Holmes with emphasis, and so we were launchedupon our journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room andgave me one word of counsel, which showed that he considered thematter to be of importance. Whatever you do, see that he really does go,
said he. Should he break away or return, get to the nearest telephoneexchange and send the single word Bolted. I will arrange here that itshall reach me wherever I am.
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a branch line.
My [1118] remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for theweather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and silent,hardly talking at all save to make an occasional sardonic remark as to thefutility of our proceedings. When we at last reached the little station itwas a two-mile drive before we came to the Vicarage, where a big,solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us in his study. Our telegramlay before him.
Well, gentlemen, he asked, what can I do for you?
We came, I explained, in answer to your wire.
My wire! I sent no wire.
I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley about his wifeand his money.
If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one, said the vicarangrily. I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I have notsent a wire to anyone.
Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.
Perhaps there is some mistake, said I; are there perhaps twovicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman and dated from theVicarage.
There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and this wire is ascandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly be investigated bythe police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object in prolonging thisinterview.
So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in what seemedto me to be the most primitive village in England. We made for thetelegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a telephone,however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it I got into touch withHolmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey.
Most singular! said the distant voice. Most remarkable! I much fear,my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I have unwittinglycondemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However, there is alwaysNature, WatsonCNature and Josiah AmberleyCyou can be in closecommune with both. I heard his dry chuckle as he turned away.
It was soon apparent to me that my companions reputation as a miserwas not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, hadinsisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in hisobjections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last arrive inLondon, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour.
You had best take Baker Street as we pass, said I. Mr. Holmes mayhave some fresh instructions.
If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of much use, said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept mecompany. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of ourarrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham andwould expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one was tofind that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our client. A sternlooking,impassive man sat beside him, a dark man with gray-tintedglasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his tie.
This is my friend Mr. Barker, said Holmes. He has been interestinghimself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have beenworking independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!
Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read itin his straining eyes and his twitching features.
What is the question, Mr. Holmes?
[1119] Only this: What did you do with the bodies?
The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the airwith his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he lookedlike some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of the realJosiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as his body.
As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his lips as if to stifle acough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger and twisted his facetowards the ground. A white pellet fell from between his gasping lips.
No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and inorder. What about it, Barker?
I have a cab at the door, said our taciturn companion.
It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together. Youcan stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour.
The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk of his,but he was helpless in the hands of the two experienced man-handlers.
Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting cab, and I was leftto my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In less time than he hadnamed, however, Holmes was back, in company with a smart youngpolice inspector.
Ive left Barker to look after the formalities, said Holmes. You hadnot met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey shore.
When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to complete thepicture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he not, Inspector?
He has certainly interfered several times, the inspector answered withreserve.
His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars areuseful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsorywarning about whatever he said being used against him, could never havebluffed this rascal into what is virtually a confession.
Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Dontimagine that we had not formed our own views of this case, and that wewould not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us for feelingsore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and so rob usof the credit.
There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that I effacemyself from now onward, and as to Barker, he has done nothing savewhat I told him.
The inspector seemed considerably relieved.
That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. Praise or blame canmatter little to you, but it is very different to us when the newspapersbegin to ask questions.
Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so it wouldbe as well to have answers. What will you say, for example, when theintelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what the exact points werewhich aroused your suspicion, and finally gave you a certain convictionas to the real facts?
The inspector looked puzzled.
We dont seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. You saythat the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses, practically confessedby trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his wife and her lover.
What other facts have you?
Have you arranged for a search?
There are three constables on their way.
Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot befar away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should not take long to dig upthe likely places. [1120] This house is older than the water-pipes. Theremust be a disused well somewhere. Try your luck there.
But how did you know of it, and how was it done?
Ill show you first how it was done, and then I will give theexplanation which is due to you, and even more to my long-sufferingfriend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I would giveyou an insight into this mans mentality. It is a very unusual oneCso muchso that I think his destination is more likely to be Broadmoor than thescaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of mind which one associateswith the mediaeval Italian nature rather than with the modern Briton. Hewas a miserable miser who made his wife so wretched by his niggardlyways that she was a ready prey for any adventurer. Such a one came uponthe scene in the person of this chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled atchessCone mark, Watson, of a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was ajealous man, and his jealousy became a frantic mania. Rightly or wrongly,he suspected an intrigue. He determined to have his revenge, and heplanned it with diabolical cleverness. Come here!
Holmes led us along the passage with as much certainty as if he hadlived in the house and halted at the open door of the strong-room.
Pooh! What an awful smell of paint! cried the inspector.
That was our first clue, said Holmes. You can thank Dr. Watsonsobservation for that, though he failed to draw the inference. It set my footupon the trail. Why should this man at such a time be filling his housewith strong odours? Obviously, to cover some other smell which hewished to conceal Csome guilty smell which would suggest suspicions.
Then came the idea of a room such as you see here with iron door andshutterCa hermetically sealed room. Put those two facts together, andwhither do they lead? I could only determine that by examining the housemyself. I was already certain that the case was serious, for I had examinedthe box-office chart at the Haymarket TheatreCanother of Dr. Watsonsbulls-eyesCand ascertained that neither B thirty nor thirty-two of theupper circle had been occupied that night. Therefore, Amberley had notbeen to the theatre, and his alibi fell to the ground. He made a bad slipwhen he allowed my astute friend to notice the number of the seat takenfor his wife. The question now arose how I might be able to examine thehouse. I sent an agent to the most impossible village I could think of, andsummoned my man to it at such an hour that he could not possibly getback. To prevent any miscarriage, Dr. Watson accompanied him. Thegood vicars name I took, of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make it allclear to you?
It is masterly, said the inspector in an awed voice.
There being no fear of interruption I proceeded to burgle the house.
Burglary has always been an alternative profession had I cared to adopt it,and I have little doubt that I should have come to the front. Observe whatI found. You see the gas-pipe along the skirting here. Very good. It risesin the angle of the wall, and there is a tap here in the corner. The pipe runsout into the strong-room, as you can see, and ends in that plaster rose inthe centre of the ceiling, where it is concealed by the ornamentation. Thatend is wide open. At any moment by turning the outside tap the roomcould be flooded with gas. With door and shutter closed and the tap fullon I would not give two minutes of conscious sensation to anyone shut upin that little chamber. By what devilish device he decoyed them there I donot know, but once inside the door they were at his mercy.
[1121] The inspector examined the pipe with interest. One of ourofficers mentioned the smell of gas, said he, but of course the windowand door were open then, and the paintCor some of itCwas already about.
He had begun the work of painting the day before, according to his story.
But what next, Mr. Holmes?
Well, then came an incident which was rather unexpected to myself. Iwas slipping through the pantry window in the early dawn when I felt ahand inside my collar, and a voice said: Now, you rascal, what are youdoing in there? When I could twist my head round I looked into thetinted spectacles of my friend and rival, Mr. Barker. It was a curiousforegathering and set us both smiling. It seems that he had been engagedby Dr. Ray Ernests family to make some investigations and had come tothe same conclusion as to foul play. He had watched the house for somedays and had spotted Dr. Watson as one of the obviously suspiciouscharacters who had called there. He could hardly arrest Watson, but whenhe saw a man actually climbing out of the pantry window there came alimit to his restraint. Of course, I told him how matters stood and wecontinued the case together.
Why him? Why not us?
Because it was in my mind to put that little test which answered soadmirably. I fear you would not have gone so far.
The inspector smiled.
Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your word, Mr. Holmes, thatyou step right out of the case now and that you turn all your results overto us.
Certainly, that is always my custom.
Well, in the name of the force I thank you. It seems a clear case, asyou put it, and there cant be much difficulty over the bodies.
Ill show you a grim little bit of evidence, said Holmes, and I amsure Amberley himself never observed it. Youll get results, Inspector, byalways putting yourself in the other fellows place, and thinking what youwould do yourself. It takes some imagination, but it pays. Now, we willsuppose that you were shut up in this little room, had not two minutes tolive, but wanted to get even with the fiend who was probably mocking atyou from the other side of the door. What would you do?
Write a message.
Exactly. You would like to tell people how you died. No use writingon paper. That would be seen. If you wrote on the wall someone mightrest upon it. Now, look here! Just above the skirting is scribbled with apurple indelible pencil: We weC C Thats all.
What do you make of that?
Well, its only a foot above the ground. The poor devil was on thefloor dying when he wrote it. He lost his senses before he could finish.
He was writing, We were murdered. 
Thats how I read it. If you find an indelible pencil on the bodyC C
Well look out for it, you may be sure. But those securities? Clearlythere was no robbery at all. And yet he did possess those bonds. Weverified that.
You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe place. When the wholeelopement had passed into history, he would suddenly discover them andannounce that the guilty couple had relented and sent back the plunder orhad dropped it on the way.
You certainly seem to have met every difficulty, said the inspector.
Of course, [1122] he was bound to call us in, but why he should havegone to you I cant understand.
Pure swank! Holmes answered. He felt so clever and so sure ofhimself that he imagined no one could touch him. He could say to anysuspicious neighbour, Look at the steps I have taken. I have consultednot only the police but even Sherlock Holmes. 
The inspector laughed.
We must forgive you your even, Mr. Holmes, said he, its asworkmanlike a job as I can remember.
A couple of days later my friend tossed across to me a copy of the biweeklyNorth Surrey Observer. Under a series of flaming headlines,which began with The Haven Horror and ended with Brilliant PoliceInvestigation, there was a packed column of print which gave the firstconsecutive account of the affair. The concluding paragraph is typical ofthe whole. It ran thus:
The remarkable acumen by which Inspector MacKinnondeduced from the smell of paint that some other smell, that of gas,for example, might be concealed; the bold deduction that thestrong-room might also be the death-chamber, and the subsequentinquiry which led to the discovery of the bodies in a disused well,cleverly concealed by a dog-kennel, should live in the history ofcrime as a standing example of the intelligence of our professionaldetectives.
Well, well, MacKinnon is a good fellow, said Holmes with a tolerantsmile. You can file it in our archives, Watson. Some day the true storymay be told.
David Soucek, 1998